Page 18

ZOEY

Aerix requests me for dinner the next day, like he always does.

By now, the ritual is as familiar as it is intimate. The slow approach. The tilt of his head. The touch that comes before the bite.

When he finishes up, the pain is already fading into a dull, pleasant throb that sends waves of warmth through my body.

“Delicious, as always,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath cold where my blood pulses hot.

His wings unfurl behind him, stretching to their full span before folding against his back. They’re breathtaking—midnight black and impossibly vast, feathers gleaming like obsidian, each one catching what little light exists in the room and swallowing it whole.

“Happy to be of service.” I mean it to sound teasing, but my voice comes out breathless.

His eyes darken, and his hands slide from my shoulders to my waist, pulling me closer with that effortless strength that makes my stomach flip.

“Your service,” he murmurs, low and dangerous, “goes far beyond feeding me.”

And then, his mouth is on mine, and I taste the metallic tang of my own blood mingled with the wintery pine essence that’s uniquely Aerix.

His kisses are always like this—possessive, demanding, and consuming. Like he’s trying to devour me piece by piece until I forget who I was before he took me. And now, my fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.

One by one, the layers fall.

His shirt. My dress.

His hands go to remove my chemise.

“Wait,” I breathe, the word escaping before I realize I’ve said it.

He freezes, and the temperature drops several degrees.

But he says nothing. He’s just watching me, waiting, like one wrong word will make him snap.

“Aerix,” I say softly, placing my palm against his chest. “I’ve been thinking.”

His eyes narrow, the only indication that he’s heard me.

“About everything you’ve done for me,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “About how you saved my life. Over and over again.”

He inhales slowly, enough to let me know he’s listening.

“Continue.” His voice is carefully controlled, but there’s an undertone of curiosity behind it.

“It started at the waterfall.” I straighten and hold his hypnotizing midnight gaze, more confident now, empowered for what’s coming next. “If you hadn’t pulled me out, I would have drowned.”

His wings flex once, then settle, as if my words are relaxing him.

“You would have,” he agrees.

“And then there were those water zombies. If you’d left me there, I would have been slaughtered,” I say, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Your odds,” he says, “were nonexistent.”

He says it like a fact. Not cruel—just true.

“The winter woods,” I continue, my fingers tracing the contours of his chest. His skin is cold beneath my touch, but heat rises in me like a tide pulling me under. “You couldn’t just leave me in the middle of nowhere. I would have frozen, or been hunted down, or something worse.”

He still hasn’t moved, but his eyes are fixed on me with a hunger that has nothing to do with blood. It’s something sharper—a predatory satisfaction that should terrify me, but instead sends a thrill through me.

“And bringing me to the Night Court,” I keep going. “You didn’t have to do that, either. But you did. You gave me safety, even if it wasn’t gentle.”

“I did,” he murmurs, and his voice drops—low, rich, and laced with something that scrapes deliciously down my spine.

“And then, of course, there was the king.” I step closer, so our bodies are flush against each other. “You refused to let him claim me. You took me before he could.”

His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “I’d fight him for you a thousand times if I had to,” he says. “And I wouldn’t lose. Not even once.”

My breath catches, wanting to lean in and give everything to him right there, but I keep going.

“Then there was Princess Cierra,” I say, thinking of the way he threatened his own sister when she came after me. “You stopped her from snapping my neck like it was nothing.”

His wings unfurl slightly, creating a partial cocoon around us.

“You’ve survived this realm because of me,” he agrees. “Your so-called friends—Sapphire and Riven—kept you locked in a frozen tower. A place that would have killed you.”

His fingers tangle in my hair, slowly and gently, like he’s winding it around his hand so I can’t escape.

“They made you walk across an icy bridge,” he continues, his jaw tensing. “One wrong step, and you would have fallen to your death.”

Technically, Riven is the one who made Sapphire and me walk across that bridge, but now isn’t the time for technicalities. Especially since even though I acted confident while walking across that bridge, I was terrified. Anyone who has a remote desire to stay alive would have been terrified.

I was only able to hide it because I needed to be strong for Sapphire.

“They sent you through a deadly forest,” he continues, frost crawling up to his elbows as anger courses through him. “Where you were attacked and left with fatal wounds. They made you jump over ravines. They let you fall down a waterfall.” His voice grows harder with each example, and he places his hands on my shoulders, his fingers pressing against my skin. “I’m keeping you safe, . I’m the only person who cares about you and prioritizes you in this realm.”

I swallow down a lump in my throat, suddenly seeing it all with perfect clarity. “To them, I was a burden,” I say slowly, and his eyes flare with triumph.

“And to me?” he asks, confirming what deep down, I likely already knew.

“To you,” I say, taking a deep breath, grounding myself in the moment, “I’m everything.”

“Yes,” he breathes, and there’s so much emotion in that single syllable that it makes me dizzy. “You are everything.”

I should stop there.

But I don’t. I can’t.

“I love you.”

The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them—before I even realize I’m saying them.

His hands freeze on my skin, his wings lock in place, and his eyes—those midnight eyes that have haunted my dreams since the moment he took me—widen with something that looks like shock.

My heart stops, and I curse internally.

That was too fast. Too soon. Too much.

But then, his jaw tremors. His breathing shifts. He holds himself still—too still—like if he moves, he’ll shatter.

“What did you say?” he asks, and it’s barely a whisper, like he’s choking on the effort it takes not to lose control.

I swallow hard, but I don’t look away. He might be dangerous, and I might be unraveling, but I’ve never felt more certain.

“I love you,” I repeat, bracing myself for anything. Harsh words, fangs pricking my skin, a command that I leave his quarters immediately and never come back.

Instead, his hands rise and cup my face, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones, like I might vanish if he blinks.

“Say it again,” he demands.

Not asks. Demands.

His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to memorize the way I say it. Like he’s trying to believe it’s real.

“I love you,” I repeat, reaching up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, admiring his otherworldly, perfect features.

He stills, and his wings shudder. That same shudder I felt the first time I touched the base of them—the place where even he can’t hide his vulnerability.

“Again,” he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer.

“I love you, Aerix Nightborne,” I say, dizzy with the truth of it.

His forehead presses against mine, and then his lips are claiming mine with devastating intensity, like he’s falling apart and I’m the only thing keeping him whole.

“I have loved you,” he says, low and strained, “since the night in the bunker.”

My heart stutters, and I remember that first night—how terrified I was, desperate to maintain some illusion of control.

“When you made that ridiculous pillow barrier,” he continues, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, “and demanded I stay on my side.”

His wings curl forward again, shutting out the rest of the world until there’s only him and me and this confession hanging in the air between us.

“I knew from the moment I saw you that you’d be mine.” His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me close, taking my breath away. “Not just my captive. Not just my pet. But mine in every way that matters.”

I should be frightened by this admission—that he wanted me and planned for me from the beginning.

Instead, I feel freed by it.

“Go to the bed,” he commands, and my breath catches as he strolls to his dresser with predatory grace, opens a drawer, and pulls something out.

A dagger.

The one I tried to kill him with the first night in the bunker.