Page 19

ZOEY

Aerix twirls the dagger between his fingers, the blade catching the light in dangerous flashes.

But his eyes… they never leave mine. They strip away every defense and pin me bare.

“Do you know why I kept this?” he asks, moving toward me with measured steps.

I shake my head, unable to look away from the hypnotic movement of the blade.

“Go to the bed and I’ll tell you,” he says, and I’m there in a heartbeat, pulling my legs to my chest as if they can act as barrier between me and the weapon in his hand.

“I kept this because it was yours,” he says simply, and I relax and make myself more comfortable, angry at myself for ever doubting him. “Because your hands touched it. Because you raised it against me.” A smile curves his lips, dark and amused. “And I couldn’t let something so precious disappear.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, still turning the dagger in his hands, watching it with startling intensity.

“I loved your fire from the beginning,” he says, almost to himself. “That wild, reckless defiance. It made me want you in ways I didn’t understand. It made me hungry for you.”

I almost reach for him, but I stop myself, not wanting to break this moment.

“And yet… you didn’t feed from me that night,” I say instead, my breaths coming faster, my hand drifting to the place on my neck that he enjoys the most.

“No. But I wanted to,” he says, his eyes darkening with need as they roam over my body. “And now…” He pauses, like whatever he’s going to say next is costing him. “I want to sign my name on you. Like I did when I transformed your painting. Except this time, it won’t be brushstrokes. It will be a scar. So I’ll always know you’re mine.”

He watches me carefully, as if the dagger will go into my heart if I reject what he’s offering. Or maybe he’ll dig it into his. I have no idea with him anymore, and somehow, I love that more than anything.

“Yes,” I say, and my voice doesn’t shake. “Do it.”

His eyes and wings flare with a mixture of surprise, appreciation, and hunger. And then, he’s pressing me back onto the bed and positioning me how he wants me, tracing a spot just below my hip bone with the tip of the dagger.

“Here. Where only I’ll see it,” he decides, looking back to me, watching and waiting.

“Okay,” I say, but from the way he nods, I have a distinct feeling that it wasn’t up for debate.

“This will hurt,” he warns, his body going still again as he waits for my response.

“I want it to.”

The words come out of me in a second, and his breath catches, sharp and ragged as he lowers the dagger.

The first touch of the blade is fire—a sharp, white-hot pain that makes me gasp. But I don’t pull away. Instead, I watch, transfixed, as Aerix carves into my flesh with surprisingly tender precision.

He moves with the focus of an artist, the blade an extension of his hand.

Aerix Nightborne.

Letter by letter. Stroke by stroke. Deep enough to scar.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, the air growing cold with his rising desire. “Marked. Mine.”

He finishes the final stroke and stares at me, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his magic crackling with something cold and dangerous.

Slowly, deliberately, he sets the dagger aside and drags his fingers through the blood that wells up from my skin. He stares at it for a moment, as if considering it, and then… he starts to paint me with it.

He smears it across my stomach, up between my breasts, and along my thighs, the strokes intentional and possessive.

“My masterpiece,” he whispers, his voice rough and shaking, like this moment is splitting him open. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He focuses on my hip again, pressing his mouth to his name bleeding on my skin, kissing it like he’s worshipping the scar he made. His tongue traces each carefully carved line, tasting me, making me shudder with a desire so fierce it feels like it might consume me whole.

“You’re mine,” he growls against my skin, the words sinking deep into my bones. “And nothing will ever take you from me.”

Then, slowly, he picks up the dagger again and places it into my hand, his fingers closing around mine.

“Keep it,” he says, and I blink, staring at him, overwhelmed and breathless.

“Why?”

“So you’ll always be protected,” he says quietly, but there’s something more beneath his words—a promise, a threat, or a vow. Probably all three. “This isn’t just a weapon. It’s trust. It’s power. It’s a reminder that if anyone ever tries to hurt you…” His lips brush my cheek, his breath icy and delicious. “If anyone ever tries to hurt you, I want you to kill them. Slowly. Painfully. In a way that makes them beg for an end they don’t deserve.”

I shiver at his words, and he cups my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“Do you understand?” he asks, hard and demanding.

“I understand.” I take a deep breath, centering myself. “If anyone tries to hurt me, I’ll make them bleed. And I’ll think of you while I do it.”

He exhales sharply, trembling with restraint. “I’ll dream of you covered in their blood,” he whispers, his voice thick with hunger. “And I’ll worship you for it.”

I smile slowly, dark and deliberate, feeding off the ache in his voice. “Then I’ll give you dreams worth worshipping,” I say, and he groans—low, guttural, and inhuman.

“You are a dream worth worshipping. And you look so beautiful painted in your own blood,” he says, his body shuddering with need. “And knowing it’s because of me… knowing you let me do this to you…”

His magic lashes out in cold bursts, the temperature in the room dropping as though he’s fighting to keep himself contained.

“Tell me again,” he demands, moving over me, trapping me. “Tell me what you feel for me.”

“I love you,” I say without hesitation, the words flowing easily now that I’ve set them free. “And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”

His eyes flare—black flame and endless hunger, raw and all-consuming. It’s not just desire in his gaze. It’s ownership. It’s obsession. It’s a predator who’s stopped pretending he wants to be gentle.

I feel it in my bones. In my blood. In the parts of me that already belong to him.

So, I reach out and brush my fingers over the base of his wings—that sensitive place where feather meets flesh, where he’s most vulnerable.

The sound that tears from his throat is raw and primal, and he shakes—not with weakness, but with a loss of restraint. Every part of him is strung tight with it, like he’s moments from snapping.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he growls. “You have no idea how close I am to losing control.”

“Then lose it,” I whisper, my fingers trailing down his spine and back up, tempting him further. “I want to see what happens when you stop pretending you can’t break.”

And then he’s on me, slamming me back into the mattress with brutal need, his body covering mine like a predator caging its prey.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, his gaze locked on mine, like he’s making sure I fully understand how much he means every word of it. “Every breath you take belongs to me. Every heartbeat is—and will always be—mine. And I’m going to enjoy every second of watching you fall apart with my name bleeding from your skin.”

Then, he bites.

Hard.

His fangs sink into my neck, and I cry out—not in pain, but in pure, unfiltered pleasure. It floods me, dizzying and electric. My fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as I pull him closer, begging for more.

“I already belong to you,” I tell him, arching into his touch, challenging him. “Now tear me apart.”

His eyes darken further—black as the void, filled with hunger, devotion, and something feral that should terrify me.

“You’re staying in these chambers until you forget the outside world exists,” he vows. “Now, tell me again.”

“I love you,” I promise, gazing up into those midnight eyes that own my soul. “I love you, Aerix Nightborne, until the end of time. Because I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

Then he’s on me, skin to skin, his body pressing me deep into the mattress. His hands map every inch of me, claiming, marking, and worshipping. Frost blooms across the headboard, the sheets, and my skin.

I surrender to the sensation, to the intoxicating feeling of being wanted by someone so otherworldly and perfect.

“You were made for me,” he growls, his wings folding tighter around us, sealing us in. “Every part of you—your body, your fire, and your soul. All of it belongs to me.”

“I’m yours,” I promise him, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Only yours.”

“Good. Because I’m never letting you go,” he says, and as we move together in the candlelight, shadows dancing across our skin, I realize that this is what I’ve been searching for all along.

Not freedom. Not escape.

But surrender.

Complete, willing, ecstatic surrender.