Page 49

They step back, letting us savor the moment.

My gaze lingers on Vahziryn’s face. Even as I see relief etched there, I notice the tension in his shoulders—he’s scanning the perimeter, no doubt verifying we remain undisturbed.

His protective instincts are unstoppable, especially with my swollen belly on display.

I reach for his hand, tangling my fingers with his claws, reassuring him that all is well.

He glances down, a low rumble of affection escaping his chest. “You need rest,” he whispers. “This ceremony is enough for one day. The child’s safety matters above all else.”

I nod, remembering the venom ordeal. Though weeks have passed, occasional bouts of fatigue remind me not to overexert.

“A short rest, yes,” I answer softly. “But then maybe... I’d like to walk the grounds.

See how the orchard is faring, if it’s still overgrown.

I want to imagine what we might build here. ”

He tilts his head in surprise. “You wish to remain in the manor? It’s hardly more than a deserted ruin in parts, and we have no warlord authority here.”

My lips curl wryly. “We own no illusions about being warlords or owners,” I say. “But the estate is physically yours, if not by law. Let them assign it to some puppet. We still dwell here, forging a life in the jungle’s domain, not the council’s.”

He smiles, that rare, devastating softness lighting his face. “Yes,” he murmurs, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. “We can remain, or move on if we wish. We owe them nothing.”

The watchers disperse, returning to the manor’s courtyard or slipping away into the vine-choked paths, leaving us a moment of privacy under the serpent tree.

We stand close, breathing in unison, the hush only broken by the rustle of leaves overhead.

My belly presses to him, a living promise of tomorrow.

A trickle of warmth coils through me, reminiscent of the intimacy we’ve shared.

My body thrums with that memory, a spark of desire kindling even in the midst of ceremony.

I recall how we overcame so many barriers to consummate our love, how each union felt like defying an entire nest’s condemnation.

Now, with vows exchanged and my belly swollen, a fierce longing stirs again—a need to feel his adoration.

He senses it too, eyes darkening with recognition. “Mira,” he whispers, tail sliding around my ankle. “We should return inside, rest in a proper bed. This ground is too rough for you.”

I smile, letting him sense my hidden hunger. “I trust you to ensure I’m comfortable.” My cheeks heat, but I make no attempt to hide my reaction. We overcame shame long ago.

He nods, tail coiling up my leg, a gentle pressure that sets my heart racing. “Let’s go,” he breathes. “I’ll carry you if you tire.”

I allow him to guide me from the clearing, the serpent tree’s ancient presence at our backs.

The sky overhead glows with the approaching afternoon.

In the distance, I catch glimpses of Talli and Crick tidying the remains of the ceremony, Sahrine standing near them in quiet reflection.

My chest glows with gratitude—these allies stood by us through every storm.

We reach the manor’s interior, meandering through a corridor that once felt oppressive.

Now it breathes with possibility. The walls are still partially covered in vines, but patches of fresh paint hint at attempts to reclaim it.

We ascend a short flight of stairs, stepping into what used to be the master chamber.

The room is mostly empty except for a large bed draped with newly washed linens.

Air flows through an open window, carrying the scent of the jungle’s blossoms.

He closes the door behind us, turning to me with eyes ablaze. “Sit,” he orders softly, tail flicking. “Let me help.”

My heart flutters at his protective note. “Yes, warlord,” I tease. Then I correct myself with a smile, “I mean, Vahziryn.”

He grunts in mock reproach, a faint smirk twisting his lips. “Mock me all you wish, but I see you’re exhausted.” He leads me to the bed, supporting my elbow. I sink onto the edge, tailing a breath of relief. My legs feel heavier, burdened by pregnancy and the emotional whirlwind of the ceremony.

He kneels before me, slitted gold eyes scanning my face. “You truly want this? A life in the jungle, forging new traditions?” A spark of uncertainty edges his tone.

I rest my palms on his broad shoulders, nails skimming the subtle ridges of black scales. “I do,” I say, voice unwavering. “We might face new trials, but we’ll face them together.”

He exhales, tension melting. Then his tail glides up my calf, a slow, sinuous motion that ignites a thrumming desire in my core.

Sparks flicker in the hush, reminiscent of how we first bridged the chasm between us.

My breath falters, recalling the nights of forbidden closeness, how we overcame taboo.

He rises, pulling me to my feet again, though I remain pressed to the bed’s edge.

The heat of his chest radiates, each scale distinct against my simpler garments.

My belly bumps him lightly. He presses a reverent kiss to my temple, voice husky.

“I want to celebrate this union with you,” he murmurs.

“But I’ll be gentle. I know how carefully we must mind the baby. ”

My cheeks warm. “I trust you,” I whisper. “Always.”

His eyes flick down, capturing my mouth in a sudden, tender kiss.

I melt into him, parting my lips with a soft sigh.

The tension from the ceremony, from our entire struggle, channels into this moment, winding through every brush of scale and skin.

He lifts a hand to cradle the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. My pulse surges.

I angle my face, deepening the kiss. His tail curls around my legs, coaxing me onto the bed.

I recline carefully, mindful of my swollen belly, letting him hover above me.

The mattress dips under his weight. Our mouths remain joined, an electric current dancing along my spine.

My body responds with a fierce ache that belies the months of stress.

Now we can be free, truly, to love without fear.

He breaks the kiss, leaning back to study me. My hair drapes the pillows, cheeks flushed. “You’re radiant,” he murmurs, voice catching on emotion. “Carrying our child only makes you more stunning.”

A wave of warmth floods me. I recall how, in the nest’s eyes, our union was monstrous. But here, in the privacy of what once was his domain, the child’s presence is a bond we both treasure. I raise my arms, inviting him closer. “Join me, Vahziryn.”

He exhales, shrugging off the simple robe.

Black scales shimmer across his torso, trailing down to the powerful coil of his tail.

My breath hitches at the sight, remembering all the times I marveled at his form, and how each union overcame my initial fear.

He leans in, covering my body with his, though carefully propping himself on his forearms so as not to crush me or the child.

His lips travel down my throat, placing featherlight kisses that send tremors of pleasure along my nerves.

I moan softly, arching, pressing my belly to him.

The child shifts, a faint reminder that we’re three now.

He goes still, as if feeling the movement.

His eyes brim with awe, tail brushing my side in a gentle caress.

Then his mouth resumes its slow descent, exploring the curve of my collarbone, the swell of my breasts.

I tremble, letting my tunic slip away so he can access my skin unimpeded.

Each brush of his scales, each stroke of his claws, ignites me further.

The bond that we sealed in the capital thrums in my veins like a second heartbeat, forging a sense of unity that transcends simple passion.

He kisses lower, across the gentle roundness of my belly, murmuring words of reverence in the naga tongue.

I grasp fragments: “precious,” “mine,” “eternal.” Tears threaten at the tenderness in his voice.

Then, softly, he climbs higher, meeting my gaze.

“Let me bring you pleasure,” he says, voice nearly trembling. “No fear, no council’s shadow.”

I smile through tears, drawing him closer.

“No fear,” I echo, hooking a leg around his tail.

Carefully, he aligns his hips to mine, the familiar shape of his double shafts pressed against my thigh.

My breath stutters, heart pounding. Even though we’ve done this before, each time is a new hush of wonder.

He moves against me, tail coiling beneath my hips to elevate them slightly.

I exhale in measured calm, trusting him to pace this.

He penetrates slowly, letting me adjust. My moan emerges ragged, the barbs an intense friction that’s simultaneously thrilling and delicate.

We find our rhythm, a careful melding that ensures I feel no pain, only the deep hum of pleasure.

Heat blooms in my core. I cling to his scales, nails raking gently.

He surges deeper, each stroke sending sparks along my limbs.

The lounge groans as we shift, locked in a dance that defies the stifling rules once forced upon us.

My heart swells with gratitude that this is ours, unburdened by condemnation.

His breath comes in husky gasps, eyes half-lidded with desire.

He angles to slip the second length alongside the first, a move we’ve perfected through trial and trust. I gasp, tensing momentarily.

Then I exhale, letting him guide me to new heights.

A moan rips from my throat, the barbs deliciously rubbing inside me.

The swirl of sensations robs rational thought.