Page 52

52

LIORA

M y life has changed, my whole world.

Not in the way the universe shifts when war ends, or when rulers fall, or when new gods rise. No, this change is quieter, softer, a shift measured in breaths, in touches, in the way Dain and I wake up wrapped around each other with no enemies left to fight.

Two weeks have passed since we burned everything down and built something new from the ashes.

Our home is deep in the forest, nestled between the bones of an ancient ruin overtaken by nature. Towering trees weave a protective canopy overhead, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. The walls of our home are stone, reinforced with wood Dain cut himself, shaped by his claws, his strength. I wove magic through the foundation, not as a weapon, but as protection, a warding spell to keep us hidden from those who would call us abominations.

A Purna and a Gargoyle.

Neither of us belong to our people anymore. Neither of us care.

I step outside onto the worn wooden steps, letting the sun bathe my skin in warmth. The scent of damp earth and fresh pine lingers in the air, mingling with the faint, smoky remnants of last night’s fire. Somewhere in the distance, a river rushes over smooth stones, feeding into the small pool we sometimes bathe in together.

My lips curve. That memory is a dangerous one.

I look down at my hands, at the faint glow beneath my skin. My magic no longer feels like a cage, no longer sings with the voices of the past. The artifact is gone, its grip severed. I am free.

A rustle of wings, a shift in the wind.

He’s there.

Dain lands beside me, his massive wings stirring the dust, his presence an anchor, a force, something I could never outrun even if I tried.

I never want to again.

His golden eyes lock onto me, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing me all over again. He does that often, just stares, as if he’s trying to make sense of the fact that we survived, that we’re here, that we aren’t fighting anymore.

Or maybe he is fighting. Fighting the need to devour me every time we’re in the same space.

I smirk. “Are you just going to watch me all morning, or?—?”

He’s in front of me before I can finish, his clawed hands caging me in, gripping the wooden post behind me. Trapping me.

My breath hitches, my pulse hammering.

His voice is a low, dangerous growl. “Do you have a problem with the way I look at you, Purna?”

His breath is warm against my skin, his lips a whisper away from my throat. He’s teasing me. He’s baiting me.

I let him.

I trail my fingers over the ridges of his chest, tracing the scars, the battle wounds, the lines of a body built for war but softened by me. He shudders, his wings twitching at the contact.

“I like it,” I murmur. “I like it when you watch me.”

A deep, rumbling sound escapes him, something between approval and hunger.

“I should’ve marked you the moment you returned to me,” he breathes, his lips grazing my jaw. “I should’ve claimed you so that every creature in this cursed world knew exactly who you belong to.”

Heat pulses low in my stomach.

“You already did,” I whisper.

He freezes.

Slowly, he pulls back.

Dain doesn’t often hesitate. He is a creature of instinct, of violence and desire, a being who acts before he thinks. But now…

Now, he’s thinking.

A storm brews in his gaze, something weighty, something final, and I realize whatever he is about to say, it matters.

He releases a slow breath, tilting his head, studying me like he’s about to jump off a ledge and isn’t sure if I’ll follow.

“Be my mate.”

I blink, my lips parting. My heart stops, stumbles, races.

Dain’s jaw clenches, but his eyes burn with certainty, with possession. Not just any possession. Ours. A choice, a claim, a bond that can never be severed again.

“We’re already bonded,” I whisper, searching his expression.

“Yes.” His voice is gravel, raw edges and quiet devotion. “But I want you to choose it.” He tightens his grip around my wrist, rubbing his thumb against my pulse point. Steady. Strong. “I want to bind you to me in the old ways, not just by fate, not just by magic—but by choice.”

The ritual.

It’s more than a bond. More than a vow. It’s forever. It’s a promise written into blood, sealed in spirit, eternal.

A mate in the truest sense.

My chest tightens.

Not with fear. Not with uncertainty.

But with something deeper.

I step closer, pressing my palm against his heart, feeling the way it hammers beneath my touch. “You’re sure?” I whisper.

His golden eyes darken, his hand curling around the nape of my neck, tilting my face up to his. “There has never been anything in my life I’ve been more certain of.”

Something inside me breaks apart, reforms, becomes something new.

I have spent so many lifetimes running, breaking, shattering beneath what I was supposed to be. And yet, here he is, standing before me, offering me something no one ever has.

A choice.

A home.

A future.

A mate.

A slow, trembling smile spreads across my lips.

“Yes,” I whisper.

His expression shifts, not shock, not surprise, but relief, a deep, growling satisfaction that rumbles through his chest as he grips my face in both hands and devours me whole.

His lips crash into mine, desperate, hungry, full of a promise that will never break.

I will be his. For all eternity.