Page 22

MAX

I smell her before I see her. Not the pine and ozone of Windrider glyph dust. Not the steel-and-ash of battle. Just her—crushed cedar. Burnt sugar. And something sharp underneath, like lightning cut through stormwood.

Kylie.

My jaw clenches as I round the corner of the Ironclaw lodge and find her standing in the middle of the armory. Boots propped on a crate of ammunition, arms crossed over her chest like she owns the place—and like she might blow it up just to make a point.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I growl.

She doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even blink. Just tilts her head, eyes still the same eerie green that used to see through every damn excuse I gave her. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?” I stalk toward her, every muscle coiled and ready. “Breaking into Ironclaw territory uninvited?”

She flashes that maddening grin. The one that used to undo me when I was smart enough to fear her and dumb enough to love her, anyway. “Didn’t break in. The scouts on patrol let me through. I told them I was your problem… they believed me.”

“I’ll bet. And you are right; you are a problem, although you made it clear you weren’t mine.” I stop three feet away. Close enough to smell the heat on her skin. Too close. “I’m still waiting for the part where I’m supposed to say thank you.”

She uncrosses her arms and hops down from the crate like we’re back on familiar ground—where we met; where we fought; where she left me. Maybe we are. Maybe we never left it.

“Two things,” she says, ticking them off with her fingers. “One—Ironclaw’s got a rogue signal pulsing off your southern border. Something nasty, glyph-warped and moving like it doesn’t care who’s watching. Two—I’m the only one who’s tracked it and lived.”

“And you came back to warn me out of the goodness of your heart?” I don’t believe it for a second.

“No.” Her voice drops. “I came because whatever this thing is… it used to be Windrider.”

My blood goes cold. Windrider constructs are rare. Illegal. The kind of magic your average glyph caster doesn’t survive. If something like that’s running loose near Ironclaw territory, it means only one thing… we’re not done with the gate.

I rake a hand through my hair and look away, giving myself a breath to process. That’s all I can afford. One breath. Because the second I let her back in, I know how this ends. Same way it did last time.

Burned down and broken open. But she steps closer, like she knows I’m about to shut her out and she’s not letting it happen.

“You want me gone?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

I grab her wrist before I think better of it. She gasps, not in surprise—but in recognition. We both remember exactly what this feels like.

“Last time I touched you like this,” I say low, “you ran.”

“Last time you touched me like this,” she breathes, “you told me to go.”

I pull her in. Hard. Until our bodies are flush, and her scent is the only thing I can breathe. My hand finds the back of her neck, thumb grazing the spot where I once kissed her until she forgot her own name.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Her eyes soften for half a second—just long enough for the damage to be done. Then she’s shoving me back.

“Too late for apologies,” she snaps.

“Good.” I crowd her again. “I’m not here to offer one.”

“No. You’re here to play warrior in a territory that’s falling apart, while pretending it doesn’t kill you I walked out.”

“I let you go.”

“You pushed me.”

“Because you wouldn’t have stayed—Windriders don’t stay.”

She swallows, throat working. For a second, there’s silence. Just the hum of the old ward crystals and the quiet scrape of her boot across stone.

Then, soft and sharp: “Sophia stayed for Lucas. I would’ve stayed for you.”

I close the distance in one move and press her against the wall, arms braced on either side of her head. Her breath catches, and I feel her chest rise against mine.

“You want the truth, Kylie?” I whisper against her temple. “I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped wanting you. You’ve been under my skin since the moment you drew your first blood ward in my training yard and told my second-in-command to go fuck himself.”

Her pulse stutters under my hand.

I trail my fingers down her side, slow and firm, and her lashes flutter.

“You talk like you don’t want me,” I murmur, “but you came here smelling like thunder. And you only smell like that when you’re ready to burn.”

Her head tilts back against the stone, lips parted. “And if I burn?”

“Then I make damn sure you burn for me.”

She fists my shirt and drags me down into her. The kiss is all bite and punishment—no give, no mercy. Just months and months of what if and why not and fuck you for not choosing me when it mattered.

But it’s her moan that does me in—low, desperate, unshielded.

I scoop her up, turn, and slam her down on the table like I’ve done this a hundred times in dreams I’ll never admit to. Her legs wrap around my waist. My hand finds the hem of her shirt. When I pull it up, she arches into me like she’s waited every night since that battle for this exact moment.

I kiss her neck. Hard.

"Say the word, and I'll stop," I whisper fiercely, my voice a fervent plea to whatever unseen forces rule this world, praying desperately that she won't utter it.

She remains silent, her eyes blazing with determination as her fingers expertly unfasten my belt with a swift motion that ignites a raging wildfire in my veins.

"You stop now," she rasps, her voice a fierce vow, "and I'll carve a glyph into your chest that won't heal for a year."

"Gods, I missed your threats," I murmur, a potent blend of nostalgia and desire swirling in my chest.

Her hands seize me with a fervor that burns, unyielding, while mine explore her with equal intensity. It's a storm of chaos, hunger, and old fury, all merging into something infinitely larger. She gasps as I thrust in; her nails digging into my back, leaving searing trails as her legs lock around me with a desperation that screams of fear I might vanish again.

But there's no chance of that.

I claim her with a raw intensity, as if engraving this moment into memory, determined to eclipse every detail of the last time. Beneath me, she's a wild tempest, every thrust met with a bite, a scrape, a cry that sends electric shocks racing down my spine.

"You think you're still angry," I growl, my voice rough with exertion, "but your body doesn't lie."

Her hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back as she grins, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Neither does yours."

I curse against her throat, feeling her tighten around me, each pulse a wave of sensation. Her voice breaks on a groan of my name, leaving us both shattered and breathless in the aftermath.

Later, when we’re both catching our breath and the heat between us has shifted from wildfire to a low, steady burn, she sits up on the edge of the table and cups my jaw.

“You know this changes nothing, right?” she says like she means it.

“You can keep telling yourself that, but this time I’ll prove you wrong.”

I mean it. Even if I have to keep her bound to me physically for the rest of our lives. I lean in and kiss her once—slow and final.

Because the thing about Windriders? They always come back to the storm, and my time at the gate taught me many things… among them, I am the storm.

Max and Kylie will return later this year.