Page 104 of Forged in Fire

Riven guides me toward the SUV, and I don’t resist. The bond pulls at me now that the immediate crisis has passed, demanding acknowledgment and completion.

“I’ll take it from here,” he tells the driver, who gives a curt nod and slides out of the front seat. Riven takes his place, nodding to the passenger seat beside him. I climb in and buckle up.

“We have things to discuss,” says Riven.

The understatement of the century.

“I know,” I acknowledge. And then I brace for the conversation that’s about to change everything.

Chapter 31

Riven

The silence in the SUV cuts deeper than any blade I’ve wielded. Two feet of leather and tension separate us, but it might as well be an ocean. Every breath Iris takes registers in my peripheral vision. Every shift of her body against the seat sends heat rolling through my chest.

The strange new connection between us pulls tight as piano wire, vibrating with unspoken need.

I should focus on the road. On the rain streaking the windshield, the familiar weight of the Sig against my ribs, the details that keep people alive. Should do all of the things I’ve been trained to do.

Instead, I’m taking in the way fire flares in her hair under passing streetlights. The small sound she makes when she shifts position. The scent that clings to her that’s become as familiar to me as my own.

Nearly lost her. Nearly lost this before we understood what it was.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until the leather protests.

“Riven.” Her voice rips through the static in my skull.

I don’t answer. Can’t trust what might come out if I open my mouth.

She doesn’t push. Just lets the silence stretch while Seattle blurs past us, neon reflections splattered on wet asphalt. The city looks different now. Sharper. More vivid. Everything looks different when you’ve felt someone’s pain echo in your bones, watched them nearly die while every instinct you possess screamed to protect what’s yours.

Mine.

The thought shakes me, makes scales threaten to surface along my shoulders. I’ve never belonged to anything except the Guild. Never belonged to anyone. But sitting here with her scent in my lungs and her pulse synced to mine, belonging doesn’t feel like weakness.

It feels like coming alive.

The Aurora Collective headquarters rises ahead of us—uncompromising lines that speak of power held in check. Security teams sweep the perimeter. Normal protocols for abnormal people.

I kill the engine in the underground garage, muscle memory guiding the SUV into a slot between concrete pillars. The sudden quiet amplifies everything. Her breathing. The electric tension that’s been building since we walked out of those caves. It’s been killing me to wait. To have this thing hanging unfinished between us.

“Iris…”

She turns toward me, and the look in those beautiful eyes stops whatever I was going to say. Hunger. Recognition. Thesame desperate need that’s been clawing at my chest since I felt her terror and couldn’t understand how her emotions could feel like my own.

“Where?” Her voice is husky with want.

I don’t ask where what. Don’t pretend this is anything but inevitable.

“Your quarters.”

She nods. We move.

The elevator ride lasts forever and no time at all. Iris stands close enough that her shoulder brushes mine when the car shifts, and each contact sends lightning through nerve endings that seem to be firing all at once. Her fingers twist together, betraying nerves that don’t show in her face.

Good. This should be terrifying. What we’re about to do changes everything.

The third-floor corridor stretches empty ahead of us, lights casting hard shadows between doorways. Our footsteps are in sync as I lead her to the room we shared together just nights ago.