Page 61 of Lord of the Lone Wolf (Bonded Hearts #3)
Maseo
K itsuki’s arms encircled Maseo with a gentleness that belied his immense strength.
The dragon king offered a sanctuary Maseo had never known was possible.
The burning in his ruined eye socket pulsed with each heartbeat, while the injuries across his ribs and back felt like acid eating away at his flesh.
Yet beneath the physical torment, a new sensation spread through his chest.
Safety.
The weight of the truth settled over him. After years of constant vigilance, of waiting for the next punishment, Maseo had emerged victorious against the man who had broken him countless times.
Kitsuki’s skin radiated heat against his own, the contact between their bare chests intimate in a way Maseo had never experienced with his previous partners.
His heart raced in response, and he knew Kitsuki could hear it. The thought made his face warm with self-consciousness, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away when each second in Kitsuki’s arms healed a wound he had carried all his life.
The scent of icicles and magic enveloped him, mingling with Kitsuki’s subtle spice.
It was nothing like the stench of decay and corruption that had clung to his father.
Instead, it spoke of power used in service of others rather than for domination.
It evoked a sense of home Maseo had never associated with that word before.
Kitsuki cradled the back of Maseo’s head with such tenderness that he had to close his remaining eye against the sudden burn of tears. No one had touched him so tenderly since his mother, and even those memories had faded with time, leaving behind only a vague impression of comfort long lost.
Kitsuki trembled with emotion. That slight tremor stopped Maseo cold. The legendary Ice King of Valzerna should never falter at the possibility of losing him, yet he did.
Him. Maseo. The halfling bastard nobody had ever wanted.
But in Kitsuki’s arms, he felt valued beyond his skills as a warrior or his usefulness as an ally against Nasume. The dragon king held him as if he mattered because he was Maseo, not because of what he could do or provide.
That realization, more than the defeat of his father or the end of the war, threatened to undo him. The simple miracle of being valued for who he was rather than what he could offer felt so foreign, so unexpected, that it cracked the foundations of everything he had believed about himself.
The chains of his father’s legacy, which had bound Maseo for so long, loosened their hold. Even if his fate was to die in three weeks, as the auramancer had said, at least Maseo would die knowing someone cared about him.
When Kitsuki drew back, the word “Wait” slipped past Maseo’s lips before he could consider its implications. His arms tightened around Kitsuki, holding the dragon king in place with a desperation that embarrassed him as soon as he recognized it.
Heat flooded his face as he realized what he had done, the impropriety of a halfling bastard asking a king to prolong an embrace.
He released his hold, an apology already forming on his lips, when Kitsuki’s arms tightened around him once more, drawing him back against the solid warmth of the dragon king’s chest.
“You are safe,” Kitsuki murmured, his voice a deep rumble that Maseo felt as much as heard. “You did a remarkable thing today, Maseo. Through your bravery, you saved everyone from Nasume’s madness, including me.”
The praise washed over Maseo like warm rain after a drought, seeping into the parched soil of his soul. He had spent his entire life starved of approval. Now, it came from the king he didn’t feel worthy to breathe the same air as.
He allowed himself to sink into the embrace, accepting the comfort offered. Kitsuki’s fingers threaded through his hair in a soothing rhythm that made Maseo’s remaining eye flutter shut. The simple pleasure of being touched with kindness rather than cruelty was profound.
Each stroke against Maseo’s scalp evoked distant memories of his mother singing him to sleep, before pain and fear had become his constant companions. He leaned into the touch, craving more of the unexpected tenderness.
Was that what it felt like to be cared for?
To be valued not for what you could do or provide, but for who you were?
If so, Maseo understood why people fought so hard for love, why they wrote songs and poems about it, and why they risked everything to find and keep it. That feeling was worth any sacrifice.
He knew he shouldn’t indulge in such thoughts.
Kitsuki’s mating bond with Auslin was legendary in its depth and strength.
The moment of comfort was born of shared trauma and relief, nothing more.
Yet Maseo couldn’t help the way his heart quickened with each gentle stroke of Kitsuki’s fingers through his hair.
He soaked in the care and concern like a man dying of thirst who had stumbled upon a clear river. Tomorrow would bring reality back in full force, with all its limitations and impossibilities. But if only for tonight, he would permit himself to feel worthy of such kindness.
“Your Majesty,” a guard’s voice called from outside the tent, shattering the peaceful silence. “The War Power is here to see you.”
Kitsuki’s body tensed at the announcement before they separated to create a respectable distance between them.
“Send her in,” Kitsuki replied.
Maseo mourned the loss of contact as Kitsuki rose from the bed and moved to retrieve a clean tunic from a nearby trunk. The sudden absence of the dragon king’s warmth left Maseo feeling adrift, untethered in a way that made the pain of his wounds return with renewed intensity.
The mark across his ribs ached with each breath, sending fire through his torso, while the wound between his shoulder blades felt as if claws lodged deep in his flesh. But nothing hurt worse than his eye, which throbbed with every beat of his heart.
Maseo straightened as best he could, wincing as the movement pulled at the gash across his ribs. He hated being shirtless in front of her, with blood and necromantic fluid still seeping from his wounds.
Kizoshi strode in with the confident grace that always awed and intimidated Maseo.
Her red armor gleamed in the lantern light, immaculate despite the battle that had raged beyond the tent.
Her crimson hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of fire, and her amethyst eyes, so unlike Kitsuki’s deep blue, surveyed the scene before her with knowing amusement.
“Well, brother,” she said, her lips curving into a smirk as she glanced between Kitsuki and Maseo. “I see you have been tending to our hero.”
Kitsuki pulled on his tunic, his expression composed once more. “Maseo’s wounds require careful attention.”
“They most certainly do,” Kizoshi replied, her tone suggesting she understood far more than was being said. She approached the bed with measured steps. “And how is the slayer of Nasume feeling after his victory?”
Before Maseo could respond, Kizoshi stood before him, reaching out to cup the uninjured right side of his face.
She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb.
The gesture was so unexpected and gentle that Maseo found himself frozen in place, uncertain how to react to such familiarity from the War Power herself. “Overwhelmed?”
“Thank you for ending Nasume’s miserable existence,” she said, her voice softer than he had ever heard it, though an undercurrent of fierce satisfaction thrummed beneath her words. “I regret I could not be there to witness it myself.”
Her thumb continued its tender path across his cheekbone.
“Take heart in knowing you are the only worthy thing that monster ever created, the only redemptive act in a millennium of depravity. The universe has a profound sense of justice, that his own blood would be the instrument of his destruction.”
The praise from Kizoshi left Maseo speechless.
He had spent his life being told he was worthless, a disappointment, a burden.
To hear the War Power herself declare him valuable, to thank him as if he had fulfilled her most cherished wish, was so disorienting that he could only stare at her in mute astonishment.
“You have done what I have long wished I could,” she continued. “Every breath he took was an insult to existence itself. But fate demanded it be your hand, not mine, that ended him. And how fitting it is that the son he tried to break became the weapon that destroyed him.”
She looked at him with pride. “Now that you are blind in one eye, you will see everything so much clearer.” Her lips curved into a mysterious smile.
“The veil between what is and what could be grows thin for those who have sacrificed a part of themselves to fate. What you have lost in physical sight, you will gain tenfold in vision of another kind.”
Maseo didn’t know how to respond to such a statement. Kizoshi often spoke in riddles that only made sense in hindsight, if at all.
“Your Majesty, General Jaega requests an audience,” a guard announced.
“Send him in,” Kitsuki requested.
Jaega’s imposing height made the spacious area feel small when he entered. His gaze landed on Maseo, widening at the sight of his injuries before his expression settled into familial concern.
“I am proud to announce that the Kunushi forces have surrendered,” Jaega reported. “Word of Nasume’s death spread through their ranks fast. Without his leadership and the fear he inspired, they refused to continue fighting. The war is over.”
His simple declaration hung in the air, its weight and significance almost too vast to comprehend. The conflict that had claimed thousands of lives and brought kingdoms to the brink of destruction had ended because Maseo had defeated his father.
“That is indeed welcome news, Uncle,” Kitsuki replied, his voice steady despite the momentous nature of the announcement. “Are they willing to accept our plans for the leadership vacuum in Kunushi?”