Page 27 of Moonlit Desires
His own injuries have reopened during their passion, the bandages now soaked through with blood that has begun to dry at the edges.
Yet he shows no sign of pain or weakness, his focus entirely on ensuring her wellbeing.
There's something deeply moving about his concern, this powerful creature who could tear stone with his bare hands now gentle as he checks her for harm he might have caused.
Apparently satisfied that she's suffered no serious injury, Thorne relaxes visibly, tension leaving his shoulders as he settles back onto the furs.
He draws her against him with careful pressure, arranging her so that her head rests in the hollow of his shoulder, her body tucked along the length of his side.
One arm curls around her protectively, large hand splayed across her ribs where he can feel each breath she takes.
"I've never..." he begins, then stops, something vulnerable flickering across his features. "Not with someone like you. Someone I could harm so easily."
Lyra understands what he doesn't say—that his previous encounters must have been with partners who could match his strength, withstand his beast nature without risk. The admission makes this moment more significant, heightens the trust implicit in what they've shared.
Her fingers find the starburst scar above his heart, tracing its edges with quiet curiosity. The tissue feels different from the surrounding skin—smoother, slightly cooler, as if whatever caused it burned away something essential that never fully regenerated.
"How did you get this?" she asks, the question emerging naturally in the intimate aftermath of their joining.
Thorne's chest rises and falls with a deep breath, his eyes fixing on the domed ceiling above them. For a moment, she thinks he won't answer, but then his voice comes, lower than before, edged with old pain.
"My powers manifested early. Most shapeshifters don't develop their abilities until adolescence, but mine appeared when I was barely seven.
" His hand covers hers where it rests on the scar, pressing her palm flat against the damaged tissue.
"I was angry about something trivial—a broken toy, a denied treat, I don't even remember now.
But the rage triggered the first shift, and I had no control. "
He falls silent for a moment, collecting memories that clearly pain him to revisit.
When he continues, his voice has roughened further.
"My mother tried to calm me. Approached too quickly.
I... reacted." The final word carries centuries of regret.
"My claws were new, unfamiliar. I didn't understand their strength. "
Lyra turns her face against his chest, pressing her lips to the edge of the scar in wordless comfort. The gesture draws a soft sound from him—surprise melting into gratitude.
"She survived," he adds quickly. "But the damage was done.
I'd proven myself dangerous, uncontrolled.
My father had special chambers constructed beneath our home in the north quarter of the Court.
Silver-reinforced walls, no windows, everything built to contain something monstrous.
" His laugh holds no humor. "I spent seven years in those rooms, learning to master the beast through isolation and discipline. "
"Seven years?" Lyra echoes, unable to hide her horror at the thought of a child confined for so long. "Alone?"
"Not entirely. Tutors came, though they never stayed long.
Guards delivered food and necessities, speaking through the door rather than facing me directly.
" His fingers trace idle patterns along her spine, seemingly unconscious of the motion.
"Kael visited when he could. He was already old then, already legendary—the Stone-Hearted Warrior who had served three generations of Moonshadow queens.
He saw something in me worth salvaging."
The confession feels weighted with significance—not just the sharing of painful history but the offering of context for the guardian he's become.
Each scar on his body represents a chapter in a life defined by struggle against his own nature, by the constant battle for control that even now requires conscious effort.
"Is that why you became a guardian?" Lyra asks, echoing her question from their encounter in the Silverwood, but with new understanding coloring the inquiry. "To prove you could protect rather than harm?"
Thorne nods, the movement felt rather than seen as his chin brushes the top of her head.
"Kael offered me purpose when I had none.
A chance to transform isolation into service, to make my curse into something useful.
" His arms tighten fractionally around her.
"The others understood in their own ways.
Riven taught me to channel rage into shadow-walking.
Ashen showed me how to find stillness in chaos.
" A smile touches his voice. "We're all broken in different ways.
Perhaps that's why we work well together. "
Their conversation drifts into comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional shift of position as they find the most natural way to fit their bodies together.
The chamber has grown cooler as night deepens, but Thorne's supernatural warmth keeps the chill at bay.
Outside, the moon continues its arc across the sky, visible through the opening above in fragments between passing clouds.
Gradually, Thorne's breathing changes, deepening and slowing as exhaustion from his healing wounds and their passionate encounter finally claims him.
His arms remain around her even in sleep, one heavy across her waist, the other curved beneath her head like a living pillow.
His face softens in unconsciousness, the perpetual vigilance easing from his features to reveal a glimpse of what he might have been without centuries of struggle.
Lyra stays awake, watching the play of moonlight across his sleeping form.
His chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, the powerful body now vulnerable in repose.
She studies the scars that map his skin—not just the starburst above his heart, but dozens of others in various stages of healing.
Each mark tells a story of violence survived, of battles won or lost, of a life lived at the border between human and beast.
In sleep, he looks younger, the weight of guardianship temporarily lifted from his shoulders.
One hand twitches slightly, fingers curling as if reaching for something only he can see in dreams. The gesture is oddly endearing, a reminder that beneath the warrior's exterior lies someone capable of tenderness she's only begun to discover.
The encounter between them has shifted something fundamental in their relationship.
What began as protector and protected has transformed into something more complex, more equal despite the obvious differences in their physical strength and experience.
She came to the Moon Court as heir and potential queen; he has served as guardian for centuries.
Yet in this chamber, on these furs, they met as simply man and woman, beast and human, finding unexpected harmony in their differences.
As dawn approaches, painting the edges of the ceiling's opening with the first hints of pale gold, Lyra contemplates the challenges that await beyond this temporary sanctuary.
The Court's politics, the threatened curse, the emissaries' demands—all seem distant now, but will reassert their urgency with the coming day.
When they leave this chamber, they must resume their formal roles: she the returned heir with a destiny to fulfill, he the beast-guardian sworn to protect her with his life.
But something of this night will remain between them—a truth acknowledged, a connection forged in vulnerability as much as passion.
Thorne has shown her parts of himself few have ever seen, entrusting her with knowledge of his origins, his struggles, his fears.
In return, she has accepted all of him—not just the warrior, not just the beast, but the complex whole that encompasses both.
The royal mark between her shoulder blades pulses once more, a gentle reminder of the power and responsibility she carries.
Whatever comes next—whatever threats they face from within the Court or beyond its borders—she will face it with clearer understanding of at least one of her guardians.
And perhaps, in understanding him better, she has taken one small step toward understanding her own divided nature: half-human, half-fae, belonging fully to neither world yet drawing strength from both.
Thorne shifts in his sleep, arms tightening around her momentarily before relaxing again.
Lyra settles against him, allowing herself this moment of peace before the world beyond reasserts its demands.
For now, in the quiet of his den, surrounded by the evidence of his dual nature, she has found an unexpected sanctuary—and perhaps, an unexpected ally in the battles to come.