Page 26 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

The kiss was slow, as though he was touching something sacred.

His lips moved against mine with quiet reverence, like every second had been earned through grief, through silence, through the ache of time itself.

His hand lifted to cup my face, calloused fingers brushed my jaw, anchoring me.

I melted into him, into the warmth of his touch, the solidity of his chest, the quiet promise behind every press of his lips.

He tasted like honey and wild wind and something older than the stars. After a moment of absorbing the sensations rushing through me, I kissed him back. Just like I had read in my mother's romance books. Inexperienced, a little hesitant, but ready to explore whatever he was offering.

Gently, he nudged my lips apart, the tip of his tongue feathered past my teeth, entered my mouth, and found my tongue.

The moment they met, heat rushed through me, and I felt like I was melting into him.

Automatically, my hands moved up, fisted his shirt, as if I were afraid he would pull back, and I couldn't let that happen.

One of his hands was still on my cheek, the other buried in my hair.

A moan moved through his chest, felt by my fingertips.

Heat spread through my belly, creating the most fascinating sensations inside me.

My blood didn't just rush through my veins; it felt like it was bubbling.

Something happened in my core, too. An ache began to grow deep inside me, moving down my pussy with a liquidy thickness, drenching my panties.

This was what I had read about. This was what happened to the heroines in those books.

But they had been wrong . This was so much more, so much more powerful, so frightening and exhilarating.

When we finally pulled apart, neither of us moved far.

Our foreheads touched, and my hands were still holding on to his shirt, where I could feel the hard pounding of his heart.

Slowly, I opened my eyes to the sight of the deepest obsidian I had ever seen.

They seemed to glow with an intensity, a want, a need that should have scared me. But it didn't.

Time unraveled in that moment, like a fast-forward.

I saw us walking afternoons, at dusk, at night.

I saw Mallack teach me about nictas, watched us as he tried to take my fear away.

I saw us with my mother, walking in a market, hand in hand.

Moments slipped like threads through my fingers until I wasn’t sure how much time had gone by.

I floated through shadows and light, days bleeding into nights, stars flickering like lanterns above me.

And then, he was there again. Not by the river, but in a hidden grove bathed in moonlight, the air was filled with the scent of sweet blossoms. His lips found mine once more, softer this time, lingering, like we had all the time in the world.

Another kiss, then another, each one an anchor pulling me back from the dream even as I drifted deeper into it.

"Daphne," he said. My name sounded like a prayer from his lips. "Daphne. Querilly."

I knew what a querilly was. A soulmate. It was an unbreakable bond between Leanders.

I wasn't a Leander, but the gods help me, I felt it too.

I had been born on this planet, had never known anything else, and neither had my mother.

Did that mean that the bond could be formed between a Leander and a human?

It sure felt like it, because what I felt for this male was more than love. At least more than what I knew about it, which came back down to… books. But in that moment, I knew I would die for him. I would die if he left me. That was another thought that should have frightened me, but it didn't.

“Daphne,” he said, in a raw with emotion voice that trembled at the edges. “I love you. I love you so deeply, it feels like a wound that never truly heals. An ache carved into my soul.”

He stepped closer, his eyes burned into mine, dark and endless and open in a way I’d never seen before.

“When you’re not with me, something in me splinters. Even a few hours apart feels like a lifetime. I try to breathe, but it’s like my lungs refuse to work without your presence beside me.”

He reached for my hand, brought it to his chest, holding it over his heart as if it were the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

Everything inside me fluttered, like I was a live wire, ready to ignite.

“You are my calm and my storm. My past, my future, and everything in between.

I need you, Daphne. I need you with me at all times. "

His voice dropped, and my heart surged, “Will you be my mate?”

A shadow moved across his features while he was saying those words. I would have almost called it insecurity, but that couldn't be. Not from my big, strong vissigroth.

I didn't need to think about an answer; it was as if my body, my mind, my heart, and my soul had known it from the moment I saw him riding into our city.

"Oh, Mallack," I could hardly believe that he had asked me. Me! "I love you too. Zyn."

"Zyn?" he checked, and this time the insecurity was clearly written on his face.

"Zyn," I laughed, moving my arms from his chest to wrap around his neck. "A hundred times, zyn!"

His hands grabbed my waist, and he swung me in a circle.

"Zyn," he laughed.

This time, when I woke up, despite the dream dissolving into hundreds of untraceable tendrils, a feeling of happiness lingered. Happiness wasn't the right word. I felt exhilarated, I felt alive. I felt !

The next thing I noticed was warmth.

Not the dappled sun peeking through the canopy, or the dying embers of our fire, but a steady, living warmth wrapped around me. A body. Strong, unmoving, and vast. My cheek rested against a broad chest that rose and fell in the most peaceful rhythm I’d ever known.

Mallack.

I stiffened slightly, half-expecting him to shift away or break the spell. But his arm only tightened subtly around my waist, anchoring me closer. I couldn’t see his face, my vision was full of aqua skin and muscles—but I could feel him.

Something deep inside me sighed with delight at being cocooned like this.

I probably shouldn’t have felt this way.

I probably should have been outraged. He was still a stranger, even though he claimed and, by all accounts of the people around us, was my mate.

Yet, outrage was the furthest emotion on my mind.

I didn’t know why. But I felt it all the same, this overwhelming sense of security, as if the world could fall to pieces and this moment would still hold.

I closed my eyes for another heartbeat. A rumble going through his chest announced his words before he spoke them, “You’re awake.”

I smiled against his chest, "So are you."

“I’ve been awake,” he replied, voice gravel-deep from sleep. “I was afraid to move. This...” his hand brushed lightly against my spine, not possessive, just steady, " this has always been my favorite part of the day. Waking up with you in my arms.”

I felt my cheeks heat instantly from the huskiness in his tone.

“I can see why,” I murmured, unable to stop the smile that crept onto my lips.

His chest vibrated with a low hum of amusement, but he didn’t move away. If anything, his grip on me shifted; his large hand slid from the small of my back to settle against my hip. The pressure was light. But it still ignited a storm of emotions and sensations in me.

Goosebumps swept down my arms in a cascade, even though I wasn’t cold. Quite the opposite. His palm rested at the curve of my waist like it belonged there, like it had always belonged there. As if he were reacquainting himself with old territory that had waited for him in silence.

I tried not to react, but my breath hitched.

My thighs pressed together instinctively, and that strange yearning—the one I’d felt in flickers before—rushed up from deep inside me.

He must have felt the shift, the tension thrumming under my skin, because his fingers tightened just slightly, anchoring me as if he sensed I might fly apart from the inside out.

“I used to wake up like this every morning,” he said lowly, the roughness in his voice laced with something new, something warmer. “Your hair in my face. Your body pressed to mine. It never stopped making me ache.”

A shiver rippled through me. A shiver paired with a want that was primal and instinctive.

One that felt like it belonged to someone else—a past version of me, long buried, but slowly waking up alongside my body.

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what I was going to say.

I only knew I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want his hand to stop.

I most definitely didn't want to hear Myccael's voice calling from outside the tent. “Hope you’re decent.”

I jerked, a fresh blush rushed to my cheeks just as the flap rustled open and our son stepped in, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. His gaze swept the empty bed, then landed squarely on the two of us tangled on the ground.

“Looks comfy,” he said dryly.

My face went up in flames.

Mallack groaned behind me and muttered, “Snyg's teeth.”

“Day’s not getting any younger, old male,” Myccael added, barely hiding his grin, “and neither are you.”

Mallack growled something that sounded like a curse, but he didn’t bother moving his arm from around me. His only concession was to rest his forehead against the back of my head with a sigh.

Then Myccael’s gaze softened as it shifted to me. “Breakfast will be here soon,” his voice was light, almost teasing. “Better get some distance between you two.”

I didn’t know whether to crawl under the bedroll or bury my face in Mallack’s chest again. So I ended up doing both.

The flap hadn't even finished settling when I heard more voices outside. Footsteps. Then the distinct clatter of trays and dishes. Oh ney.

My fingers fisted the blanket. I didn’t have time to move, to hide, to even think of something clever or casual.

A stream of servants entered the tent like a procession, quietly and efficiently.

I was devastatingly aware of the fact that there was a bed , and then there was…

us. On the ground . I felt the servant's eyes travel over us; thankfully, they were well enough trained not to comment.

The way I was still curled into Mallack’s side could not be mistaken for anything innocent.

I pulled more furs over my head, wishing with every cell in my body that the earth would open beneath me and swallow me whole.

When that didn’t happen, I did the next best thing: I became completely, utterly still.

A lump of mortification under a blanket. A ghost. A fossil. Gone.

Mallack’s chest shook under me. The bastard was laughing. This situation amused him. I ground my teeth, not in anger, but because… a giggle was about to escape me, too. Here we were, grown-ups, mated, and I felt like a teenager being caught by her parents. Or so I assumed.

The scent of hot food drifted into the air: smoked meats, sweetbread, and that spiced tea the Leanders loved that always made me sneeze.

Platters were set out. Cups poured. Dishes placed with ritualistic care.

I heard Myccael mutter something about at least one of them has shame , and then he snorted .

Gods help me.

Eventually, the last tray clinked into place, followed by a shuffle of boots and polite coughs. Then the tent flap lifted again, quietly this time, and the servants made their exit.

A heavy silence followed.

Myccael’s voice, perfectly amused and absolutely infuriating, announced, “I’ll just be sitting over here until the two of you are…decent.”

Mallack shifted under me and spoke to my hidden form. “You know we have to move eventually.”

“Or,” I whispered into his chest, “you could kill me now. Make it quick. It would be a mercy.”

His voice was deep and hoarse, with a hint of amusement, “If I ever had reason to regret you being returned to me,” he murmured, “this isn’t it.”

His words affected me more than I could have explained, even if someone put a sword to my throat.

I was grateful that he didn’t rush me. That he gave me all the time in the world to gather my bearings, and eventually, I peeked out from under the furs like a dying vole and found the tent filled with golden morning light.

A very smug-looking susserayn sat at a small, elegantly laid table, sipping tea like a male waiting for gossip to bloom.

Mallack sat up behind me and stretched, unconcerned. Smug bastard. Then he rose to his feet in one fluid motion, offering me a hand. I took it only because I had no dignity left anyway.

We joined Myccael at the table, and I tried very hard to ignore the way his eyes sparkled with unspoken laughter as I took my seat. The moment I lifted my tea, the steam fogged my vision, which was probably a blessing.

Then the strangest thing happened. We ate.

Like a family.

Despite all the awkwardness leading up to it—for all the heat still lingering in my cheeks—I couldn’t stop the small warmth that bloomed deep inside me.

The clink of dishes. The back-and-forth rhythm of conversation.

Mallack's low, gravelly voice. Myccael’s quick sarcasm.

Even their occasional disagreement had a music to it that felt oddly familiar.

It was like I was cocooned again. This time, by the love I felt coming off both males, for each other and for me.

They began discussing the day’s plans. About the other sites Tovahr had drilled. They speculated that one of them might be connected to another buried air pocket or even a city. Mallack wanted to see for himself. They discussed teams. Terrain. Timelines.

“I’m coming too,” I said, mid-bite.

Both heads turned to look at me.

“I mean it,” I added, brushing a crumb from my lip. “If there’s more of those…holes, and if that has anything to do with why I was… awakened, then I need to be there.”

Myccael looked to Mallack, who stared at me. His expression said everything before he opened his mouth, so I added in a confident voice, "I won't stay behind."