Page 58 of Shifting Hearts

TWELVE

Moon Burn

Emilia

T he fire crackles low in the hearth as I press a fresh cloth to Lucian’s shoulder, watching as the bruises fade, the torn skin knits closed. He heals fast, even for a hunter wolf but he’s still too pale. Too quiet.

“You should rest,” I whisper.

His eyes open slowly, glowing faintly amber in the low light. “You should stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m going to leave again.”

I pause. Then toss the cloth into the basin.

“I’m not looking at you like anything. You almost died. I’m too tired to make up my mind about you tonight.”

He laughs, rough and short. “Fair.”

I start to stand, but his hand catches mine.

“Stay,” he says. “Just for a while.” And I do.

The full moon rises over Crystal Falls, casting silver across the cabin floor like spilled light. I watch it from the armchair, legs pulled up to my chest, trying not to think. But of course, I do, I can’t help it.

I think of the fight and of Nara’s eyes before she fell. Of the way my magic felt, not like something borrowed or feared, but something mine.

Lucian stirs on the couch, the blanket sliding off his chest. Moonlight touches him like it knows him. He looks at me again and this time, there’s no fight left between us.

Just heat. And the pull. The damned bond neither of us can seem to outrun.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he says softly.

“I know.”

“I should keep my distance. I should let you go. I’ve already hurt you so much.”

“Yes, you have,” I agree softly.

He leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “But I can’t stop. I don’t know how.”

I stand slowly, crossing the room until I’m standing between his knees. “Then don’t.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

His hands find my waist. My fingers thread through his hair and I tip his head back. When our mouths meet, there’s no hesitation, no fear. Only fire.

He lifts me easily, even with his injuries, carrying me to the bed in the corner, the one we have both been ignoring, as if I weigh nothing. His mouth never leaves mine, is kisses are urgent and hungry, but reverent too. Like he’s memorizing the shape of me, the feel of us.

My clothes fall away and his follow. There’s no ceremony to it, just need. Just two people finally letting themselves have what fate already promised. When he sinks into me, it’s not rough. Not fast. It’s right.

The bond explodes between us, lightning down my spine, heat curling through every nerve ending. I cry out, and he shudders, forehead pressed to mine.

“I feel you,” he groans.

“I’m yours,” I whisper.

And I mean it. Even after everything he put me through, I am his.

We move like we’ve done this a hundred times. Like our bodies remember. His hand finds mine, fingers laced tight. The orgasm hits me hard, tearing through me with the force of a storm. I can feel his in the next breath, sharp and raw, his name on my lips, mine on his.

And then silence. Nothing except the sound of our heartbeats and the wind outside.

Hours later, I lie tangled with him in the sheets, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. He strokes my hair, his other arm locked around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

“Tell me this wasn’t a mistake,” he murmurs.

I press a kiss to his skin. “It wasn’t.”

He sighs. “I should’ve known. The first time I looked at you, I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I was already lost.”