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Trembling, I press my forehead against my bent knees, shoulders shaking. I can’t do this. I don’t want to die. But the monarchy hunts me, hunts us, and Malphas suffers every time he resists. My heart tears in two, battling survival instincts against a fierce bond I never chose. Damn it.

Some time passes—maybe minutes, maybe hours. Malphas stirs with a ragged exhale, eyes flicking open. He catches sight of my crouched form, tear-streaked cheeks, and worry carves lines in his features. “Valentina,” he murmurs, voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I lift my head, hating how raw my voice sounds. “Nothing,” I lie.

He sees through it, a frown tightening his mouth. Blood smears still mar his jaw, his black hair matted to his temples. He extends a clawed hand, cupping my cheek. I flinch, then let him brush away a tear. “Tell me,” he says, gentler than I expect.

The heartbreak in my chest frays my composure.

I can’t speak the words. Instead, something breaks inside me—fear, sorrow, longing.

I lunge forward, pressing my mouth to his in a frantic kiss.

He stiffens, surprised, but only for a heartbeat.

Then he snarls low in his throat, tangling his claws in my hair.

The temple’s hush crackles with sudden energy.

The kiss is desperate, all teeth and ragged breath.

My tears mix with the copper tang of his blood.

Every ounce of terror, guilt, and desire pours into the clash of our mouths.

He groans, pulling me closer until I straddle his lap, wings rustling behind him.

The statue at his back creaks in protest as we collide with raw need.

I gasp against his lips, half-mad with heartbreak.

He senses it, horns tipping forward as he deepens the kiss, as if to devour my anguish.

My hands scrabble over his battered armor, searching for the clasps.

He doesn’t stop me. Perhaps he’s just as lost—our entire world in shambles, our future uncertain.

“Valentina,” he rasps, voice trembling in a way that’s more vulnerability than I’ve ever heard from him. The syllables of my name vibrate against my lips. His tail coils around my calf, urging me closer.

I break the kiss, panting, pressing my forehead to his. Our breath mingles. “I can’t lose you,” I whisper, tears returning unbidden. “I know it’s stupid. But—” My voice cracks, recalling the prophecy’s fatal cost.

He silences me with another fierce kiss, claws raking down my sides, tearing open the remnants of my coat.

The chill of the temple’s air bites my skin, but his body radiates a feverish warmth.

My heart batters my ribs, my entire being consumed by the knowledge that each second might be our last. Let me forget, just for a moment.

We shed clothing in frantic motions—belts clattering, armor plates scraping.

The tang of old stone fills my nose as I push him flat against the statue’s broken base.

His molten lines flicker, partially concealed by fresh bruises.

My hands roam his chest, feeling the quake of each ragged breath.

He’s so strong, yet so close to snapping.

He hauls me down onto him, mouth sliding across my jaw, my throat, searing a path of unspoken desperation. I arch, nails biting into his skin, pulling a guttural groan from his lips. The tension that’s been building for days ignites, fueled by sorrow and raw need.

I sink onto him with a breathless gasp, the stretch sharp and punishing.

My thighs quiver, arms locked around his shoulders as his cock slides deep, filling me in a way that steals all sense.

The world contracts to the heat between us—his body buried inside mine, his hands gripping my hips like he’s anchoring himself to this moment.

He exhales hard, jaw clenched. His claws tremble where they rest against my skin, restraint bleeding into helpless reverence. His molten eyes watch every twitch of my face, every arch of my back, as if memorizing me before the storm swallows us whole.

I move.

Slowly, grinding against him, chasing the sweet friction.

My body clenches around his cock, drawing him deeper, tighter.

His head falls back, the cords of his throat straining as he grips the stone beneath us.

The temple is cold, unforgiving, but his skin burns.

His lines pulse beneath my palms, lit with the fractured rhythm of power unraveling.

I ride him like I’m trying to outrun fate, and he meets me with bruising thrusts—each one a silent promise: I won’t let them take you.

“Malphas…” I moan in desperation as if calling his name over and over again will erase the threat after us. Will make this moment last.

Sweat slicks my spine. His tail coils around my thigh, dragging me closer.

I lean forward, pressing my chest to his, and the sudden closeness breaks something in both of us.

His arms wrap around me, no longer controlling—just holding .

My body rocks against his with frantic need, our breaths tangled, our pulses frantic.

The scar on his horn brushes my cheek. I kiss it.

He shudders, hands spasming around my waist. The silent sound he makes—caught between a growl and a sob—tears through me. “Valentina!”

I kiss down his jaw, over the blood-streaked hollow of his throat, tasting the coppery tang of battles lost. He lifts his hips, cock plunging deeper, harder, and the sharp edge of pain only makes it sweeter.

I bite my lip, unable to breathe, tears blurring my vision.

It feels like I’m breaking open from the inside, pleasure burning away the fear.

His rhythm grows erratic. I tighten around him, chasing the edge that looms just beyond reach.

The slap of our bodies fills the ruin, raw and primal, until sound itself feels sacred.

Our connection is wordless—no vows, no lies, only this: the desperate pulse of two souls locked in a final act of defiance.

When I reach the peak, it’s not quiet. “Malphas!” I cry out, head thrown back, colors exploding behind my eyes.

My pussy spasms around his cock, slick and soaked, as I fall apart in his arms. My body trembles, pulsing, every nerve unraveling under the weight of release.

He follows instantly, a raw snarl ripping from his chest as he jerks beneath me, cock buried to hilt inside me.

“Valentina!” I feel him come, exploding inside me. It’s warm, all his. He arches under me, tail lashing the air, a broken snarl on his lips. For one agonizing heartbeat, there’s no monarchy, no prophecy—only us, raw and desperate, clinging to a fragile instant of ecstasy.

Then the world returns, and the temple’s gloom presses close. Guilt and despair crash in like a tide, washing away the brief oblivion. I slump over him, trembling. He cups my face, that savage edge in his eyes tempered by something bleak.

Silence weighs heavier than ever. My tears keep falling, unstoppable. Malphas exhales, brushing a claw through my tangled hair. “Valentina,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

I swallow, forcing my gaze to meet his. The aftershocks of pleasure fade, replaced by a suffocating sense of doom. “I can’t do this,” I whisper, mind spinning with the text I read. I must sacrifice my life to free him—one life for another.

He frowns, confusion edging his features. “You regret what just happened?”

My throat constricts. “No, I—yes, I do. Because everything is hopeless.” My voice cracks, and I push off his chest, sliding away from him, hugging myself against the cold. The temple’s broken pillars loom, indifferent to our heartbreak.

He sits up, the light glancing off the ridges of his horns, the bruises on his broad torso. “What do you mean hopeless? We’ll keep running. We’ll find a way.”

A sob escapes me, tears hot on my cheeks. “There is no way. I saw the text. The archivist’s notes confirm it: to break your contract, an Abyssborn must give themselves entirely. Blood’s final tether. It means I have to die to free you.”

The color drains from his face. “That… can’t be certain.”

“I read it,” I insist, voice quivering. “We thought the ritual needed my blood, but it’s more than that. The entire text spells out a life-for-life exchange. If I want to sever your oath, I must surrender my existence. There’s no middle ground.”

Silence stretches, thick as lead. His molten eyes roil with conflicting emotion—anger, grief, disbelief. “There must be an alternative,” he growls, fists clenching. “I refuse to accept your death as the price.”

My tears come faster. “What choice do we have? The monarchy hunts us. You can’t break the oath alone, and each defiance cripples you. If I do nothing, you remain enslaved. If I do something, I… I die.” My chest heaves, bitterness choking me.

He surges forward on his knees, snatching my wrists. His claws dig in, not enough to hurt, but enough to force my gaze to his. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself,” he snarls. “Not for me. We’ll find a way to circumvent the prophecy, twist it in our favor. Demonic magic can be subverted.”

I laugh hollowly, tears slipping through. “You think we can outwit ancient forces older than the monarchy itself? That prophecy has endured countless centuries.”

His horns dip, a savage light in his eyes. “We defy everything else—why not fate too?” Then his voice softens. “You asked me not to let you go. I won’t. This can’t be the end.”

My heart aches at the raw conviction in his tone, but despair lingers. We can’t outrun destiny. I slump, burying my face in my hands. The temple’s silence feels like an accusation, each shattered pillar a reminder that all grand structures eventually crumble.

He pulls me into his lap again, ignoring our discarded clothes.

The gesture is almost gentle. “We’re survivors,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine.

“We survived my fortress falling, the monarchy’s blades, the illusions.

We’ll survive this. I’ll tear reality apart before letting them take your life. ”