Page 15 of The Demon’s Sinful Serenade (Silvermist Mates #6)

CHAPTER NINE

RIVER

T he silence after our showers felt wrong after the utter insanity of flames and shadows.

It hung thick in the cottage, broken only by the sound of Zane moving around the kitchen, opening cabinets and running water.

I'd insisted we both shower before doing anything else, desperate to wash away Julian's lingering presence.

I'd scrubbed my skin raw under scalding water, trying to remove any trace of him, any residue of darkness that might have seeped into my pores.

Every movement still felt strange, like I was relearning how to inhabit my own body. I'd been a prisoner behind my own eyes, watching Julian use my hands, my voice, my memories to hurt the people I cared about. The echo of that violation left me shaky and unsure of where my edges began and ended.

But I was free now. Free, and alive, and somehow still standing.

I padded barefoot into the kitchen, wearing my oldest, softest sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt.

Zane stood with his back to me, his tail swishing in agitation as he fussed with a kettle on the stove.

He'd borrowed a pair of sweatpants that barely reached his ankles and stretched tight across his thighs.

He hadn't bothered with a shirt, and I couldn't find it in me to complain about that.

"I didn't know what kind of tea you liked," he said without turning, his shoulders tense, "so I'm making a basic chamomile.

Rava keeps about thirty varieties in the compound kitchen—peppermint, lemon, some special blend that smells like cinnamon and tastes like liquid fire.

" His words tumbled over each other. "I could go get something else if you prefer.

Coffee, maybe? Or that weird juice thing in your fridge that smells like lawn clippings? "

I smiled faintly. "That's my morning smoothie."

"Fucking unholy." He turned, holding two steaming mugs, a slightly manic energy radiating from him. "Chamomile okay?"

"Chamomile's perfect." Warmth seeped into my palms as I took the offered mug.

Zane hovered awkwardly, clearly unsure where to settle. "We could also call for food. You should eat something. There's that pizza place downtown that delivers late. Or I could make… Well, no, I can't cook worth shit, but I could try. Maybe eggs? Everyone can make eggs, right?"

"Zane." I huffed a small laugh. "You're rambling."

"Right. Sorry." His tail flicked sharply behind him. "Or there's the all-night diner. We could go there if you wanted to get out of the house. Though if you'd rather stay in, that's fine too. Whatever you need."

I set my mug down on the counter, suddenly aware of how my heart hammered against my ribs. "You called me your mate."

The words Zane had growled at Julian during the festival kept playing in my mind. Get out of my mate. He'd said it with such raw conviction, like a bass line you feel in your bones before you even hear it.

He lowered his mug slowly, not meeting my eyes. "You caught that, huh?"

"Kind of hard to miss with a front-row seat to the whole nightmare." I tried for sarcasm, but my voice wobbled.

His jaw tightened. "How much do you remember?"

"All of it." I wrapped my arms around myself, suppressing a shiver. "I was conscious the entire time. Like being shoved into a corner of my mind while someone else drove. I could see everything, feel everything, but I couldn't control any of it."

Zane's knuckles went white around his mug. "If that bastard weren't already dead?—"

"You'd kill him again. I know." I reached for his free hand, surprised by how much I needed the contact. His skin burned hot against mine, always a few degrees warmer than human-normal. It felt real in a way nothing had for hours. "You and Poppy kind of already did. Fire and shadow show, remember?"

His fingers curled around mine, surprisingly gentle for hands that could summon flames and banish spirits.

Part of me wanted to run from another connection that might consume me, control me, define me.

Julian had wanted to own me, to make me an extension of himself.

What if a mate bond was just another kind of possession?

But Zane wasn't Julian. And deep down, I knew whatever this was between us felt nothing like the toxic dependency I'd escaped.

"So, is it true?" I asked quietly. "What you said about me being your mate?"

Zane exhaled slowly, his golden eyes finally meeting mine. "Yes. I've known since you showed up at the door, drenched and angry and gorgeous. I caught your scent, and everything just... clicked."

"Why didn't you say anything?" I tilted my head, trying to read him.

Zane ran a hand through his damp hair, leaving it sticking up in places. "Because you're human. Because you were scared and needed protection, not some ifrit claiming you as his cosmic destiny." His expression softened. "I wanted you to choose me, if you were going to choose me at all."

Everything inside me melted. There was something achingly familiar in his eyes, that same flash of vulnerability I'd glimpsed when he'd told me about watching Kaz build a new life with his mate. The loyal friend who suddenly found himself on the outside of something that had always included him.

"It doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to," Zane added quickly. "After everything you've been through with the festival and a fucking possession, you need time. There's no rush, and I'm… I'm not going anywhere."

"Poppy said it was like destiny suggesting, not demanding." I traced the rim of my abandoned mug and watched him from under my lashes. "That the bond doesn't override free will."

"Exactly." A slow smile spread across his face, lighting his eyes. "Some people spend their whole lives searching for their mates. Others find them and walk away. It's a potential, not a prison sentence."

Potential, yes. Protection, too. Safety and security and so much warmth I'd never feel a chill in my heart again. In my line of work, I'd been courted and flattered and lavished with attention, but never like this. Never simply cherished without expectations or agendas attached.

He'd seen me from the beginning. He'd seen through Julian puppeteering my body, and fought to bring me back.

"And if I—" My voice caught. "If I wanted it? If I wanted you?"

"Then I would be the luckiest bastard in any realm." Zane set his mug down beside mine and came closer. So close, the heat rolling off him chased away the last of the cold clinging to my skin. "But it's up to you, kitten. It's always going to be up to you."

Potential. Not a prison sentence.

The words hung between us for a heartbeat before I closed the distance and pressed my lips to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, nothing like our desperate coming together the night before.

This wasn't about forgetting or escaping.

This was choosing, claiming, deciding. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just certainty.

Zane's hands came to rest at my waist, steadying me as he deepened the kiss.

A low rumble of approval vibrated through his chest as I slid my hands up to tangle in his hair.

The soft strands were still damp from his shower, and he smelled like my shampoo mixed with something richer, smokier, that was all Zane.

I kept my eyes closed when we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, and simply savored the feeling. When I opened them, Zane was watching me with such naked hope in his expression that it made my chest ache.

"You sure, kitten?" he murmured against my lips, his tail stroking circles on my ankle.

I nipped his lower lip. "I nearly died tonight. I've spent the last year afraid of my own shadow. I'm done letting fear make my decisions." I slid my hands up his bare chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. "I want this. I want you."

Desire sparked in his eyes, flame dancing in molten gold.

Then he picked me up, hauling me against his chest as he claimed my mouth with a growl.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me down the hall toward my bedroom, kissing along my jaw and down my neck.

Heat flooded my core at every point of contact.

My t-shirt felt rough compared to the silky slide of his lips, the rough pads of his fingertips as he trailed them up my spine.

"Been craving you all day," he confessed as he laid me on the bed. "Watching you on stage, owning that crowd, and all I could think about was getting my hands on you again."

"Big talk for someone who's still wearing pants," I teased, propping myself up on my elbows.

Zane's answering grin was pure sin. "Always so fucking mouthy."

"You like my mouth." I sat up, forcing him back a step.

I trailed my fingers along the waistband of his borrowed sweats.

The fabric was well stretched over the generous bulge of his cock, and my mouth watered with anticipation.

I flicked my eyes up to his and failed entirely at hiding my grin. "Don't you?"

"Love your mouth," Zane groaned.

I leaned forward, teasing his shaft through the thin fabric.

He hissed through his teeth as I tugged the sweatpants down over his hips.

His cock sprang free, bobbing heavily, the swollen crown flushed and glistening at the tip.

Zane moaned as I stroked him once, twice, sliding my thumb over the slit and spreading slick precum down his shaft.

"Fuck, River." He tangled a hand in my hair, guiding me forward. "Let me feel that mouth."

I licked a slow stripe up the underside, tasting salt and smoke on my tongue.

Zane cursed softly, his grip tightening as I wrapped my lips around the broad head.

He was hot, so hot, filling my mouth to bursting as I took him deeper.

His hips jerked in tiny movements, seeking more friction as I swallowed around his length.