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Serrik shifted beneath her, moving to stand with her still wrapped around him. She locked her legs around his waist as he carried her across the library, his mouth never leaving hers. When her back met the cool surface of his desk, she gasped at the contrast with the heat of his body.

Papers scattered to the floor as he laid her down, following her down until he was braced above her, his wild green hair falling around them like a curtain. She reached up to touch it, marveling as always at its softness, the way it caught and reflected the light.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her throat to the hollow between her collarbones. “I love you, Ava Cole. Against all reason, against all wisdom.”

She wanted to say it back. Wanted to give voice to the chaotic swirl of emotions in her chest. But the words caught in her throat, trapped by fear, by uncertainty, by the lingering shadow of doubt .

Instead, she showed him with her body what she couldn't yet say with words. Her hands pulled him closer, her back arching to press against him, her legs tightening around his waist.

Serrik seemed to understand. A smile touched his lips as he met her halfway, his kiss deepening as his hands explored her body with increasing urgency.

The cool air of the library against her heated skin, the press of the desk beneath her, the weight of his body above—everything narrowed to these sensations, these points of contact. The world beyond this room, beyond this moment, ceased to exist.

There were still questions to be answered. Still truths to be uncovered. Still decisions to be made about what she was becoming, about whose side she would take in this terrible and seemingly inevitable conflict.

But for now, there was only this—the building heat between them that promised to consume all doubts, all fears, all hesitations.

Everything else could wait till morning.

His hands moved to the waistband of her jeans, fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above it. “Ava,” he breathed, her name a question and a plea.

“Yes,” she answered, lifting her hips to help as he slid the denim down her legs. “Yes.”

The rest of their clothing quickly followed, discarded with increasing desperation as the need between them built to something almost unbearable. When finally there was nothing between them but skin and breath and the tattoos that marked them both, Serrik paused, his golden eyes meeting hers.

“You are certain?” he asked, his voice strained with restraint.

The question touched something in her, some tender place that had somehow survived all the manipulation, all the half-truths, all the games. Even now, with desire clearly consuming him, he was giving her a choice.

“I’m certain,” she said, pulling him down to her. “I want this. I want you. And…I want to remember it, this time. ”

The smile that spread across his face was breathtaking—genuine, unguarded, almost boyish in its delight. It was a glimpse of something she'd never seen in him before, a side of him she suspected few, if any, had been allowed to witness. “It may hurt a little, at first…”

She pulled his lips to hers, kissing him. Telling him that she didn’t care. He pressed himself to her entrance. Not blunted, but pointed, almost, he slid inside easily. But that was where the ease ended.

Her back arched as he jerked his hips forward, sinking himself into her just the first few inches.

The shape of him was so foreign—so inhuman.

But it felt so damn good. She gasped, breaking the kiss, her nails digging deep into his back.

Whatever had just slid inside of her, it felt like a ridge, or something. She had no idea.

“Fuck—” She could barely breathe.

“I will st—” Serrik went to climb off her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snarled at him. “Or I will kill you.”

He pressed the weight of his hips back against her, slipping himself a little farther in. “What a marvel you are, my Weaver…”

And then he was moving, joining their bodies in a way that drove all coherent thought from her mind.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her head falling back as sensation overwhelmed her.

The strange, perfect fit of him within her, the rhythm they found together, the building tension that coiled tighter and tighter with each movement—it was like nothing she'd experienced before.

This was something else entirely. Something beyond physical pleasure, beyond mere desire.

Serrik's face was above hers, his expression a mixture of concentration and wonder, as if he too were experiencing something unprecedented. His movements were both controlled and desperate, measured and wild, a contradiction that somehow perfectly encapsulated everything he was.

Everything they were together.

The tension built between them, a crescendo approaching its peak. Ava's world narrowed to this single point of connection, this shared rhythm, this building release. When it finally came, it was with an intensity that bordered on pain, a pleasure so acute it brought tears to her eyes.

Serrik followed her over the edge, his body tensing above her, her name a harsh whisper on his lips. For a moment, suspended in that perfect stillness, she could almost believe they could just be like this. Simple. Together. A couple.

It was almost laughable.

As they lay together afterward, limbs entwined on the now-thoroughly disheveled desk, Ava traced idle patterns on Serrik's chest. The tattoos there—strange symbols in a language she couldn't read—responded to her touch, shifting subtly beneath her fingertips.

“What do they mean?” she asked, her voice still husky from exertion.

Serrik's hand caught hers, bringing it to his lips. “Stories,” he said simply. “Histories. Spells. Promises.”

“Like mine?” She glanced at her own arm, at the tattoo that now reached her hand.

“No.” His expression darkened slightly. “Yours is something else entirely.” He shifted, turning to look at her more directly. “We will have much to discuss very soon, Ava. Much to resolve between us.”

“I know.” She sighed, reality intruding once more on the momentary peace they'd found. “But you don’t want to tell me answers. And right now…I’m done trying to find them.”

He studied her face, then nodded once. “You have all you need to find the answers you seek.”

Unfortunately, she was starting to agree with everybody’s assessment. The sweater thread was there. She just had to yank it. And she knew exactly what she had to do to give it the pull it needed. “Tomorrow. I’m sick of all the not-knowing.”

“Then I shall savor this night. As it will be our last.” As his arms encircled her, as the warmth of his body enveloped her, Ava knew she was probably making a mistake. Knew that there were still too many secrets, too many unanswered questions, too many reasons to be cautious .

But in this moment, with the echo of his confession still ringing in her ears and the lingering pleasure of their union still thrumming through her body, she couldn't bring herself to care.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new revelations, new decisions.

Tonight, she would simply allow herself to be loved.

And maybe, somewhere in her stupid heart, love a little in return.