19. Theron
19
THERON
R ain lashes against the library windows, each flash of lightning casting dramatic shadows across the towering bookshelves. I sink deeper into my leather armchair, Mira's tiny form curled against my chest. Her silver-white fur gleams in the firelight as she clutches her favorite blanket, her amber eyes wide with each thunderclap.
"And then the brave healer ventured into the dark forest..." Lyra's voice carries through the room, her copper hair glowing like embers in the warm light. She sits cross-legged on the thick carpet, gesturing with animated hands as she weaves her tale.
Kai nestles against her side, his gangly limbs folded underneath him. My boy's face holds that serious expression he wears too often for a six-year-old, but there's a spark in those blue eyes I haven't seen before. His black fur matches mine, but the way he hangs on Lyra's every word - that's all his own.
"What happened next?" Mira's tiny voice pipes up as thunder shakes the manor. She burrows closer, her little hands gripping my shirt.
"The healer found a magical herb," Lyra continues, reaching out to smooth Kai's fur when he startles at a particularly loud crack. "Its leaves sparkled like starlight..."
My chest tightens watching them together. Lyra's presence fills a void I hadn't realized was there, her gentle authority drawing my children like moths to flame. She belongs here, among the leather-bound books and flickering candlelight, telling stories that chase away storm-shadows.
The fire pops, sending sparks dancing up the chimney. Kai's shoulders finally relax as Lyra's fingers card through his fur, his usual rigid posture melting away. Even I feel the tension easing from my muscles, lulled by her melodic voice and the steady drumming of rain.
"Papa, are you listening?" Mira peers up at me, her tiny nose scrunched.
"Every word, little one." I adjust her blanket, marveling at how perfectly she fits in my arms. Another flash illuminates the room, but this time neither child flinches - too absorbed in Lyra's storytelling to notice the storm's fury.
As Lyra's story winds down, Mrs. Bramble appears in the doorway, her silver bun gleaming in another flash of lightning. She balances a heavy tea tray with practiced ease.
"Thought we could all use something warm." She bustles in, clearing space on the side table. The familiar scent of spiced tea fills the air.
Lyra rises to help, our fingers brushing as we both reach for the pot. Heat rushes up my arm at the contact. Her green eyes meet mine, gold flecks dancing in the firelight, before she turns away to pour.
"Sugar for the little ones," Mrs. Bramble announces, dropping extra cubes into two smaller cups. She settles into her usual chair by the fire, smoothing her impeccable black dress. "Never seen weather like this in all my years here."
Mira scrambles down from my lap to accept her cup, careful not to spill as she's learned. Kai takes his with a polite "thank you," his serious expression softening when Lyra ruffles his fur.
"The perfect day for breaking routine." Lyra perches on the arm of my chair, close enough that her herb-scented braid tickles my shoulder. The casual intimacy of it steals my breath.
Thunder crashes overhead. Without thinking, I steady her with a hand at her waist. She's so small compared to me, yet she fits perfectly against my side. Her quiet inhale tells me she feels this too - this growing thing between us.
Mrs. Bramble catches my eye over her teacup, one eyebrow raised knowingly. I clear my throat and accept the cup Lyra offers, but don't remove my hand from her waist.
The storm rages on, but in here, time seems to slow. Mira sprawls on the carpet with her drawing supplies while Kai reads quietly nearby. Every so often, Lyra shifts slightly, leaning into my touch. Each small movement sends sparks through my palm.
Mrs. Bramble launches into tales of storms past, her stern demeanor melting as she describes the time lightning struck the old oak tree. But I'm only half-listening, too aware of Lyra's warmth against me, the way her fingers occasionally brush mine as she gestures during conversation.
We take dinner in here, too, making it like a picnic. Lyra makes the children laugh as they pretend to hide out in the forest, playing like they are hunting and vanquishing a beast afterward. Once it is finally defeated, she takes the two little warriors to bed, and I retreat to my study, unable to shake the lingering warmth from Lyra's touch. The storm continues its assault, but the sound feels distant now, muted by thick stone walls and racing thoughts.
I stand at the window, watching raindrops trace patterns down the glass. The door creaks open behind me. Her scent reaches me first - healing herbs and honey.
"They're finally asleep," Lyra says. "Even Mira went down without a fight."
I turn. She's silhouetted in the doorway, copper hair falling loose from her braid. My study suddenly feels too small, too intimate. Every step she takes toward me shortens my breath.
"You're good with them." The words come out rougher than intended.
"They make it easy." She stops before me, head tilted back to meet my gaze. Even in the dim light, those green eyes spark with gold. "Though I suspect they get their gentleness from you."
My laugh rumbles deep. "Gentleness isn't a word most would associate with me."
"Most don't look past the surface." Her small hand finds my chest, fingers splaying over my heart. "I do."
That tugs at my heart, tells me that when we've come together each night, it's not just physical for her, either. I am taking every stolen moment I can get, greedy for her to see that she is meant to be right here.
I cup her face in my hands, marveling at how delicate she feels, how her cheeks flush at my touch. When our lips meet, it's different from before - no hesitation, no uncertainty. She rises on her toes as I bend down, our bodies finding that perfect middle ground.
Her fingers tangle in my fur, tugging me closer. I growl against her mouth, backing her against my desk. Papers scatter. She tastes like spiced tea, her small frame pressing against mine with surprising strength.
"Too tall," she murmurs between kisses, nipping at my lower lip.
I lift her onto the desk, bringing us level. "Better?"
She answers by pulling me back to her, legs wrapping around my waist. Her hands trace the silver rings in my horns, sending shivers down my spine. Each touch speaks volumes - trust, want, understanding.
Rain lashes against the windows, echoing Lyra's soft gasps as I explore her body with a tenderness that surprises even me. Her hands, those small, capable hands that heal and comfort, trace the lines of my muscles, guiding me closer.
I'm a massive beast compared to her, yet she shows no fear. Instead, she pulls me down, her lips finding mine in the dark. Her copper hair spills across my desk, a stark contrast to the faded parchment and worn wood. She tastes like summer rain and herbs, a refreshing change from the stale air of my study.
Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me in. I'm gentle despite my strength, mindful of her size, but she's having none of it. She nips at my lip, her nails digging into my back, urging me on. "Don't hold back," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the thunder. "I won't break."
A growl rumbles deep in my chest as I grasp her hips, pulling her closer. Her dress slides up, revealing smooth, pale skin. I can't help but run my hands over her thighs, marveling at the softness. She's so different from me, from anyone I've ever known. Delicate but strong, like the finest blade.
She arches beneath me, her breath hitching as I trail kisses down her neck. Her fingers tangle in my fur, tugging at the silver rings in my horns. Each touch sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire within me that I've long thought extinguished.
Her dress falls to the floor, a puddle of earth tones against the dark wood. She's beautiful, her slender form a stark contrast to my bulk. Yet, she fits perfectly against me, her curves molding to my hard lines. I can't take my eyes off her, can't stop touching her. Especially when she shoves my tunic off my body and I rip her underwear away.
She reaches up, undoing my lacings so she can shove my pants out of the way. Kissing me, she pulls me down to her. Our bodies align, and I sink into her, slowly, carefully. Her eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping her lips. I still, waiting for her to adjust. But she opens her eyes, meeting my gaze with a fierce intensity. "More," she demands, her voice steady despite the tremble in her body.
I capture her mouth again, swallowing her moans as I grip her hips, pulling her against me with each thrust. She's so responsive, her body arching to meet mine, her breath hitching in a way that drives me wild.
"Theron," she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. The slight pain only spurs me on. I growl, leaning down to nip at her neck, her collarbone, any part of her I can reach. She tastes like salt and sweetness, like desire and desperation.
Her legs tighten around my waist, urging me deeper. I comply, a low groan rumbling in my chest as I feel her tighten around me. Her eyes meet mine, those gold flecks sparkling in the dim light. There's trust there, and want, and something more - something that makes my heart pound in a rhythm that matches my thrusts.
"More," she demands, her voice steadier than her trembling body. I can't help but admire her strength, her resilience. She's not some fragile thing, to be handled with care. She's a force, a power in her own right. And she wants me.
I give her what she wants, driving into her with an intensity that makes her cry out. Her head falls back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. I trace it with my tongue, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin. Her hands find my horns, gripping the silver rings, using them to pull me closer.
"Yes," she hisses, her body moving in sync with mine. We're a tangle of limbs and need, a dance of give and take. I can feel her heart pounding, can see the flush spreading across her chest. She's close, so close.
I slow down, wanting to draw this out, to make it last. But she won't have it. She pulls me closer, her gaze locked onto mine. "Don't stop," she pants. "Don't you dare stop."
I can't deny her. Can't deny myself. I thrust deeper, harder, faster. Our bodies collide with a force that should hurt, but it only sends waves of pleasure crashing through me. I can feel her tightening, can see the tension coiling in her body.
"Come for me, Lyra," I growl, my voice barely recognizable. "Let go."
And she does. With a cry that echoes through the room, she arches against me, her body convulsing around mine. It's enough to send me over the edge. I bury my face in her neck, muffling my roar as I find my release.
We stay like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her heartbeat echoes mine, a wild, frantic rhythm that slowly starts to steady. I lift my head, finding her gaze. Her eyes are soft, sated, but there's a spark there, a warmth that I want to wrap myself in.
Not wanting to let her go, I gather Lyra in my arms, her small form light against my chest, and carry her to the leather couch by the fire. Her copper hair spills across my fur as I settle us both down, careful not to jostle her. The flames have died to embers, casting a soft glow that catches the gold flecks in her half-lidded eyes.
"Stay," she murmurs, fingers curling into my fur as I try to reach for a blanket. We usually go to our separate rooms after, but it's like she said, today is a good day for breaking routine.
"I'm not going anywhere." I pull her closer instead, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. Her head tucks under my chin, her breath warm against my chest.
The storm rages on outside, but in here, wrapped in each other's warmth, it feels distant. Like thunder from another world. Lyra's fingers trace idle patterns through my fur, each touch both soothing and electric.
"Your heart's still racing," she whispers, pressing her palm flat against my chest.
I rumble a laugh. "You tend to have that effect."
She shifts, looking up at me with those striking green eyes. No fear, no hesitation - just that quiet strength that drew me to her from the start. "Good." Her smile holds a hint of mischief before she settles back against me.
My arm drapes over her waist, engulfing her smaller frame. But she doesn't seem to mind being surrounded by me. If anything, she presses closer, tangling her legs with mine. The contrast of her soft skin against my coarse fur should feel strange, but instead it feels right. Like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.
Rain drums against the windows, a steady rhythm that matches our slowing breaths. Lyra's hand finds mine, her fingers threading through mine despite the size difference. There's no going back from this moment, this line we've crossed. But watching her drift to sleep in my arms, feeling her complete trust in how she surrenders to slumber, I know I don't want to.