Grim
“Heart.”
This was not a memory. He had combed through all of them, reliving their story a thousand times in his mind, if only to see her again.
That’s why he knew this was something else. It was her. Somehow, she had found a way to communicate with him in his dreams.
He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. He had been searching for the skyre . . . his body must have simply given up on him. He hadn’t slept in days.
Isla rushed over to him. She looked just as she did every night she spent by his side. Her long hair was out of its knot. She wore a short silk dress that she swore was comfortable. But a starlike burn marred the skin on the center of her forehead.
He caught her in his arms and ran his thumb over the mark. Yes, she was in his room, the way he always wanted her to be, but this wasn’t real. She was in trouble. “What’s happening? Tell me how I can help.”
She sighed against his chest. He realized he was wearing the outfit she had bought him in the Algid markets instead of the armor he fell asleep in. If she could change this . . . was she changing her own appearance? Were there more injuries than this mark, that she was hiding from him?
He waited for her to say something. He wrapped his arms around her and thought this was how they always should be. Hearts beating against each other. Together.
“I was given more time to live, but . . . he has me.” Grim’s arms tightened around her reflexively, as if he could protect her from his ancestor a world away. “He’s trying to get back into your world. He’s trying to reshape my mind . . . to make me into his key. His . . . weapon.”
Fury lanced through him. But one word caught his focus. “Why did you say your world?”
She took a step back to look him in the eyes. “I can’t come back. He wants that, and—” She swallowed. “I don’t want to see it ruined.” Her voice was thick with emotion, like she was trying not to cry.
“By him?” Grim asked.
“Or by me.”
Finally, those tears fell. And Grim remembered Oro’s words. About him . . . making her worse. Making her into a villain.
“You are not going to be this world’s ruin,” he said, because he believed it. His wife cared about her people, and his. About everyone. If she didn’t, then her grief wouldn’t weigh so heavily on her.
“I might be,” she said, and he knew she was thinking of the prophecy. The one she had kept from him. “I’m sorry,” she said, as if sensing his thoughts. “I’m guessing Oro told you what the oracle said. I should have—I should have told you.”
Grim smiled, faintly. “I have no right judging you for keeping something from me.” Not when he had kept so much from her.
She took a shaking breath. “There’s—there’s something you should know,” she said. “When I was with Oro, in the desert. We . . .”
“Isla,” he said softly, stopping her. He could feel her shame and sorrow.
“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.
” He meant every word. “I’ve apologized for before, and I will a thousand more times, but I blame only myself for the fact that you fell in love with him.
” He stroked his hand down her cheek. Though he regularly wanted to kill the Sunling, he couldn’t even blame him either.
“I should never have taken those memories from you. I know your heart is split, that you love him too. And though I hope you’ll always continue choosing me . . . it’s my own fault if you don’t.”
“Grim—” she said, and he shook his head.
“And I forgive you,” he said. “For everything. Just as you have forgiven me. Because I know you, and I know us, and nothing can break that.”
“You still love me,” she said incredulously. “Even after I made this plan without you. Even after I kept so much from you . . .”
“I always love you,” he said.
Her lip trembled, but her eyes blazed. “If you love me . . . then stop looking for me.”
Grim reared back. He felt like he had been stabbed. “I can’t do that.”
“Even if it’s my choice? If this is what I want?”
He looked at her. Really looked at her. “If you are in danger, then I will find you.”
At her indignation, he said, “Tell me that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t do the same. Tell me, and I will stop looking.”
He knew her. He really, really knew her.
She didn’t even try to lie to him. “But the prophecy—”
“I don’t want to live by prophecies,” he said, stepping closer. “No oracle, no fate, no power, no person could ever change how I feel about you. I’m coming to get you. So tell me, Isla. Right now. How can I help you?”
“Remind me,” she said, her gaze searing into his. “Of everything that comes after.”
He knew what she meant. Slowly, he leaned down until his lips brushed hers, and it made a jolt spread through his body. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and groaned.
That sound . . . made right into his mouth . . . if he wasn’t already aching with want, now he was trembling with it. His tongue parted her lips, and met hers and—
This. This was its own language. Its own conversation.
He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, the way that made her pulse race, which he had learned through countless practice.
It was the way he had kissed her in that Starling market, before they were married, when he had portaled her into an alley and pressed her against the wall.
When she had asked him to have her right there, so consumed with want that she didn’t care they could still hear people, streets away.
He groaned too, because every kiss was an echo of the memories they had and ones they still had to make. His hands reached down, hands curling under her, to lift her up to his height, and he turned, toward the bed.
“Like this,” she gasped against his lips, her ankles locking behind him.
He stilled. “Like this?”
She nodded, and—whatever she wanted. That was what he would give her. All night, if that was what she asked for.
Her lips met his again, as she reached down. He felt her undoing the buttons of his pants and lowering herself and—
He could fucking die from this. Die from this perfection, from the feeling of her, on him.
She moaned and he swallowed the sound, hands trembling against her hips as she moved, slowly, then quickly, writhing against him, and all sense of time and space and reality shattered.
It was only him and her and this insatiable energy between them, a want that had never diminished, no matter how many times they did this.
He met her every movement with his own, helping her, giving her everything she asked for, everything it seemed she needed, and she pulled his mouth back onto hers once more.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, between pants. Her hand was wrapped around the back of his neck, using him to keep moving. “I love you . . . and that’s why I don’t want to lose you.”
“You have me,” he said, his heart racing “I’m yours. Always. You will never lose me.”
She didn’t seem convinced of that fact, but she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and bit, and he saw stars. It had him pulling her even closer, moving her against him. A shot of pleasure like lightning raced up his spine as she bucked.
She gasped into his mouth, and he kept moving, giving her everything he could, so she would never have to plead for more.
Her moans echoed through his room, and he wanted her louder.
He wanted her more flushed. He wanted her completely satisfied.
He unleashed, listening to her every command, to go faster, to go deeper.
Her head fell back as she gasped, as she stopped moving and just took.
Until her eyes tightened, and they both broke, together.
He took her through the end, until the tremors stopped, and she sighed against his chest.
He held her there, their hearts beating wildly together. He stroked a hand down her back. Slowly, he lowered her to her feet. She was still panting. Still flushed. Her hair was in waves around her face.
She led him to their bed, and they just lay there, intertwined. Finally, he was at peace. For these few moments, he could pretend everything was better again. His eyes drifted closed.
When he woke up, he was alone.