Chapter 55
Everly
Last time I had been covered in congealed bits of monster, at least my wings had been tucked inside.
This time, it was everywhere.
I stood under the steaming shower for what felt like an eternity, staring at the blood that swirled down the drain without really seeing it. Instead, I saw soldiers snapped in half, wings bubbling into nothing, limbs sailing across a bloody field, my sister trembling in my uncle’s grasp.
A flaming body falling from the sky.
Draven didn’t hesitate before stepping in this time, washing my hair with a care that bordered on reverence.
When my hair was finally clean, he moved onto my wings. Slowly, he dragged the soap across the sensitive skin. I leaned into his touch, letting it thaw some of the frost that had seeped into my bones.
But I was still so cold.
“Morta Mea.”
It wasn’t until he spoke the words aloud that I realized I had been unintentionally blocking him from my thoughts—from all the gruesome images running through my mind and the endless onslaught of emotions I hadn’t yet sorted through.
He gently turned me to face him, his gaze tripping over my expression with concern. I hitched in a breath, water still streaming down my cheeks.
Which made no sense at all because the shower had stopped running.
Draven’s hands came up to my face, his thumbs tenderly wiping the tears before they could spill down to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this is ridiculous. I know that there are casualties of war and that we won today… that this is what we wanted.”
“No,” he said the word firmly, shaking his head like that had been the most ridiculous thing I’d ever said. “No one ever wants to lose the people they love, and you will not apologize for mourning.”
My lip trembled, and I tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let me. Draven’s eyes burned into mine as if he were willing me to understand him.
“You saved a kingdom today, Morta Mea. But you lost your mother, and grief is not a numerical equation."
He bent down, pressing his lips against my forehead, the warmth of his breath a welcome contrast to the cold I felt so deeply in my bones. Then he skated his lips down to my cheeks, kissing away the remaining tears, his mana gently prodding at mine, a reminder to bring down my shields.
“Together or not at all,” he murmured against my skin.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hearing everything he didn’t say.
That this, too, was a battle, and it was far from the last one we would face, but he was right here. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Not by circumstance or by choice.
That part still didn’t feel real. I was still half waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to come along and take him from me, too.
For fate to systematically remove every person I loved from my life until I was alone again, just like I had been for so many years in the bedroom at my father’s estate.
Alone and grieving.
But that was not my life anymore.
I nodded, releasing my hold on my shields. Draven didn’t stagger under the weight of the feelings that flooded through our bond. He stood, strong and steady as ever, unyielding like the mountains, while the contradictory maelstrom of grief and relief washed over us both.
His arms came around me, one hand settling at my back, the other between my wings, holding me like we both needed the reminder that he would never have to let go again.
I let myself soften against him, leaning into his embrace and wrapping my arms around his waist in turn. For several long moments, I just breathed him in, slowly releasing the tension I had been holding for days, for years, for a lifetime spent waiting for the ground to give way beneath my feet.
Draven’s lips pressed closer to my mouth, and I turned my head to catch them.
The kiss was urgent and unhurried all at once, somehow both desperate and endlessly patient, endlessly sure.
I let the feeling of his lips on mine pull me fully into the present, as his hands traced familiar paths along my back, over my wings, like he would spend the rest of his life learning the way I felt under his fingertips.
The rest of our lives. It wasn’t something I ever truly let myself believe that we could have. Until now.
Draven broke the kiss, just for a moment, his forehead pressed against mine. His hands slid down to my waist, fingers digging into my hips, anchoring me as if he felt the tremor of that thought ripple through our bond.
His presence was solid, unyielding in the way mountains were unyielding, resilient and enduring.
He met my gaze, his aurora-lit eyes sending tendrils of flames through my veins that settled low in my core.
I leaned forward, claiming his mouth once more, dragging his bottom lip between mine. He let out a low, rumbling growl as he lifted me up and wrapped my legs around his waist.
He didn’t break the kiss as he walked us back into the bedroom, shifted us instinctively until his calves brushed the edge of the bed, until he was seated and pulling me closer still.
I straddled him easily, my hands sliding up his shoulders, over the breadth of him, grounding myself in the solid reality of his body beneath mine.
My fingers traced the familiar ridges of muscles and scars, stroking along his spine, his jawline, his neck and down to the planes of his abs. I needed to touch him, every part of him, to continue committing him to memory and to make new ones.
Draven’s grip tightened at my hips, possessive without being demanding, as if he were reminding both of us that I was here. That he was too. And that this was real.
The room felt warmer with us pressed together like this, his mana brushing against mine in slow, deliberate strokes. Not the sharp clash of battle, not the frantic pull of survival, but a steady, reassuring hum that soothed even as it stirred something deeper.
His lips traced from my mouth to my jaw, lingering there, then lower, unhurried. Every touch was intentional. Carefully chosen as if he remembered every sensitive spot on my skin, as if he knew exactly where to draw out my pleasure.
I curled my fingers into his hair, grounding myself in the cool silk of it, and he stilled for a moment, breath shuddering softly against my skin. His forehead pressed to my collarbone, his exhale warm, reverent.
You, he murmured through the bond, his voice rough and certain, are perfect, Everly Ashwynter. Every part of you. Whether you’re broken, or whole. Weak, or strong. Whether you’re grieving, or laughing…
He lifted his hand to cup my face in his palm before continuing. Every part of you is everything I have ever wanted.
The breath caught in my lungs. And his words settled deep, anchoring something that had been adrift inside me for far too long.
I leaned back just enough to look at him, to take in the strength of his frame, and the softness in his gaze that he offered only to me. I kissed him again, slow and lingering and sure, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the press of my mouth against his.
You are my home, Draven Ashwynter.
We sank back together, limbs tangling easily, familiarity and newness woven into every movement, each new press of my hips against his. Each caress and each shared breath.
And for once, it didn’t feel like we were tempting fate, or losing ourselves in each other, in stolen moments that we never knew if we would have again.
This was what we had fought for. Not a single night stolen from fate. Not a fragile peace balanced on borrowed time.
But a life. A future. Something we could build together.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like the end of anything at all.
It felt like the beginning.