FOUR
INTERRUPTIONS
Details are both a scholar’s bane and salvation.
In my haste, I search these pages for something grand, only to miss the quiet notes that matter most, the kind that could decide life or death.
I think of what we lost fleeing the Starlit Chamber, how many truths were left behind or burned.
It weighs heavily on me. Still, we press on.
We must trust the old gods and hope what remains is enough to save the realm. And not doom it.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
When I wake, it’s unhurried, responding to a gentle touch—the faintest brush of fingers sweeping hair from my forehead. Warmth lingers beside me, close enough to feel, but not overwhelming.
I blink, still heavy with sleep. And then I see them: smoke-gray eyes, flecked with emberlight.
Thane.
He’s leaning over me, watching me in that quiet, intense way of his. His hand hovers near my temple, like he’s not ready to move away.
And gods, I feel it. Not just his touch—but something deeper.
A quiet pull. A familiar hum.
The bond.
Unlike yesterday, it’s not urgent or overwhelming. Today it is a witness watching, listening, waiting for one of us to finally acknowledge what has always been there.
His breath hitches, feeling the bond. It’s subtle—barely a shift in the air between us—but I notice. We’re still getting used to it. His fingers pull back, his hand dropping to his side. His eyes meet mine—neither of us move away.
I sit up, stretching, our faces just inches from one another. The bond hums between us, quiet but persistent, like a thread woven into the air itself. Thane’s fingers have already left my skin, but I can still feel the space where they lingered.
He watches me, his eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. And gods—I feel it. The ease. The shift. The way we’ve stopped pretending.
I smile. “Hi.”
“Hi back.” He smiles. “Do you like the room?”
I laugh softly. “It’s very you.”
“You didn’t answer the question.” There is a playful glint in his eyes.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, it’s a very good room.”
Then I remember the tapestry and Stonekeep.
“When did you have the tapestry of my farm done? And the Stonekeep?!” I ask. “It must have taken so much time and planning. When did you even know I’d be here to see it?”
The questions tumble out faster than I mean them to.
Thane only smiles at me, that same quiet gleam in his eyes, giving nothing away.
All the effort he put into it. The thought behind it. And yet—
We only figured out us yesterday.
“I love it,” I say, smiling back.
“I know I didn’t ask you before, but are you okay with staying with me? I really don’t want you anywhere else.”
His words settle over me like the light of dawn after a night that refused to end.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
His smile widens. “Good.”
I remember feeling the bond twice when I was exploring the room. “We have to figure out this bond thing.”
Thane blinks, then his lips curve. “Do we?”
“Well, it’s not going away,” I say, leaning back and propping myself up on one elbow. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it keeps—” I gesture vaguely with my free arm. “Doing things.”
His expression remains unreadable. “Doing things,” he repeats, his voice light.
“Yes, things,” I insist. “Unexplainable, possibly magics-related, mildly annoying things.”
His brow lifts. “Annoying?”
“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t noticed,” I say, waving a hand.
Why am I rambling instead of pulling him under the covers?
“The warmth, the pull, the whole ‘I can feel you even when you’re not here’ situation.”
I’m talking too much. I know I am. But gods help me, the way he’s looking at me—my brain has melted into a puddle.
Thane tilts his head slightly, like he is considering something. And then—
“I’ve noticed,” Thane responds, his voice caressing my skin like silk.
My stomach flips.
I force a scoff, pretending that those two simple words did not just send a shiver through me.
“Well, that’s great,” I say, too quickly, too flustered. “Then maybe you should . . . ”
I don’t even know where I was going with that sentence. Because he’s still watching me, his eyes stormy with hunger, while the rest of him looks composed.
And I’m unraveling.
“‘Maybe I should’ what?” His voice is pure confidence.
I hate how aware I am of how close he is. Of the way his eyes flick to my mouth. The way my pulse jumps, betraying me.
I swallow, forcing myself to look unimpressed. “I don’t know. Maybe figure out how to control this whole bond thing so it stops creeping up on us like that.”
Thane hums softly, like he’s considering it. “I think I have a better idea.”
Before I can ask what that means, he reaches for me—fingers brushing my jaw, angling my chin towards him. He moves closer, not rushing, his lips a breath away from mine.
Thane.
He gently presses his lips to mine, like he’s giving me the chance to pull away. Like he is making sure I know exactly what is happening.
I sink into him—into the warmth curling through my chest, the slow, building pressure. And gods, I want it.
I want him.
When he finally pulls back, his thumb grazes my cheek, his touch light but lingering. And then he says, “This is so much easier than pretending.”
My heart slams into my ribs, wanting his lips back on mine.
But he’s not done speaking.
“I spent months trying to keep my distance.” His fingers leisurely trail along my jaw, his voice steady in a way that I am not.
“Trying to convince myself this didn’t mean anything.
That you couldn’t mean something.” His thumb brushes over my lower lip, and I forget how to breathe. “And yet, here we are.”
He tilts his head, watching me like he is memorizing every inch of my face, every uneven breath, every thought I cannot put into words.
“I’m done pretending, Amara, darling.”
The way he says my name—gods, I am undone.
But he still isn’t finished. “And the real question is . . . are you?” His lips graze my temple, soft and fleeting, just enough to leave me completely boneless.
A question that is not really a question at all. It is a challenge. A certainty. Because he already knows my answer.
Thane starts to pull away, just enough to leave me aching. I grab him by the collar, yanking him back to me, crushing my mouth to his. Thane doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t think. He just takes what I’m offering.
It’s desperate, hot and unrelenting, a clash of mouths and tongues and too many months of pretending this wasn’t inevitable, that this was no more than just physical attraction.
He groans against my lips, low and raw. Heat bolts through me. His tongue strokes mine, unhurried, deep, and devastating. When his lips move, they suck at mine, then bite, then soothe.
I pull him deeper, chasing the taste of him, greedy for more.
His teeth graze my lower lip, and I moan into his mouth, tilting my head, slanting my mouth against his, desperate to take him deeper.
He drags his tongue across my lips, then across my teeth, before diving back in. He swallows every breath, every sound. I don’t even know who is leading this anymore—only that we are both taking. Both giving.
“Amara.”
My name is a rough whisper against my lips. A sound full of heat and restraint and something deeper. I feel it like a brand against my skin.
I am his.
He groans, growling my name again, while he drags his mouth across mine, devouring and claiming. And I want more.
I need more.
“You drive me insane.” His voice breaks between kisses, losing himself in this.
In me.
He drags his tongue along my lower lip again, teasing, taunting, before taking my mouth again, deeper this time.
“You make me lose control, gods help me.” He presses closer, his hands tightening around my waist, his breath hot against my skin.
I swallow a whimper, fingers fist in his shirt, dragging him closer—though there’s barely space left between us.
“Tell me you want this.” His voice is gravel and fire—half plea, half demand.
As if he’s asking for more than just my body. As if he doesn’t already know.
His lips claim mine, like he’s carving his name into me, so I’ll never forget.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I just kiss him again, harder, deeper, desperate to drown in him. Because this isn’t just a kiss. This is surrender. This is ruin.
This is everything.
His lips trail down my neck. A kiss. A nip. The drag of his tongue like a vow, like he’s memorizing the way I come undone.
“Gods, Thane.” My voice is barely a whisper, full of need and breathless.
I am falling.
And there is no stopping it now.
And then, the bond pulses, low and deep. Like it has been waiting for this . . . for us.
Thane shifts—pressing into me, all heat and hunger and need.
Just him. Just me.
Just this.
His lips claim mine, like he’s carving his name into me, so I’ll never forget. A promise of everything he’s willing to give.
He rocks his hips once, testing.
Then again, deeper this time.
A sound slips from me, wrecked, uncontrollable, something I can’t hold back. I shift beneath him, my thighs parting in invitation. Closer isn’t close enough.
His hand slides up to cup my breast, heat searing through the thin fabric of my sleeping gown. He groans as his thumb brushes, circles, presses, just enough to send the slow burn into a bursting wildfire.
His mouth never leaves mine—just keeps taking. Consuming. Wrecking.
I am about to lose control. I need him now.
Then, a sharp knock sounds at the door.
Loud. Immediate. Jarring.
I freeze.
Thane exhales against my lips, unhurried, controlled, murderous. My breath comes in uneven pulls, my head spinning, my body aching for him.
“Ignore it,” I whisper, my fingers still gripping his shirt.
His forehead rests against mine, his chest rising and falling against me. “I fully intend to.”
But another knock sounds, more insistent this time.
Thane tilts his head back, his jaw tight, his patience hanging by a thread. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.
The knock comes again. Three sharp, clipped raps.
“And this is why we can’t have nice things,” I mutter.