Chapter 48
Chapter
Forty-Eight
The soft flicker of wardlight pulsed from the crystal sconces inset into the stone walls, casting a warm golden hue across the room.
Thorne’s chamber smelled faintly of pine, oil, and old books, with the comforting weight of dragonsmoke lingering in the tapestries.
Thorne’s quarters were larger than most cadets, but even so, every surface had now been shifted to accommodate Thaelyn.
A second trunk sat beside his. Her cloak was draped neatly over the back of the spare chair.
A few books of hers had joined his collection on the low reading table.
Her brush lay near the basin. Her presence was everywhere now, subtle but undeniable, as if her absence had been the only thing missing from the room all along.
Thaelyn stirred beneath the heavy quilt he’d wrapped around her.
The thick pelts beneath her softened the floor, and the heat from the embers warmed the soles of her feet.
She blinked slowly, adjusting to the golden light.
Every part of her body ached, not from visible wounds, but from the inside out.
Like something vital had been strained, stretched, and only now remembered how to return to her skin. Her eyes found him instantly.
Thorne sat in the armchair beside the bed.
His long legs stretched out, one boot was still on, and his head tilted to rest against the back of the chair.
His cloak had slipped off one shoulder. Her eyes focused on his black shirt, noticing it was undone.
She glanced along the edges leading to his exposed scarred collarbone and the sweep of the dragon-mark that curled down his chest. He looked half-wild in the firelight, unkept, brooding, and hers.
She didn’t mean to speak. But the word fell from her mouth like a breath. “Thorne.”
He stirred instantly, his body snapping upright before his eyes even opened. His gaze locked on hers, and all the tension in his frame melted in a single exhale. He leaned forward, brushing his knuckles down the line of her jaw, grounding her with a touch so gentle it nearly undid her.
“This is my room, and I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he said. “Not now. Not again.”
She blinked, looking puzzled around the room.
“Our quarters,” he said softly. “I brought you here after the healers cleared your chest. You're still being monitored, but you’re staying with me.”
Her brow furrowed. “The council, the rules.”
“They already gave a vote,” he said darkly.
“Not on this move. I can’t protect you at night if I’m halfway across the dorms.” His thumb brushed over the back of her hand.
She hadn't even realized he'd taken it. “I moved your trunk this morning,” he added. “Iri and the others helped. Nyxariel’s been outside the tower wall all night. She won’t go far.”
Thaelyn breathed in deeply and winced as her chest caught.
“She fought,” she murmured. “I could feel her rage even when I couldn’t hear her. Like echoes through stone.”
“She nearly brought the cliffs down,” he said. “Vornokh wouldn’t stop until we had you. I don’t think he’s left the skies since. They’re different now. Since it happened.”
“I’m different.”
His jaw flexed. “I know.” He adjusted in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair like he does when he is frustrated.
“I should have been there,” he said finally, voice rough and low.
“Every instinct told me something was wrong that night. I even mentioned it to Garric. We were going to switch you to our squad. I dismissed it in the end. I ignored it because I thought I was giving you space, letting you find your own place without me hovering over you. I thought it was the right thing.” His jaw clenched, the following words scraping out like a confession.
“But it wasn’t. I failed you, Thaelyn. I’ve trained my whole damn life to protect what matters, to stand between danger and those who can’t see it coming, and when it mattered most, I chose wrong, and I wasn’t there. ”
She turned toward him, eyes soft but steady. “Thorne,” she whispered. “You didn’t fail me, nor did you choose incorrectly.”
He looked up then, and the rawness in his expression nearly broke her. “What they did to you, and what else could’ve happened.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said quietly. “I know it’s not your fault. You can’t be everywhere. You can’t save everyone. You taught me that.”
His breath shuddered out. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might argue, but then he nodded. The tension in his shoulders was breaking just enough for sorrow to slip through. “I can’t lose you again,” he murmured.
“You won’t,” she said, stepping closer until the distance between them was small enough to feel his warmth. “You didn’t fail me, Thorne. You found me.” She shifted just enough to look up at him. “But something still feels wrong out there. It’s only begun.”
He didn’t flinch. “We’ll find out what it is. Together.”
She studied his face, every angle of it illuminated by firelight.
The worry beneath his eyes. The thin red scar near his ear he’d never mentioned.
The gentle curve of his lips when he wasn’t snarling at cadets or slicing through enemies.
He was beautiful, in the wild way of wolves.
Sharp. Loyal. Dangerous. She lifted her hand, brushing her fingers across his cheek. “You haven’t slept.”
He smirked faintly. “You’re one to talk.”
“Sleep with me,” she whispered.
His brow lifted.
“I meant, just lie next to me. Nothing else. I need to know the world’s still here.”
He didn’t answer with words. He lay down behind her, wrapping himself around her body, his warmth a fortress against the bad shadows.
His arm slid beneath her neck, the other across her waist, locking her to him as if she might vanish again if he let go.
She didn’t. She stayed. When he finally slept, his heart beat softly against her back.
Thaelyn closed her eyes and let herself fall into the hush between breaths.
The quiet after the storm. The beginning of home.
The gray light of dawn crept along the stone floor in quiet ribbons, brushing the edges of the hearth and catching on the curve of tangled blankets.
Outside the window slit, mist curled low over the cliffs, silvering the peaks and softening the sharp lines of the tower walls.
Inside, their room was silent save for the low, rhythmic breath of sleep.
Thorne lay still on his back, one arm curved protectively around the sleeping form curled into his chest. Thaelyn’s head rested in the space between his shoulder and collarbone, her breath warm against his skin.
Her hair spread like fire across his chest. Her hand was splayed across his ribs, her fingers curled slightly, as if she feared even in sleep that he might slip away.
He hadn’t slept like that in weeks. Maybe months.
Not since Nyxariel first roared her storm into the skies and tore his world wide open.
His other arm lay across his stomach, palm turned upward, fingers still faintly twitching from the dream that had startled him awake.
It hadn’t been a nightmare. Not entirely.
Just a memory re-lived with unbearable clarity.
The moment he’d lost her. The echo of Nyxariel’s scream still throbbed in his bones.
It rang in Vornokh’s mind like a cracked bell.
That vast silence when the bond went dark, that helplessness.
That sickening moment when everything inside him had hollowed out.
He couldn’t breathe for a second. And then, there she was again. In his arms. Warm. Alive.
He turned his head slightly and looked down at her, and really looked.
Her face was pressed softly into his chest, eyes still closed in a deep sleep.
Her long lashes rested like dark feathers against his chest. Her lips parted slightly.
Her breathing was even, steady. Her skin carried a faint flush again, not the cold pallor of the infirmary.
She was whole. She was here. He couldn’t stop the tear that slipped down, across the bridge of his nose, and fell silently. It landed on her cheek.
Thaelyn stirred with a quiet sound, her brow furrowing as the tear brushed her skin. Her lashes fluttered, then parted. She looked up at him with sleepy confusion in her eyes and then with concern. “Thorne?” Her voice was still rough with sleep. “What is it?”
He shook his head, exhaling through his nose, jaw tight. He tried to wipe the tear away, but she caught his hand and laced her fingers with his.
“You’re crying.”
“No,” he muttered. “I’m just breathing hard.”
She smiled faintly. “Terrible liar.”
He laughed once under his breath, low and hoarse. Then fell silent. The quiet stretched and was filled only by the rhythm of their shared breath. He turned onto his side, curling toward her. His forehead touched hers. One hand cradled her jaw as if she might vanish again if he looked away.
“I thought I lost you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed along the curve of her cheek. “I heard Nyxariel’s scream, and the bond went silent.” His voice caught. “I would’ve burned the world down.”
Thaelyn didn’t answer. She only pressed her palm to his chest, over the steady thrum of his heart. He caught her hand in his and held it there.
“I love you. I will love you long after the stars burn out.”
The words landed like a tether, like gravity. Heavy, anchoring. Real. Thaelyn didn’t blink. Her lips parted, and a breath caught in her throat. Her body went still against his.
He swallowed, his voice lower now. “I’ve known it for a while. I just couldn’t say it before.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, something fragile breaking in her eyes.
“You unraveled every guard I ever raised. With my body and soul, I am yours and in every breath that follows.”