Chapter 35 #2
A rough laugh rumbled through his chest—the first real sound he’d made besides growls in days. His arms tightened around her.
“Heart-fire,” he rasped. “I—”
“Don’t you dare.” She lifted her head and pressed her fingers to his lips. “No apologizing. Not for this. Not for any of it.”
He rolled her to her back and braced himself above her. His hair, that she’d partially braided somewhere between yesterday and last night, was a tangled mess once more. But the look in his eyes stole her breath—so open and tender, it undid her.
“I love you,” he rasped.
Her heart tripped, then slammed against her ribs. “You don’t have to say—”
“I do,” he growled, gently brushing back her sweat-dampened hair from her cheek. “Don’t interrupt when I’m declaring myself to you.”
Her laugh caught in her throat as she searched his gaze. For once, there was no feral edge, no shield of cocky arrogance—just him.
“My wild, beautiful heart…” His throat worked. “You took on a messed-up male like me. And every time the nightmares dragged me under, your warmth pulled me back. How could I not fall? I’m completely and utterly in love with you.”
His gaze filled with tenderness. “I’ve never said that to anyone but you. You consume my thoughts. You’re my only, my forever. You stopped believing in love—that’s all right. I’ve enough for both of us.”
Her eyes burned, her throat tight. She swallowed, tried for humor, and nothing. Her voice trembled. “I was just so mad at you back then when I said that, but I do—I love you, too. So hopelessly, in fact.”
A smile broke over his face, boyish and unguarded, one so achingly rare it undid her all over again.
He kissed her palm, and through their bond, she felt his quiet at last. The rut fever had burned itself out, leaving their connection stronger, deeper—irrevocable.
He nuzzled the newly healed claim mark on her neck. “We should return soon.”
“Mmm.” She stretched, feeling every sore muscle. “I know. We have a wrong to put right.”
“Indeed.” He kissed her again, slow, sure, sealing the words between them like a vow. Then he lifted his head, heat creeping into his striking eyes. “But first…”
“Again?”
“With you? Always.”
Much, much later, Ash lay sprawled across the furs, every limb limp, while Race lay between her thighs, his head resting on her stomach.
“Christ alive,” she croaked, staring up at the high craggy ceiling. “Three days. Three bloody days. You dragons need a warning label—may cause death by shagging.”
Race’s huff of laughter was deep, smug as sin. “You survived.”
“Barely.” She shoved weakly at his shoulder. “Good thing I’m so bloody in love with you. But next time you so much as look at me with that fever in your eyes, I’m locking you in a cellar with a bucket of ice water.”
His lips curved against her skin. “You’d never.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” She gave him her best glare, which lost all its impact when he kissed her navel. “Bloody menace. My thighs may never recover.”
Race’s shoulders shook with his laughter, the sound freer than she’d ever heard. “You love it.”
She snorted, her smile betraying her. “God help me, I do.”
The storm outside had faded to a gentle rain, as if nature itself acknowledged the change. Ash sighed, threading her fingers through Race’s sweat-dampened hair.
“Gaia—or the Fates—didn’t just make you my mate, Ash,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe. “She made you my balance. Your Watcher’s blood tempers my flame, but you also conduct it—channel it. Any other female, even a noble one, would’ve burned.”
His forehead furrowed, then he groaned, pressing his brow to her stomach. “The bastard! So, that’s what it meant…the space between heartbeats—you.”
Ash stilled, her fingers pausing in his hair. “Who?”
“Blaéz and his damned precognition,” Race growled. “He might be a former deity, but his cryptic predictions can be a real pain in the ass.”
“What are you talking about?” She tugged lightly on his hair.
He looked up again. “Blaéz’s obscure adage.
In the space between heartbeats, where shadow swallows light, mortality weaves immortality’s chains.
It means with my Pyr’xian lineage, my fires would normally consume a mortal, but your psi essence absorbs and balances it.
Your bloodline carries the breath between worlds, the same space where mortality and immortality meet. ”
Ash blinked, processing that. “It makes sense. Either way, I’m just glad we got through that hurdle.”
“Regardless of how the Fates played this out—even if your blood were pure human—I would have found a way to make you mine.” His voice dipped to a growl. “All I needed was my venom to claim you. Believe me, I would have dragged Vargol’s bony ass down here to make sure nothing happened to you.”
Ash laughed. “Well, I’m happy Vargol didn’t get to see me naked.”
Race lifted his head, his stare dark, possessive.
She just laughed harder. “We are together now, love. Anyway, we should make use of the lake.”
“Aye.” He kissed her belly, a deep sigh escaping him. “Then we must leave.”
“I know—Race!” She tugged his hair. “The children—are they safe?”
“Aye.” He nodded, his voice tight. Then he told her about the Soul Forge, how it had drained the young of their power, feeding on their essence.
“Bastard.” Her jaw clenched, fury sparking through her exhaustion. “He feeds off children? Then he won’t see winter.”
“No,” Race said, his tone clipped. “He won’t. His days are numbered.”
Their bond thrummed like stormlight. Beyond the cave, thunder rumbled once more—low, distant, as if the heavens themselves waited.
Caelvyrn waited, too. Ancient, wounded…ready for retribution.