Chapter Eighty-Seven
Death Cannot Keep Me
They spoke of forever, daring the war to take it from them.
Her nightgown slipped loose at the shoulder as she sat on the edge of his bed, the thin strap sliding down her arm. She caught it quickly, clutching his coat tighter around her frame as if stone walls might appear if she only held fast enough.
Across the room, Viktor stripped out of his tunic, the dark fabric tugged over his head, boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. When he looked back, her stillness stilled him in turn. He crossed to her, pressed a kiss to her temple, and sank beside her.
“What is it, love?”
Her gaze darted, shame pressing against her ribs.
“I shouldn’t say it.”
“Say it anyway.”
His voice was low, coaxing.
Her eyes dropped.
“I miss it. Castle Rhidian. The walls, the quiet, even the smell of the stone in the mornings. Stars, Tory—how can I be homesick for that place when I’m here with you?”
The coat slipped further, and he caught it back around her shoulders, holding it as though his arms might be the fortress she longed for. His thumb brushed along her jaw, tilting her face up to him.
“There’s no shame in it, Ami. You were raised in that castle—it’s in your bones to miss it.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth.
“And I’ll win it back for you. Every key, every stone, every hall. Until the only home you’ll ever ache for is the one with me in it.”
Tears clung to her lashes as she pressed into his chest, skin to skin.
“I’m sorry for missing stone walls when you’ve given me everything that matters.”
He tipped her chin until her eyes locked with his.
“I don’t want walls,” she whispered, her voice breaking soft.
She leaned into his touch.
“I only want what you promised me earlier.”
The word left her in a breathless whisper.
“Tonight.”
Her pulse quickened as his gaze darkened, the air between them sparking. And then, lower, almost ashamed of the fear laced in her longing, she asked, “Tory… how will we do this and not be heard?”
His mouth curved faintly.
“I’ll close the window. Lock it tight. And then…” His lips brushed her brow as he murmured, “I’ll have you lie on your belly. Bury your face in the pillow. Let you scream where only I can hear it.”
Her breath caught. “Lie on my…”
“Here,” he said softly.
He slipped his coat from her shoulders, guiding her forward onto the blankets.
“Just for me.”
Tentative, almost shy, she lay down on the bed with her face turned toward the window, moonlight spilling across her skin. His fingers swept her braid to one side, threading slowly through her hair.
“Yes,” he whispered against her neck, “just like that.”
She trembled under his touch, his palm gliding down her spine, curving over her hip until his hand closed warmly around her thigh. He nudged her knee forward, opening her just enough.
“And I’ll take you,” he breathed, “right like this.”
He wasn’t even inside her, yet her pulse thundered as if he already was.
She nodded—nervous, aching, desperate all at once.
“I want to try it.”
He kissed the curve of her neck, lingering there, then rose with a growl that wasn’t quite contained.
“I’ll close the window.”
He crossed the room, shoulders taut, every movement threaded with restraint. The shutters latched under his hand with a snap, sealing them in, shutting the night out. The sound shivered through her like a warning.
When he lit the taper, the flame leapt high, casting his body in gold and shadow. The hard planes of his chest, the scars she knew, the hunger in his eyes—every part of him glowed like something claimed. Something dangerous.
She lifted her nightgown over her head slowly, never breaking his gaze, daring him to lose control. Moonlight from the shutter slits and the taper’s glow kissed every line of her, leaving her gleaming and bare, a vision meant for him alone.
She climbed onto the bed again, knees sinking into the blankets, the tremor of anticipation threading through her limbs.
He joined her, close behind, his heat a wall pressing into her back. The air between them throbbed, thick with everything they’d promised when they whispered, Tonight.
She started to lean forward, instinct tugging her down, but his voice caught her like a hand at the throat. “Not yet.”
His fingers folded around her waist, hot and steady. She felt his breath at her ear, the weight of his presence pressing down her spine, and the slow, deliberate way he drew her back against him until they were both on their knees.
His thumbs stroked the dip of her back, holding her, teasing her.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, though the strain in his voice betrayed the truth—he was, too.
She shook her head, pulse racing.
“It’s just… new.”
His lips curved against her ear, the barest scrape of teeth.
“It’s new for me, too, Ami.”
Her smile broke through the tremor of her lips, fragile and radiant. They were braving this together—one breath, one kiss, one whisper at a time.
His hand slid higher, cupping her breast, teasing until she moaned against him. The other traced lower, until his fingers found the heat between her thighs. Her head tipped back against his shoulder with a broken sound.
“Just for me,” he whispered, his mouth grazing her jaw. “Save it just for me.”
Her hand found his thigh, nails biting as his fingers worked her with maddening slowness. Her hips rolled without thought, desperate to meet him.
“Dask, Ami…”
His voice broke ragged in her ear.
“Do you know what you do to me?”
She did—she knew exactly. And suddenly she wanted more.
Still facing forward, she let her palm trail behind her, brushing his hip, then lower—closing around the hard, undeniable proof of how much he wanted her.
“Amerei—”
He swore under his breath, guttural, raw. His hips bucked into her hand, his breath scorching her ear.
“You’ll break me.”
Her mouth curved faintly, though her breath trembled.
“Then tell me—am I doing it right?”
His hand covered hers, guiding her in a long, slow stroke.
“Everything you do is right.”
Even in her grasp, he was more than she could take—more than she could ever want.
“You’re… devastating, Tory,” she breathed, the word escaping before she realized she’d spoken it.
His chest shook with a low laugh. “Devastating?”
“I was intimidated by you on our wedding night,” she confessed.
His lips grazed her ear, voice dropping to a growl.
“You still are.”
He pressed harder along her back, his breath sweeping hot across her shoulder.
“Do you trust me?”
“With everything,” she whispered.
His hand slid from her waist to her hip.
“I want to try something else that’s new.”
She glanced back at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
His palm settled over her heart, and she knew—just as she had in the forest with his sling, when his power had steadied her aim—that something more was about to break loose.
“You promised you wouldn’t—”
“Not unless you asked,” he said, the words brushing heat across her skin.
“Ask me, Ami.”
Her pulse hammered.
Her throat tightened around the breath she couldn’t catch.
A single heartbeat, then:
“Do it.”
The power came like a tide—hot, blinding, unstoppable—rushing through her until every nerve burned bright. She gasped, knees weakening beneath her.
“Dask—” He clenched his jaw, fighting to bear it. His hands roamed helplessly over her body, grasping, searching, aching as though he could bind himself in her flesh.
Something shifted.
Her head tipped, breath catching again—but this time for an entirely different reason.
“Viktor…”
She felt him. Not his hands. Not his body. Him. The raw, unfiltered thrum of his desire, surging through her veins like lightning made liquid. It scorched, it consumed, it claimed.
Her gasp broke into a stunned, breathless laugh.
“I can feel you.”
He froze, eyes darkening.
“You can feel me?”
“I can—
I want—
Dask—
Now, Tory—
I want it now.”
Whatever restraint he’d clung to shattered. He dragged her back against him, his mouth crashing to her neck, his hands grasping her as if nothing beyond that room had ever existed.
Her body burned under his touch—his hunger colliding with hers, pleasure ricocheting between them in a relentless surge.
Every gasp of hers crashed back into him, every pulse of his need thundered through her veins.
It was a dizzying, dangerous loop, a wildfire feeding on itself, until neither of them knew where one ended and the other began.
“Dask, Ami…”
His voice was wrecked, raw with desperation.
“You’ll have to—”
“The pillow, Tory—”
He was already reaching for it.
She dropped forward onto her elbows, her face sinking into the pillow as he came over her, his weight and heat pinning her down. His chest pressed to her back, his breath wild against her neck as his hand locked over hers on the mattress. His lips brushed her ear, his voice a husked vow.
“Every sound. Every scream. You give them all to me.”
Then he was there—pressing into her with a deep, slow drive, restraint warring with the urgency in his body. Heat spread through her, molten and consuming, until every nerve burned with him.
Her muffled cry vibrated against the pillow, but it was useless—every ounce of sound was already pouring into him, every pulse of him already in her.
He filled her deeper, each thrust carrying both the strength to destroy and the tenderness that never would. He felt like home and havoc in the same heartbeat.
“Ami—dask—” his breath fractured against her skin. “You feel… dask—so good.”
His pleasure flooded her again, hotter, more consuming, until the sensation stole her breath.
She broke, lifting her head just enough to gasp, “Tory—don’t stop—”
Every thrust, every shudder, every thundering beat of his chest poured into her—and came back again. The loop tightened until she couldn’t tell if the heartbeat in her ears was hers or his, if the cry rising in her throat belonged to her or was dragged from him.
He thrust harder, and she swore she could feel the exact moment he clenched his jaw, the tremor that rippled down his legs, the groan he swallowed against her skin. It made her knees weak, her pulse hammer.
It was too much. It was perfect.
The world outside—the voices, the danger, the war—fell away under the rhythm of him moving inside her, each drive dragging her deeper into the loop that bound them.
Tighter.
Faster.
She wanted to scream his name, but it was trapped in the pillow, in his grip, in the unrelenting way he held her right at the edge.
His mouth brushed her ear, his voice a wrecked growl.
“I know what you want. I can feel it.”
Her sob tangled with a laugh, desperate, wild.
“Then give it—give it to me—”
The world blurred, and then—
His voice.
Not aloud. Not whispered.
It ripped through her mind like lightning down her spine.
“Mine.”
Her nails curled into the pillow, her body arching despite the way he held her down. She could feel how close he was—could taste it in the heat at the back of her throat, in the molten ache pooling between her thighs.
“Viktor—”
Her voice fractured, breathless.
“Say it again,” he rasped, hips slamming harder.
She gasped, her cry breaking on his name again and again.
His head dropped to her shoulder, his voice wrecked and desperate against her skin.
“I love you, Amerei.”
The words burst inside her, hot as the lightning sparking down her spine.
She sobbed her answer against the pillow, half-cry, half-moan.
“I love you—I love you—”
And then it snapped.
Tight between them, that impossible tether—his release tearing through him as hers broke open around him, their voices colliding in the same breath, the same fire, the same unending loop.
Her body trembled beneath him, her release crashing so deep, so strong, until the sobs broke loose before she could stop them.
She turned her head enough to see him, tears spilling hot down her cheeks.
“I’m yours, Tory,” she whispered.
He buried his face in her neck, spilling the last of himself into her like it could hold him here, with her, against the pull of every shadow that wanted him gone.
For a long, aching moment, they stayed like that—her hand at the back of his neck, his heartbeat pounding against her palm. Their breaths found the same rhythm, uneven and breaking, then slow and quiet.
When he finally shifted, he didn’t pull away. He gathered her against him, turning them onto their sides, his arm a fortress around her waist.
Her voice cracked the silence, wrecked and trembling through her tears.
“I can’t go to Amethyst.”
“Ami—”
“I can’t love anyone but you.”
The words broke out on a sob.
For a breath, he only looked at her, like the truth in her voice had stopped his heart.
His chest tightened.
“Then you’d better prepare yourself,” he said, brushing a tear from her cheek, “for me to live.”
Her breath caught.
“Imagine it,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “This war ends, and I come for you. I’m there—on the steps of Castle Amethyst—waiting.”
She shut her eyes, gripped his arm.
“I’m imagining it now,” she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of wanting it—of wanting him—so fiercely that it hurt.
“Zeporah’s running scared for Tyra. Ivan’s rallying Casqadia. Your father’s got the keys to Rhidian. And I take you home—to Fyreglade, to the sea, to wherever. Doesn’t matter, so long as it’s us.”
He faltered then, breath shuddering against her brow, the silence a heartbeat heavy with all he couldn’t say.
Then softer, hoarser:
“And months from now… you wake me in the gray of morning, and you’re smiling— Stars, Ami, that smile. You guide my hand to your belly, and you tell me what I’ve been hoping for every night in the dark—that our child is there. Strong. Already ours.”
Her throat closed, tears spilling hot against his skin.
“I want that, too, Tory.”
He cradled the back of her head, kissing her hair hard.
“Then go to Amethyst, my love,” he breathed, “knowing death itself couldn’t stop me from giving you our dream.”
She trembled.
“When I come for you… you’ll know me,” he swore. “No matter what happens on that battlefield. No matter what’s been broken along the way.”
Her eyes lifted to his, tears slipping free. “I’ll know you.”
He kissed her—slow, aching—sealing it like the last dawn was breaking.
Like the last vow he would ever make.