Chapter 19 #3
I narrow my eyes. “Do you always appear out of nowhere and demand I follow you?”
His lips twitch. “I didn’t demand.”
I cross my arms. “You kind of did.”
He steps in close, then looks down like he already knows I’m going to say yes.
“Come with me, Amara.”
A pause.
“Please.”
My breath catches. And my body moves before my mind can decide.
Yes, yes, yes. Because for days, I have been waiting. For this. For him.
I don’t ask anything else. I call for Calryx—and in minutes, we’re in the sky.
Calryx’s wings shimmer pearl-white in the late afternoon sun, casting a soft, iridescent glow as she soars high above the treetops. Below, the forest stretches wide and still, trees swaying in the warm breeze.
She’s been silent for most of the flight, but I feel her presence in the back of my mind—a hum of awareness, sharp and knowing.
Then, with a grumbling huff, she finally speaks. “I did not expect to spend my afternoon flying my rider to go mate.”
I choke on nothing. “Calryx!”
Her wings tilt slightly, and I don’t need to see her face to know she’s pleased with herself. “What? That is what you are doing, is it not?”
I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead. “You don’t have to say it like that. And it could very well be another tortuous training drill he’s dragging me into.”
“Would you prefer I pretend otherwise?” Her voice purrs through the bond, smug and unrepentant. “Because I will not.”
I glare at the back of her head. “Remind me why I bonded with you again?”
“Because I am magnificent.”
I shake my head, exhaling. “Unbelievable.”
She rumbles, soft and smug, brushing against my thoughts with amusement.
And I swear—if dragons could smirk, she would.
Wind rushes past as I follow Thane through the sky, the thrill of flight curling through my chest. The world stretches wide below us, the outpost fading into the distance, nothing but endless mountains and open air surrounding us.
Freedom.
I don’t ask Thane where we’re going. I just follow him. Honestly, I think I’d follow him anywhere at this point.
Xaroth flies low, weaving between jagged peaks and skimming over winding rivers, until finally—he descends into a clearing.
The sky is painted in deep amber and soft rose, the last light of the sun stretching long across the trees as we land. The air is heavy with the scent of blooming flowers, rich earth, and the cool, crisp hint of water.
As soon as we dismount, Calryx and Xaroth take off again, their powerful wings beating against the fading light. I watch them go, their silhouettes cutting across the sky until they vanish beyond the treetops, leaving only the distant rustle of wings and the quiet murmur of the lagoon.
And then—it’s just us.
Suddenly, I’m nervous.
Because he’s here. He planned this. For once, there’s nothing standing between us. No training. No war. No expectations.
Just the air between us, charged and quiet and real.
The water shimmers, catching the last streaks of gold before twilight settles in.
The surface is smooth, mirroring the sky above in perfect, liquid stillness.
Fireflies drift lazily along the shoreline, their soft glow flickering like scattered embers.
The breeze shifts—warm and steady—rustling the tall grass and sending a ripple across the water.
And then I see it.
A blanket, laid out beneath the trees. A small spread of food arranged carefully, thoughtfully. A picnic.
A picnic.
I turn to Thane, my breath catching. “You . . . planned this?” My voice comes out softer than I expect.
His eyes slide to mine, steady and sure. “I did.”
I blink at him. “You? The Fire Warlord. Planned a picnic.”
His lips twitch. And then, echoing his earlier words, he murmurs, “Do you always ask this many questions?”
I shake my head, fighting the smile already tugging at my lips. “I just—I don’t even know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
His words are simple, but the way they settle over me is softer. Like something brushing my skin, light as the kiss of a butterfly.
The air wraps around us, warm and fragrant with flowers and fading sunlight. The last streaks of gold melt into twilight as the lagoon shimmers at our feet.
But I don’t care about any of that. Not right now. Not when Thane is standing in front of me, watching me like he already knows how this night is going to end.
His eyes flick down to my lips, then back up—steady. Waiting. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move away.
He’s waiting for me to move first.
I step closer and wrap my arms around him, pressing my lips to his.
Thane doesn’t hesitate. The second my lips touch his, he grabs me—hard—pulling me flush against him, his grip unyielding, his body so warm, so solid.
And he kisses me back. Desperate. Devouring. Like he’s been waiting for this as long as I have. And now there’s nothing left to stop him.
A low, gravelly sound rumbles from his chest.
His fingers dig into my waist—anchoring, dragging me closer.
Deeper.
More.
I melt into him. My hands tangle in his hair, my body pressing into every inch of him like I can’t get close enough.
The world narrows to this.
His hands on me.
My hands on him.
The heat curling between us—thick and unrelenting.
Thane doesn’t hold back. He kisses me like he means to ruin me. Like he’s starving—and I’m the only thing that will ever satisfy him.
And gods help me—I kiss him back just as fiercely.
His fingers roam, explore, sliding over my spine, my waist, pressing into my skin like he needs to memorize every inch of me. A low sound escapes him, a mix between a growl and a groan as he pulls me tighter, closer, deeper.
I fist his shirt, tugging. Needing more. Needing to feel him. All of him.
His hands slide lower—gripping my ass. Firm. Possessive.
Then he lifts me, effortlessly—like I weigh nothing.
I gasp into his mouth, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. My body moves with his like we’ve done this a thousand times in another life.
And still—he kisses me. Deep. Slow. The kind of kiss that leaves no space. No thought. Nothing except the feel of him.
I feel his heartbeat against mine, his breath hot against my lips. The tension between us pulling so tight I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
But I don’t care. I don’t care about the war. I don’t care about anything except this. Because this—this was inevitable.
Thane’s grip is unrelenting, his hands firm as he carries me toward the picnic blanket. His lips are on my neck now, trailing slow, kisses along my skin, and my brain is rapidly losing the ability to function.
Heat coils between my legs.
My fingers find his shoulders—his hair—anything to ground myself.
I should be thinking about the lagoon, the stars blinking into existence in the evening sky. The fact that this—all of this—was his idea.
But all I can focus on is him. The way he’s touching me. The way his mouth is making me completely unravel.
And before I can stop myself—
“Tell me you thought ahead. You know . . . about the whole not making tiny Warlords situation.”
Thane pauses, his breath warm against my neck. I feel him smirk.
Gods help me.
His teeth graze my skin, just enough to make me suck in a sharp breath before he presses a slow, burning kiss to the same spot.
And then—into my neck, voice low, rough, completely unbothered, “I take a fertility preventative.”
My brain short-circuits. Not because of what he said. But how he said it. So easily. So casually. Which means—
Oh.
My mind spirals. How long has he been on it? How often has he needed it? With who?
The thought sends a sharp, unexpected heat through my chest, something territorial and ridiculous clawing up my spine before I can stop it.
I’m not jealous. I am absolutely not jealous.
But now I’m thinking about all the women before me, the ones who came so easily to him, the ones who had their hands on him, their mouths on his.
The ones he didn’t hold back for. The ones who had this version of him; the one where he is kissing me senseless, holding me to him like he can’t get enough.
I hate that I’m thinking about it.
I hate even more that I want to be the last one he needs it for.
I swallow hard, dragging myself back into the present—back to the heat of his body, the way he feels under my hands.
Because while I’m spiraling—he’s not. He’s here, focused completely and utterly on me.
Then his lips are on mine again, and I stop thinking altogether.
Thane moves with effortless strength, his sculpted warrior’s body, every motion honed by years of training. He lowers me to the blanket with ease, one arm bracing me, the other supporting his weight as he hovers above me—close enough to feel every inch of him, but never crushing.
And I can’t stop touching him.
My hands roam over his shoulders, his arms, the hard planes of his back, fingers tracing the muscles beneath his skin. I want to feel all of him. Every shift. Every breath. Every piece of tension still lingering between us.
His eyes drag over my face, dark and hungry, like he’s memorizing this moment. And then, he kisses me again. Slow, deep.
And I need him. Not just like this. Not just his hands, his mouth, his weight over me. I need to feel him. Skin to skin. Unrestrained. Unfiltered.
I tug at his leathers, desperate, impatient, trying to push them off, frustrated with the straps, the layers—
By the gods, why does he wear so much?
Thane chuckles against my lips, the sound low, rough, entirely too knowing. Then he pulls back just enough to unfasten his leather top and strip his shirt off—and tosses it aside.
Oh.
Oh.
My fingers freeze where they were curled against his stomach—because Thane is all strength. Every inch of him carved in shadow and muscle, built for battle.
Built for me.
His arms brace on either side of me, his shoulders flex as he lowers himself again—and everything in me coils tight. I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can only feel.
The heat of his skin. The weight of him above me. The storm building between us, pulling tighter, hotter—now.