Chapter 26 #3
But now, with Amara curled into me, breathing soft and steady against my chest, I realize the truth. I never stopped wanting it.
I just forgot how to hope for it.
I nuzzle closer to her, my hand drifting lightly down her spine, and I think about it—when she had my heart.
Even before I knew it.
Was it that kiss she gave me right after bonding with Calryx—the one that felt like lightning striking? It nearly dragged the truth out of me. Made me admit how I’ve felt all along, even if it was only in a kiss.
Was it when she looked at me with so much guilt the day her Elemental magics merged while sparring—and she injured me? She looked at me afterward like she couldn’t bear what she’d done.
Or that night I walked her back from the dinner with the nobles, when she trusted me even though I didn’t trust myself?
Was it when she took down the Gorganthe wraith—fierce and brilliant—and smiled at me afterward, like I was the only one who mattered?
Maybe.
Maybe it was all of those things.
But if I’m being truly honest—brutally, unflinchingly honest—it was the day I first saw her. Standing alone in the wreckage of her Elemental blast. Surrounded by fear and ruin. Her face open. Raw.
Afraid, and still—so fucking fierce.
Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with her face and everything to do with the fire burning inside her. The fire that still refuses to go out.
She had my heart then. Long before I understood it—long before I even dared to hope.
“You don’t know how much I would give for you.”
I breathe in slowly.
“Everything, Amara darling. I would give you everything . . . if I could.”
But I can’t.
Because I don’t belong to myself anymore. I am a man bound to a fate that will take me from her. And I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
When I close my eyes, I see them—the shadows, curling, consuming. And gods, what if one day that’s all that’s left of me?
The bond flares once—sharp and aching—like it feels my greatest fear. Amara shifts faintly against me, her breath hitching, then it slows again.
Still, I can’t stop touching her. Because she’s real and she’s here in my bed. She is the only thing anchoring me to this world when everything else is slipping away.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Immediately, guilt drops in my chest like iron. I have no right to love her. No right to take her life from her by tying her to this curse. But I am a weak man completely enraptured by her spirit.
The bond flares again—sharp and electric—as if it wants her to hear what I can only reveal in the fading darkness. She stirs, a soft murmur escaping her lips, warm against my chest.
I freeze.
Her lashes flutter, her fingers twitching faintly where they rest against my ribs. She’s not awake, but she’s not fully asleep, either.
My heart hammers.
Did she hear me?
I hold still, barely breathing.
Then—a slow inhale, a quiet sigh. She settles back against me, drifting deeper into sleep. Unaware.
I let out a shaky breath, my hand fisting gently against her back. This is the closest I’ve come to saying what I’ve felt for months.
And gods help me, I am not ready for her to hear it yet.
I don’t know what she would say if she knew the depth of what I feel for her now. If she knew that she has undone me. She has become the one thing I can no longer live without. For the first time in my life—I want something for myself besides the end of this fucking war.
Her.
Outside, the world waits for us: the capital, the archives, the secrets we must uncover. But for now, I let myself have this.
I hold her and let myself fall.
Because right now, in these early morning hours, she’s mine.
And if that fucking curse takes me—gods, please—let me remember this.
AMARA
I wake slowly.
The room is still wrapped in that early hush—the kind that feels safe. Like the world hasn’t quite found us yet.
The first thing I notice is warmth. Thane’s arms around me, holding me close. His chest rising beneath my cheek in slow, rhythmic breaths. The familiar scent of smoke and leather.
Something that has become home.
For a moment, I don’t move. I let myself pretend there is nothing waiting for us outside this room.
No journey or prophecy.
No curse clawing back through bloodlines and memory.
Just this.
Just him.
“You’re awake.” Thane murmurs.
His voice is low, rough from sleep, but there’s something different in it. Something settled.
I shift slightly, tilting my head up to look at him. His smoke-gray eyes meet mine.
And gods, they are different.
The mask he always wears—the Warlord, the weight, the armor—is gone. What’s left is something steadier. Quieter.
Because finally—finally—he isn’t fighting this anymore. He isn’t holding back.
I see it in his gaze, in the way he looks at me, certain and unflinching.
Mine.
“Morning,” I murmur, my voice still thick with sleep.
“Morning,” he says, low and steady. “Remember that thing I wanted to tell you?”
Okay then. He’s not wasting time—not hiding behind silence anymore.
“Yes, what is it?” I ask, shifting so I could better see his beautiful face.
His fingers move against my back, tracing slow, absent patterns. I lean into them, relishing the light touch.
“That I’m done pretending this doesn’t matter,” he says, quietly. “That I’m done trying to convince myself I can ignore it.”
A slow exhale. His eyes hold mine—unguarded . . . unwavering.
“That I know exactly what this is.”
I feel the shift of certainty—in his hands, in his voice, in his eyes.
I was always meant to be here. I was always meant to be his.
There are a lot of things I could say. A dozen ways I could answer. But this is me. And even now, even after everything—the bond, the curse, the weight of last night—I can’t help myself.
I smirk.
“So does this mean you’re finally admitting you’re into me?”
His lips twitch. I see it—the almost-smile, the almost-laugh, the almost-surrender.
“Amara—” he groans.
“Because I think this is what people call a breakthrough, Thane.”
I shift slightly, stretching against him, my body still tangled with his. And gods—I don’t miss the way his breath catches.
His grip tightens around me, just slightly.
And that?
That is its own kind of victory.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters.
A grin tugs at my mouth.
“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” I say, smug.
His chest vibrates with a low, reluctant chuckle—and gods, the sound of it . . . it’s warm. Real. The kind of sound you don’t realize you’ve ached to hear until it breaks you open.
He doesn’t argue. His fingers keep moving—lazy, absent, steady down my spine.
“You’re enjoying this,” I murmur into his chest, grinning.
His lips twitch, a flash of humor slipping through.
“Maybe.”
That face. That almost smile. That glimpse of the man beneath all that armor.
I am absolutely undone.
Because this is new. This easy confidence, this certainty in the way he holds me.
Thane is mine. And I am his.
We don’t have to say it because it’s already written in the space between us.
I should get up. The capital awaits; the questions; the archives; the past.
But I don’t and neither does he.
His fingers trail down my spine, savoring the feel of me; the shape of us.
I tilt my head back to look at him. The morning light cuts across his face, highlighting the angles of his jaw, the parts of him that were untouchable.
Except now, they aren’t. Not to me. His mask is gone.
And he’s here.
“You’re staring.” Thane says, voice low and amused.
I smirk. “You’re kind of holding me in place. I don’t have much of a choice.”
His lips twitch again. “Maybe I don’t want to let go.”
A challenge. A confession. A truth that makes my pulse jump.
I arch a brow.
“You are into me! I wore you down!”
His exhale is almost a laugh. He shakes his head. “Amara—”
“I think we should celebrate,” I say, grinning. “It’s not every day the mighty Warlord admits defeat.”
I expect him to roll his eyes, to let out one of those long-suffering sighs that usually follow my teasing. Instead, his hand finds the back of my neck. His eyes pin mine with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
“I’m defeated,” he breathes, and pulls me to him.
When our lips meet, the world falls away.
His kiss is deep. Fierce. Consuming. And I meet him with equal hunger, equal need, because he isn’t the only one who has waited too long.
His tongue sweeps deeper, claiming my mouth, making my whole body shudder.
He sucks, nips, the rhythm of kisses driving into me just as surely as the slow, desperate thrust of his hips against mine. I meet each thrust with my own as he grinds against me, only the thin fabric of his pants between us.
Our tongues slide together, a slow dance, breaths coming faster, heavier. The air around us feels electric. He tastes like fire and heat and something that is only him—wild, desperate, mine.
The door slams open.
“Thane—”
Valen’s voice cuts through the haze like a blade.
We pull apart just as Valen strides inside, already fully dressed for travel. His dark riding clothes are clean and fitted, his boots laced tight, a thin cloak hanging from his shoulders.
His gaze sweeps over the both of us—to the way I’m still tangled up against him, both of us still rumpled from sleep. Thane’s drawstring pants sit low on his hips, his bare chest rising and falling steadily against the morning light.
A slow, exasperated sigh. “Of course.”
I clear my throat, sitting up straighter while pulling the blanket up higher. “Morning, Valen.”
He does not look amused. “We leave in an hour. Be ready.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and strides out. The door slams behind him.
A long silence. Then—a low chuckle from Thane.
I blink up at him. “Did you just laugh?”
He smirks—wicked, unapologetic.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Forgot to lock the door.”
A beat.
His mouth quirks. “You should probably go first.”
I glance down—and by the gods, the sight nearly undoes me.
The tension in his body. The tight clench of his jaw. And, most telling of all—the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against the front of his drawstring pants.
Heat curls low in my belly. Satisfaction slices through me, sweet and sharp.
I bite my lower lip.
“Now, you two! Horses are ready—we leave now!” Valen barks from behind the door, clearly done with this entire situation.
We sigh in unison.
“Yeah,” I murmur, grinning at Thane. “You should probably let me go first.”
He doesn’t move. And gods, part of me doesn’t want to either.
But the world is waiting.
Reluctantly, I ease from the bed, reaching for my clothes. As I cross the room, I feel it—his gaze.
Still on me, still burning.
Like he’s already deciding when—not if—he’ll finish what we started.