Chapter 36 Gyon
GYON
The morning after our bonding ceremony tastes different.
Not like victory. Not like relief.
Like rightness.
The kind that settles in my bones and quiets every instinct that’s ever told me to run, fight, tear, survive.
I wake with Liora’s hair spread across my chest like a dark silk banner, her breath warm against my skin, her fingers curled loosely against my ribs.
The light filtering in from the tiny gap in the curtains paints her face gold.
Pepper is already gone—Liora walked her to the school shuttle an hour ago while I pretended not to watch them from the window like a paranoid beast.
Now, the apartment is quiet.
Too quiet.
I hear the shower running.
Her footsteps. The slide of the glass door. The water shifting over her skin.
My body reacts before I tell it to. My chest warms. My claws flex—slow, careful, not the way I used to when hunger was a weapon. This is a different kind of hunger. Quieter. More dangerous.
I rise, follow the sound down the hall, and push the bathroom door open.
Steam rolls over me, hot and fragrant with her soap—orange blossom and something sweeter underneath. Her scent. My lungs seize on it greedily.
She doesn’t hear me at first.
She stands beneath the spray, head tipped back, hair plastered to her spine, fingers massaging her scalp. The water runs down her shoulders, her back, her legs. Light slips along every curve.
My voice catches.
I step in.
She startles when my hands slide around her waist—just a quick, soft gasp—but she doesn’t pull away. She melts. Actually melts. Her back arcs into my chest, her head tipping to the side so my mouth can find the curve of her neck.
“Gyon,” she breathes, half surprise, half invitation.
I kiss the place where her shoulder meets her throat—slow, open-mouthed, tasting heat and water and her skin’s faint salt.
I feel her pulse leap beneath my lips. My hands move lower, mapping her hips, her waist, her stomach with the kind of care that would embarrass the Reaper legion if they saw me now.
She leans heavier against me, palms finding the wall for balance.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” she says, breath unsteady.
“I didn’t intend for you to,” I murmur, my voice a low scrape against the tile and steam.
“You stalking me now?”
“Always.”
She laughs—a breathy, soft sound that hits me harder than any blade ever has.
I turn her gently to face me.
The water slicks down her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, gliding over the soft swell of her chest. Her eyes lift to mine. There’s no hesitation. No fear. Just… trust. Want.
And love.
The kind she tried to hide for years, but it’s here now. Bare and unshielded.
I slide my hands along her arms, slower than I ever thought myself capable of. She shivers—not from cold, but from anticipation. Her fingertips brush my jaw, my shoulder, my chest, tracing lines I didn’t know I needed traced.
She whispers, “You’re staring.”
“Yes,” I admit. “I spent three years dreaming of you. I will stare as long as you allow it.”
Color rises in her cheeks, flushed and warm from the steam.
I lift her gently, hands secure around her thighs. She wraps her legs around my hips, her arms around my shoulders. She fits against me like she was designed for this exact shape, this exact moment.
Her breath catches.
“Liora,” I say, my forehead resting against hers. “You’re sure?”
Her eyes soften—brown, bright, fierce.
“Always.”
A groan drags out of my chest. “You should not say that word to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I will take it literally.”
She laughs again, arms tightening around my neck. “Good.”
I kiss her. Hard. Then slow. Then hard again. I let the rhythm find us, let the moment shape itself. Her hands roam my shoulders, my neck, my hair. She pulls me closer, deeper. The water beats down in hot waves, mixing with heat rising off her skin.
Everything smells like steam and citrus and her.
Her lips break from mine long enough to murmur, “Gyon…”
I kiss her jaw. Her cheek. The hollow of her throat. Each place pulls another soft sound from her, each one more undone than the last.
She tilts her head back, breathing unsteady. “I love you.”
The words land like a blade to the chest—but not one meant to wound. One meant to carve something out of me. Something sacred.
I hold her closer, my voice raw. “Say it again.”
She cups my face. “I love you.”
A tremor runs through me. I press my forehead to hers again. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
“I think I do,” she whispers, brushing her thumb across my lower lip.
The heat builds—slow, rising, inevitable. The world narrows to the curve of her body against mine, the rhythm of her breath, the pulse skipping beneath her skin. She clings to me, a soft gasp leaving her when I lift her a fraction higher, anchoring her more securely against the warm tile.
Her nails trail along my back—light at first, then harder, enough to pull a sound from me that would embarrass me if I had shame left.
The steam fogs the glass, blurring everything beyond the two of us into nothing.
Our voices echo in the small space—soft murmurs, breathless whispers, hints of laughter, the occasional gasp that escapes before either of us can catch it. It’s not frantic. Not a battlefield. Not punishment or desperation like before.
It’s us, reclaiming each other.
Rebuilding something we thought we lost.
I kiss the water from her mouth. She bites my lower lip gently. I rest my hand at the small of her back. She threads her fingers through my hair.
Our movements fall into something slow, powerful, perfectly synced—a rhythm born of years of longing and months of rebuilding.
She leans her forehead against mine, eyes half-closed, breath trembling. “I trust you,” she whispers.
The words almost undo me.
I bury my face in her shoulder, voice cracking. “And I will never make you regret it.”
Her fingers trace my jaw. “You won’t.”
We move together—anchored, entwined, breath mingling, bodies fitting like constellations aligning. Heat builds, deeper and deeper, and the air between us hums with something electric, something sacred.
The moment crests—
And the rest dissolves into steam and heat and the sound of her name in my mouth.
Steam still clings to the air, warm and heavy, wrapping the room in a haze that seems to slow time itself. The shower’s turned off—its clicks and drips echoing like a retreating tide—and the tile is slick beneath my boots. I reach for the plush towel in my hand and let go of everything else.
She stands there, water shimmering on her skin, hair plastered down, eyes looking at me like she’s seeing me all the way for the first time.
The world falls silent. Every muscle tightens.
Then relaxes as I wrap the towel around her.
It drapes over her shoulders, droplets running down and disappearing into the fabric.
“You’re still wet,” I murmur.
She nods, lips parted. “Still feeling it.”
I slide one arm beneath her bare legs, lift her up fluidly, and walk across the room towards the bed.
I carry her like she weighs nothing, though every part of me knows she weighs the world.
Her breath brushes my neck as she settles against me.
I release her legs; she stays curled. I shed my armor jacket and boots, leaving them by the door, but the weight of our promise stays on my chest.
We lie back. The sheets are cool where the tile doesn’t heat the mattress.
Dampness from the shower rises in faint wisps.
I feel the fabric against my bare skin, the warmth of her body pressing into mine.
Water beads along her collarbone, trickles into the hollow of her neck. I kiss each drop like it’s the first.
She draws a shaky breath. “This isn’t the end,” she whispers.
“No,” I reply, voice low and heavy. “It’s the start of something better.”
And it is.
I tuck my hand into her hair, fingers running along her scalp, collecting stray droplets. Her skin tastes of warm rain and perfume—light vanilla and something deeper. She catches my wrist and places it over her heart.
“Here,” she says. “Hear this.”
I press my ear. Her heartbeat is strong, sure. I feel it ripple through my palm, through her body, into mine. My own heart trades rhythm, matches it. Skin to skin. Soul to soul.
We stay like that awhile. No words. Just breath. Just us.
Eventually she brushes her lips against the side of my head. “Gyon,” she says—soft, husky. “Let’s stay like this all day.”
I grin. “I’d make the entire galaxy wait for you.”
She laughs—sweet, musical. “Good. Because you’re stuck.”
I close my eyes. Feel her fingers lace with mine. I feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest beneath me. The sheet twists under us. The mattress sighs.
She moves again. Rolls toward me, face to face now. The faint scent of soap lingers on her skin. Warmth floods me. I lean in; she kisses me, light at first. We draw the kiss out. Closer. Deeper. No urgency this time. Just reverence.
“You’re home,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “You are.”
She smiles tiredly. “Can we be done hiding?”
“I’d like that,” I say. “No shadows.”
She nods. She leans in, fingers trailing along the scar at my collarbone, lines left from the Maze. “Your scars,” she whispers, “they’re part of me now.”
My breath catches. “So are yours.”
We stay entangled, the quiet of the room wrapping around us, the world outside dimming.
I listen to the faint hum of city life: distant hovercars, a siren somewhere soft, the refrigerator thrumming.
I smell fresh sheets, night air slipping through the cracked window, the faint spice of her braid’s flower.
She lifts her head. “Tomorrow the press will hit,” she says, tone practical. “The studio will want statements. The IHC will wait. But tonight—we’re ours.”
“Tonight,” I murmur.
She presses her hand to my chest. “Promise me you’ll keep this.”
“What?” My voice echoes.
“This weight. Our weight. Don’t carry it alone.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t have to.”
“Good.” She leans in, kisses me again.
We drift between words and warmth. At one point, I trace my fingers along the curve of her hip. She shivers. “What are you thinking?” she asks.
I smile. “That I’m the luckiest Reaper in history.”
She sits up, pulls me with her to a sitting position. Our legs wrap together. Her head tucks into my shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I found you,” I reply. “And found her.” I nod toward where her hand is still resting on hers. “And for once, I don’t feel like I have to battle the universe alone.”
Her fingers squeeze mine. “I feel it too.”
There’s a pause. A gentle shifting of bodies, a rustle of sheets. I kiss the top of her head. “I love you.”
She lifts her face. “I love you more.”
Then she reaches up, brushing the loose scissors of her hair from her face. “We should sleep.”
“Agreed.”
She nestles closer. I wrap an arm around her waist, hold her. Her breath slow, steady. My heartbeat firm beneath her palm.
We lull each other into the night.
In the half-light, I feel something I’ve never felt before: peace. Rootedness. A home forged in starships and warzones, now anchored in her heartbeat.
And I know, without doubt, that this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.