Chapter 38 #2
Not yet, she sensed his dragon rumbling. But soon. Soon she will wear our mark.
“You’re—” He groaned, hips driving harder. “Cassia, you’re—”
“Too much?” The old fear crept in despite herself.
His eyes met hers, burning with something that looked like devotion. “You’re not too much, Cassia.” The words came out rough, certain. “You’re exactly right. Everything about you—exactly right.”
She pulled him down into a kiss that was more desperate than artful, pouring everything she felt into it—the fear, the hope, the terrifying certainty that she would never be the same after tonight.
Her climax built like a storm on the horizon. Slow, inevitable, gathering force with every stroke. She felt it in her magic—power coiling, rising, seeking release.
“Let go,” Aero murmured against her throat. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
She shattered.
The orgasm crashed through her like lightning—bright, electric, consuming.
Her inner walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and she cried out his name as waves of pleasure radiated through every nerve.
Outside, thunder rumbled in answer, but the cabin remained untouched. The storm didn’t rage. It celebrated.
“Fuck—” Aero’s rhythm stuttered, his whole body going taut above her. “Cassia, I’m—”
“Yes,” she breathed, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. “Come for me.”
He buried himself to the hilt and let go with a groan that vibrated through both of them.
She felt him pulse inside her, hot and thick, felt his dragon roar its triumph beneath his skin—primal satisfaction, ancient and possessive.
But he didn’t claim her. Didn’t let the fire rise to his palms and mark her as his.
When he collapsed beside her, gathering her against his chest, she understood why.
“Not tonight.” The words came out barely above a whisper.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Not tonight. When I mark you, it will be with the promise of a future. Not the fear of loss.”
“Romantic.” She traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat gradually slow. “Who knew dragons could be romantic?”
“I’ve been practicing.”
“The flashcards?”
“Delos added a section on post-coital conversation. He was very thorough.”
Cassia laughed—a real laugh, easy and warm, nothing like the tight control she usually kept on her emotions. “I’m going to need to see these flashcards.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re embarrassing. And some of them are… specific. To our situation.” A pause. “He may have titled one ‘Things to Say When Your Mate Is a Weather Witch.’”
“Now I definitely need to see them.”
“Absolutely not.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. In the moonlight filtering through the window, he looked younger. Less guarded. The perpetual tension in his shoulders had eased, and his eyes held warmth instead of wariness.
“You’re different like this.” The words came out soft. “Relaxed. Almost human.”
“You’re one to talk.” His hand came up to trace the curve of her cheek. “Your magic is quiet. I’ve never felt you this calm.”
He was right. The constant hum of power beneath her skin—the restless energy that had been spiraling out of control since the surge started—had settled into something manageable. Grounded. Like she’d finally found the anchor she’d been searching for.
You’re my anchor, she thought. That’s terrifying. And wonderful. And absolutely going to get me killed if I think about it too hard.
“Tell me something. Something you’ve never told anyone.”
He was still for a breath. Then: “I have a photograph. My parents. I’ve carried it for six hundred years, never shown anyone. Never admitted I had it. Delos suspects, but I’ve never confirmed.”
“Why keep it hidden?”
“Because caring about things—remembering people—it makes you vulnerable. I learned that early.” His voice was flat, detached, the way he got when discussing something painful.
“If no one knows what matters to you, no one can use it against you. So I stopped letting things matter. Stopped keeping mementos. Stopped forming attachments.”
“Until now.”
“Until now.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “You matter to me. Everyone knows it now. It terrifies me.”
“Good.” She leaned into his touch. “Terror shared is terror halved. Or something. I was never good at proverbs.”
“That’s not a proverb.”
“See? Terrible at them.”
His smile was small but genuine. “Your turn. Something you’ve never told anyone.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I blamed myself for my mother’s death.
For sixteen years, I believed that if I’d been stronger, more controlled, I could have stopped the storm that killed her.
I built my whole identity around that guilt—the dangerous witch who had to be contained, had to be careful, couldn’t let anyone get too close because my power might hurt them. ”
“And now?”
“My mother’s death—it might not have been my fault. It might have been anyone.” Cassia’s voice caught. “I don’t know how to feel about that. Relieved? Angry? It changes everything and nothing at the same time.”
Aero pulled her down, tucking her head beneath his chin. “It changes one thing. You can stop punishing yourself for something you didn’t cause.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I’ve had centuries of practice at self-punishment. Trust me—it doesn’t help. It just makes you lonely.” His arms tightened around her. “We’re both terrible at forgiving ourselves. Maybe we can be better at forgiving each other.”
She pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his slow-beating heart. “Deal.”