Chapter 46
Thane
"Tell me to stop," I breathe against her ear.
"No."
The single word breaks something in me. Not my control—that's been fracturing since the moment she touched me. Something deeper. Something I thought I'd buried centuries ago.
Hope.
I pull back just enough to see her face in the moonlight.
Her green eyes are steady, certain, and there's no fear in them.
There should be. After everything she's seen, everything I've shown her—the hunger, the desperation, the way I've fed on others while thinking of her—there should be wariness. Calculation. Self-preservation.
Instead, there's trust.
"Bree." Her name feels sacred on my tongue. "Are you sure?"
She nods, her hands finding the buttons of my shirt. Her fingers tremble slightly, but not with fear. With something that makes the air between us hum with possibility.
"I've seen inside you," she whispers, working the first button free. "The shame, the hunger, all of it. And I'm still here."
The cotton falls open under her touch, and she places her palm flat against my chest. The warmth of her skin burns through me like salvation.
"You saw me too," she continues, voice barely audible. "In that closet. How small I felt. How hopeless. And you didn't flinch."
"Never." The word comes out rough, absolute. "You could show me every scar, every fear, every broken piece, and I would never flinch."
She tilts her head back, studying my face. "Then show me."
I cup her face in my hands, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. She leans into the touch like it's something she's been craving, and the simple gesture undoes me completely.
When I kiss her, it's not with the hunger that's been clawing at me for weeks. It's reverent. Worshipful. Like I'm finally touching something sacred after centuries of emptiness.
She melts against me, her body soft and warm and willing. The Ether around her ankles responds, silver mist curling up to wrap around us both like approval. Like blessing.
I've never made love to someone. Fed from them, yes. Used them for sustenance, for momentary relief from the endless hunger. But this—touching her not because I need to take something, but because I want to give everything I have—this is new.
Her shirt hits the ground first, then mine. She doesn't hide from me, doesn't cover the faint scars that map her history across pale skin. Instead, she watches my face as I trace them with gentle fingers, learning each mark like scripture.
"Beautiful," I whisper, because it's the only word that fits. Not despite the scars, but including them. All of her.
She shivers under my touch, but presses closer. "Your turn," she murmurs, hands exploring the planes of my chest, the old wounds that mark my own history. Her fingers are soft, curious, mapping me like she wants to memorize every inch.
I cup her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. When she parts her lips and presses a kiss to my thumb, the simple gesture nearly undoes me.
"Bree," I breathe, and she answers by pulling me down to her mouth.
The kiss is slow, deep, tasting of trust and desire. Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me to her like she's afraid I might disappear. But I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever, if she'll have me.
My hands shake as I work at the fastenings of her remaining clothes, her helping, both of us urgent now but still careful. Still reverent. When skin finally meets skin completely, we both go still for a heartbeat, overwhelmed by the sensation.
When I lift her onto the stone wall, she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me closer, her breath warm against my throat. The rough stone presses against her back, but she doesn't seem to care. All her attention is on me, on us, on this moment.
"I choose this," she says against my ear, voice barely a whisper. "I choose you."
The words hit me like lightning. Not just permission—choice. Active, deliberate selection of me, of this moment, of whatever comes after.
"Are you certain?" I ask one more time, because I need to be sure. Need to know this is what she wants.
Her answer is to guide me to her. I gasp her name as I press inside her slowly, carefully. The feeling of being joined with her—body and soul—is indescribable. Like finding something I didn't even know I'd lost.
"Thane." My name on her lips sounds like prayer, like benediction, like home.
I move slowly at first, watching her face in the moonlight, learning what makes her breath catch, what makes her arch against me. She's responsive, open, meeting each movement with her own. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in just enough to ground us both.
She arches again, breath catching. “I didn’t know it could feel like this,” she whispers.
And fuck if that doesn’t ruin me.
"More," she says softly.
Who am I to deny her anything?
The rhythm builds between us, natural as breathing. The Ether swirls around us, growing brighter with each movement, each soft sound she makes. It doesn't feel like magic responding to emotion—it feels like recognition. Like coming home.
I lose myself in her warmth, her scent, the way she says my name when I hit that perfect spot inside her. For the first time in centuries, the hunger quiets. Not because I'm feeding, but because I'm being fed. Being chosen. Being seen as more than just a weapon or a monster.
She's close—I can feel it in the way she trembles, the way her breath comes in short gasps against my ear. I reach between us, finding the spot that makes her arch and cry out.
"Let go," I whisper against her lips. "I've got you."
"I don't know if I can," she breathes, vulnerable and trusting all at once.
"Anything you need," I murmur, meaning it completely. "Whatever you need."
I shift the angle, the pressure, watching her face until I find what breaks her open. She shatters around me with a sound that's half-sob, half-prayer, my name falling from her lips again and again. Her body clenches around mine, waves of pleasure pulling me deeper.
The sight of her, lost in ecstasy and glowing with power, pushes me over the edge. I follow her into release with a groan that comes from somewhere deep in my chest, somewhere that's been empty for too long.
But as the pleasure peaks, as I pour myself into her, the hunger stirs. Not the cold, calculating need I've carried for centuries—something warmer. Deeper. A craving for connection that goes beyond blood.
My fangs extend without my permission.
"Bree," I gasp, trying to pull back. "I can't—I don't want to hurt—"
She tangles her fingers in my hair and tilts her head, exposing the long line of her throat. "Now," she breathes. "Please."
The trust in those two words breaks me.
I strike swift and clean, fangs sinking into the soft skin just below her pulse point just as the last waves of climax wash through us both. Her blood hits my tongue like liquid starlight—warm and bright and tasting of power, of choice, of gift freely given.
She cries out, her body arching against mine as the bite sends another wave of pleasure crashing through her.
I feel her clench around me again, her nails digging into my shoulders as the sensation overwhelms her.
The feeding doesn't just nourish me—it ignites her, sends her spiraling into a second peak that leaves her trembling and breathless in my arms.
The connection that blooms between us is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Not just her blood feeding my hunger, but something more. A tethering of souls that goes both ways. I feel her pleasure mixing with mine, her trust wrapping around my heart like armor.
And then I feel it lock into place.
The bond that began weeks ago in the attic—when her Ether first curled around my boots, reaching for something it somehow recognized—finally completes itself.
The Ether doesn't just respond to the bite with silver light.
It shifts and becomes something richer. Not just her power—our power. Connected. Chosen.
Somewhere beneath her skin, I sense rather than see a scar warming. Glowing. The physical mark of what we've just sealed.
She doesn't notice. But I do.
I withdraw my fangs carefully, sealing the small wounds with my tongue. The taste of her lingers, sweet and perfect and mine.
We stay joined as the intensity fades, my forehead now pressed against hers, both of us breathing hard.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," I whisper, because it's true. I'd planned to wait. To prove I could choose restraint over hunger.
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating through both our chests. "Yes, you did. And so did I."
Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, gentle and sure. "I felt what you felt. The hunger wasn't just for blood, was it?"
I close my eyes, overwhelmed by how completely she sees me. "No. It was for this. For connection. For someone to choose me not because they had to, but because they wanted to."
"Then you have it." She tilts my chin up until I meet her gaze. "You have me."
The words settle into my chest like warmth, like home, like everything I never dared to hope for. I kiss her again, soft and grateful and full of promises I'm not sure I know how to keep but desperately want to try.
We're quiet for a long moment, just holding each other as the garden settles around us. The Ether has calmed to a gentle silver glow that pools around our feet like moonlight. Everything feels possible. Perfect.
That's when I hear it.
A voice, distant but carrying on the night air. Too far for her to catch with human hearing, but clear as day to me.
Seth.
"Tell Phil she's found the mirror."
The words hit me like ice water. My entire body goes rigid, and I have to fight not to react visibly. Bree is still soft in my arms, still glowing with contentment and trust. She doesn't know.
She can't know. Not yet.
I force my breathing to stay steady, my arms to remain gentle around her. But inside, everything has shifted. The warmth from moments before turns cold and sharp.
Seth. The friend she trusts. The man she's been confiding in, showing around the sanctuary, treating like family.
He's been reporting to Phil.
The betrayal cuts deeper than any physical wound ever could.
Not just the betrayal of her trust, but the timing.
Right now, while I'm still inside her, while the taste of her blood is still on my tongue, while the bond between us is new and precious and fragile—someone she trusts is selling her out.
I press my face against her neck, breathing in her scent, committing this moment to memory. Because everything is about to change. Again.
And this time, I won't let her face it alone.
"We should go inside," I murmur against her ear, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. "It's getting cold."
She nods sleepily, trusting and content. As I help her down from the wall, as I gather our scattered clothes, as I lead her back toward the sanctuary's warm lights, I'm already planning.
Seth made one critical mistake.
He assumed no one was listening.
But I heard every word. And now I know exactly what we're up against.
The game has changed.
And Bree doesn't even know it yet.