Chapter 10 #2
"I don't care about my hands," I snap. "I care about you. I care about keeping you alive."
I shift my weight again, repositioning my knees for better leverage. My thighs press against his sides, my hips grinding down slightly as I drive my full body weight into his shoulders.
The friction generates heat.
Intense, searing heat.
I can feel it radiating up through my palms, through my forearms, through my entire body.
"Come on," I whisper. "Come on, Cyprian. Come back to me."
"I am trying," he grinds out. His jaw is locked so tight I can barely understand him. "The stone—it is too deep. Too fast."
"No," I say. "No, you don't get to give up. Not now. Not when I just—"
I stop myself. But he hears it anyway.
"When you just what?" His amber veins flicker weakly. "Tamsin. Tell me."
I press my forehead against his chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"When I just realized I'm completely in love with you," I say. "So you don't get to lock. You don't get to leave me. You don't get to—"
I press harder.
Harder.
My hands are screaming. My forearms are burning. But I don't stop.
"Please," I whisper. "Please, Cyprian. Please come back."
His heart hammers beneath my hands.
Erratic.
Desperate.
Alive.
I press harder.
I lean forward further, pressing my entire torso against his chest. My bare skin makes contact with the volcanic oil, the heat searing against my stomach and breasts.
I don't care.
I slide my hands up to his shoulders, digging my fingers into the calcified joints where his wings connect to his back. I can feel the rigid tension in the membrane, the way his body is fighting against the petrification.
I press harder.
Harder.
My tears mix with the sweat dripping onto his chest.
"Don't you fucking dare," I say, my voice breaking. "Don't you dare leave me like this."
I shift my weight again, repositioning my knees for better leverage. My thighs press against his sides, my hips grinding down slightly as I drive my full body weight into his shoulders.
The friction generates heat.
Intense, searing heat.
I can feel it radiating up through my palms, through my forearms, through my entire body.
I press my forehead against his chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Please," I whisper. "Please, Cyprian. Come back."
His heart hammers beneath my hands.
Erratic.
Desperate.
Alive.
I press harder.
And then I feel it.
A shift.
Subtle. Almost imperceptible.
But there.
The stone beneath my palms softens. Just slightly. Just enough.
I lift my head, my eyes locking onto his chest.
The crystalline amber veins flicker.
Once.
Twice.
And then they flare.
Bright.
Warm.
Gold.
A violent, resonant crack echoes through the room.
The sound is deafening. Like a glacier splitting in half.
The calcified stone across his chest fractures. Not breaking. Melting.
The gray density dissolves beneath my hands, the surface shifting from cold, unyielding stone to smooth, radiating warmth.
His skin is molten beneath my palms.
The heat pulses outward, spreading across his torso, up his neck, down his arms.
His left arm unlocks with another sharp crack, his fingers uncurling from the rigid claw.
His wings shudder, the membrane releasing from the agonizing semi-extended position, folding smoothly against his back.
His jaw unlocks.
And he gasps.
A deep, shuddering breath that fills his lungs completely.
I'm still straddling him, my hands pressed flat against his chest, my entire body trembling with exhaustion and relief.
His eyes open.
Those pale crystalline eyes lock onto mine.
And for the first time since he stumbled through the door, I see him.
Not the terrified, calcified titan.
Just Cyprian.
Warm.
Alive.
Here.
His amber veins ignite.
Not the soft, steady glow from before. This is different. Brighter. More urgent. The light spreads across his chest and shoulders in waves, illuminating the stone beneath his skin like molten gold.
I feel it in my chest too—a strange, electric awareness. A pull toward him that makes no sense and every sense simultaneously.
His hand—his left hand, the one that was locked against his chest—lifts slowly. His fingers brush against my wrist, his touch feather-light despite the size of his claws.
"Tamsin," he says, his voice rough and gravelly.
I don't move.
I can't move.
Because something has shifted between us. Something ancient. Something that recognizes something in me at a level deeper than thought, deeper than choice.
My breath catches. My skin prickles. Every nerve ending in my body is suddenly, violently aware of him—the heat radiating off his chest, the way his frame fits beneath mine, the way his amber veins are still glowing like they're burning from the inside out.
He feels it too. I can see it in his eyes—that moment of recognition, of something clicking into place. His jaw tightens. His free hand comes up to cup the back of my head, his claws careful, reverent.
"What is this?" I whisper.
"I do not know," he says. But his voice is certain. Terrified. Like he's just realized something fundamental about the world has shifted.
The boundary between us—the last remaining shred of professional distance—just dissolved along with the stone.
And there's no going back.