19. Lenna
LENNA
The impact never comes.
Instead, there's a surge of heat and power that makes the air itself vibrate, pressure building against my eardrums until they pop.
Malrec's arms tighten around me, his chest heaving with exertion, and when I force my eyes open I see his face above mine—jaw clenched, eyes blazing that impossible ember-gold, every line of his body radiating focused intensity.
His magic. He's unleashing it in a way I've never seen, raw and overwhelming, pushing outward in waves that make the volcanic ground tremble beneath us.
The beast screams—an awful grinding shriek—as it's thrown backward.
The force of Malrec's power hits it like a physical wall, sending its massive crystalline body skidding across the pasture floor in a shower of sparks and stone fragments.
Before it can recover, runic symbols flare to life in the air around it, brilliant amber patterns that weave themselves into a containment structure with speed that suggests he's done this a thousand times.
The barrier snaps into place with an audible crack, and the beast slams against it from the inside, protrusions scraping uselessly against the magical wall. Confined. Controlled. No longer a threat.
Malrec doesn't move immediately. He stays exactly where he is—body covering mine, one hand cradling the back of my head like he's still protecting me from impact, the other braced against the ground beside my shoulder.
His chest is pressed against mine, rising and falling rapidly, and I can feel his heart hammering against my ribs in a rhythm that matches my own.
He could have moved. Could have dodged. Could have let the beast's momentum carry it past both of us and dealt with it from a safe distance.
Instead he threw himself between us. Chose to take the hit if it came to that. Chose me.
He finally shifts, pulling back just enough to look down at me. His eyes search my face with desperate urgency, and his hand moves from the back of my head to cup my cheek. "Are you hurt?"
His voice is rough, strained, like the words are being dragged out of him. The hand on my face is shaking slightly.
"I'm—" My own voice breaks. "I'm fine. You covered me. You—"
I can't finish. Can't articulate what just happened, what it means, what's crashing through my chest as I stare up at him and realize he was willing to die for me.
Not because I'm useful with the beasts. Not because I'm convenient or available or whatever justification he's been using to keep distance between us.
Because he cares.
Because beneath all that control and withdrawal and careful distance, he cares enough to sacrifice himself.
"You're okay?" He asks again, like he needs confirmation, like he can't quite believe I'm unharmed. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my throat tighten. "Lenna, answer me."
"Yes. I'm okay. Because of you."
Something in his expression cracks at that—relief so profound it looks like pain. He closes his eyes briefly, his entire body sagging with it, forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breath is warm against my lips, unsteady and harsh.
"I thought—" He doesn't finish, just shakes his head slightly, the motion dragging his skin against mine. "You should have left when I told you to."
"You would have let it kill you."
"Better than watching it—" His jaw clenches hard enough I can see the muscle jump. "I couldn't let it touch you."
The words sink into me, settling somewhere deep and essential. This man who claims there's nothing between us, who keeps pushing me away, who told me to leave less than five minutes ago—he would die before letting anything hurt me.
And then everything fractures.
It's not gradual. Not pieces assembling slowly or dreams bleeding into waking. It's a flood, a dam breaking inside my skull, memory rushing back with force that makes me gasp.
An auction hall, smaller than the one we attended days ago.
Less refined. I'm standing near a beast enclosure, checking its bindings because the handler clearly hasn't done it properly and someone's going to get hurt.
I hear a voice behind me—smooth, commanding, carrying just enough amusement to soften the authority in it.
"That's not your responsibility."
I turn and see him for the first time. Tall, powerful, those ember-gold eyes locked on me with interest that makes my pulse kick. Not looking at me like I'm a laborer or a human or something beneath him. Looking at me like I'm fascinating.
"Someone should take responsibility before it breaks free and tears through half the crowd." I turn back to the binding, adjusting the clasp he clearly noticed was faulty. "Unless you'd prefer waiting until then."
He laughs. Actually laughs, warm and genuine. "You always this bold with strangers?"
"Only when they're standing around watching instead of helping."
The memory shifts, time compressing.
Him approaching the seller after I've finished with the bindings.
Negotiating for the beast—a young tharivex with containment issues.
And then, almost casually, adding another clause to the contract.
"The human who handled the bindings. I want her transferred to my estate as part of the acquisition.
As a laborer, not a slave. She'll work with the beasts. "
The seller's surprise. My own shock, barely concealed, because when he told me he was going to do that, I called his bluff. His eyes meeting mine across the space between us, something in them that looks like a question. Like he's asking if I want this.
I nod. Just once. And everything changes.
More memories, faster now, overlapping.
My first day at his estate. Him showing me the stables himself instead of delegating it.
Explaining the containment systems with patience I didn't expect, answering every question without making me feel stupid for asking.
His hand brushing mine when he hands me equipment, lingering just a fraction too long.
"You're better at this than half my trained staff."
"That's because your trained staff is terrified of them. I'm just smart enough to respect what they can do."
That smile again. The one that makes his entire face transform. "There's a difference."
More memories flash before me.
Weeks passing. Him finding excuses to be in the stables when I'm working.
Our conversations getting longer, more personal.
Him teaching me techniques that take years to master, hands guiding mine with careful attention.
The way he laughs when I say something sharp or unexpected, like I'm the most entertaining thing in his world.
"You're distracting me."
"Good," I say, not looking up from the beast I'm examining. "You work too much."
"Says the woman who's here before dawn every morning."
"That's different. I like what I do."
"So do I." His voice drops lower, closer. "Especially recently."
And then one memory unfolds among the others.
The first time he kisses me. Late evening in the feeding pasture, just the two of us and Azhrael in the distance.
We're arguing about something—handling techniques maybe, or whether a particular beast needs more space in its enclosure—and suddenly he's cupping my face and pulling me close and the argument dies completely.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. His thumb strokes across my bottom lip.
"I've wanted to do that for weeks."
"What took you so long?"
"Trying to be professional. Clearly I failed."
"Thank fuck for that."
Time blurs together as I'm lost in our past.
Him pulling me into empty corridors to steal kisses.
Finding reasons to keep me late in the stables so we can talk.
Bringing me meals when he notices I've skipped them.
Letting me sleep in his quarters when I'm too exhausted to make it back to my own.
His hands learning every part of my body.
My fingers tracing the scars on his skin.
Learning each other with intensity that feels inevitable, like we were always heading here.
"I'm in love with you."
He says it first, whispered against my temple while we're tangled together in his bed, dawn light just starting to creep through the windows. Like he can't hold it in anymore.
"I know." I press my lips to his jaw, feeling him smile. "I love you too."
And then, one of the more recent ones.
Him explaining what mating means for demons. The permanence of it. The magical bond. Asking me if I want that, if I'm sure, giving me every opportunity to refuse.
"I want forever with you," I tell him, absolutely certain. "Whatever that looks like."
The joy on his face. The way he kisses me like he's trying to pour everything he feels into that connection. "Tomorrow then. I'll arrange everything tomorrow."
Falling asleep in his arms that night, safe and loved and certain about my future. About us.
And then—
Nothing.
Waking up in an unfamiliar servant quarter with no memory of how I got there. No memory of him. No memory of anything except fragments of my childhood and an ache in my chest.
I come back to reality with a violent jerk, breath tearing out of my chest in a sob I can't contain. My hands are fisted in Malrec's shirt, clutching him like he's the only solid thing in a world that just reformed itself around me.
"Lenna?" His voice is urgent, worried. "What—"
"I remember." The words are barely intelligible through the tears suddenly streaming down my face.
"I remember everything. The auction. You negotiating for me.
Teaching me. Us falling in love. We were going to—" My voice breaks completely.
"We were supposed to be mated. The next day. You were going to arrange it and then—"
I watch his face change. Watch understanding crash through him like the same flood just hit his chest. His eyes go wide, pupils dilating with shock, and then something devastating settles into his expression. Grief. Loss. Recognition.
"You remember?" My voice is shaking so hard I barely recognize it. "Tell me you remember. Please."
For a long moment, he doesn't speak. Just stares at me like he's seeing me for the first time, or maybe like he's finally seeing me clearly after weeks of looking through fractured glass. His hand is still cupping my face, and I feel his fingers tremble against my skin.
"Do you remember?" I ask again, more desperately this time. I need him to say it. Need confirmation that I'm not losing my mind, that what just flooded back into my skull is real and shared and not just wishful reconstruction of dreams.
He nods. Just barely, the movement almost imperceptible. When he speaks, his voice is wrecked, every word dragged up from somewhere deep and broken inside him.
"Everything." He closes his eyes like it hurts to look at me. "I remember everything."
A sound escapes me—half sob, half laugh, completely beyond my control. "How? How did this happen? One night we were together and then—"
"I don't know." His eyes open again, and the pain in them is unbearable. "I just…" His voice cracks. "I've been having memories. Dreams. And now it all makes sense."
"The dreams," I whisper. "They weren't dreams."
"No." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, the gesture achingly familiar now that context has returned.
"They were memories. Trying to surface. I've been dreaming about us every night since you came back, seeing pieces of what we had, what we were supposed to be, and having to wake up and pretend you were just another laborer. Just some human I barely knew."
"Malrec." I say his name like I'm testing it, like I'm relearning the shape of it on my tongue with context restored. "I missed you. I didn't know I was missing you but I was. Every day. Every moment. There was this emptiness and I didn't know why."
He makes a sound—broken and raw and full of grief finally finding release. His arms come around me, pulling me fully against his chest, holding me like he's afraid I'll disappear again if he loosens his grip even slightly.
"I missed you so fucking much." The words are muffled against my hair. "Every day. I didn't understand it, but I was an unbearably grumpy bastard. Because I felt it."
That makes me laugh.
"But then you came back and every instinct I have kept screaming that you were mine. That we belonged to each other. And I couldn't understand why."
"I did feel it." I clutch him tighter, trying to get closer even though there's no space left between us. "I felt it the moment I saw you. I just didn't have the context to understand what it meant."
His hand slides into my hair, cradling my head against him. I can feel his heart hammering against my cheek, can feel the way his entire body is trembling with emotion he's no longer trying to contain.
"We were supposed to be mated," he says quietly, and the grief in his voice makes my chest crack open. "I was going to bond with you. Make it permanent. Make you mine in every way that mattered."
"I wanted that." I pull back just enough to look at him, needing him to see the truth in my face. "I wanted forever with you. I still want that."
Something shifts in his expression—hope maybe, or disbelief, or desperate need to believe what I'm saying is real. His eyes search mine with intensity that makes it hard to breathe.
"Len," he whispers, and my entire body aches with that soft word. "I love you."
"I know." The tears are streaming down my face freely now. "I love you too. I never stopped either, even when I didn't remember why there was this hole in my chest where you should have been."
He kisses me.
It's desperate and gentle and perfect and right in ways that make everything else fall away.
His mouth moves against mine with complete familiarity, relearning contours he knows better than his own.
I kiss him back, all the lost time and confusion and grief finally finding resolution, pouring everything I feel into the connection between us.