Rheon
The Velvet Thread
She was still asleep in my arms when dawn began to press gold into the sky. Her hair fanned across my chest. Her breath, soft and even, was a rhythm I memorized without meaning to. Every exhale a promise I didn’t deserve. Every twitch of her fingers against my ribs felt like forgiveness.
But I didn’t deserve that either.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Because if I let her go — even for a moment — I was afraid I’d never be able to hold her again.
Her lashes fluttered. A sigh ghosted across my skin. She shifted, limbs tangling tighter into mine, her bare leg hooking around my hip with thoughtless ease.
My hand trailed down her spine.
Slow.
Worshipful.
There were marks from where I’d held her too tightly last night. There were marks from where she’d begged me not to stop.
“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you, Hunter.”
The words escaped before I could cage them. She stirred at the sound — still not fully awake, but her body responded before her mind did. Her hand skimmed down my abdomen, her mouth brushing the hollow of my throat.
“I thought demons didn’t beg,” she murmured sleepily.
“They don’t. But I’m kneeling,” I said hoarsely. “That’s not begging. That’s devotion.”
Her body rolled over mine.
Warm, bare, trusting.
She kissed me like she wasn’t afraid of the ruin I carried — like she wanted to drink from it.
And gods help me, I let her.
I cupped her hips, guiding her over me with agonizing reverence. The tension was unbearable. She moved slowly, on purpose, and I groaned as her name broke past my lips like a prayer I didn’t know I believed in.
“You undo me,” I rasped into her shoulder. “You unravel everything I am.”
“Good,” she whispered, dragging her nails down my chest. “Then I’m finally doing something right.”
She rode me into madness. Until all I could say was her name. Until all I could feel was her pulse, her heat, her mark burning into mine.
I knelt between her legs after — trembling, worshiping her with my mouth, my hands, my soul. We lay tangled in the sheets, her head against my chest. Her breathing was still shallow from the storm we’d made. But my calm was already splintering. Because I heard it again.
The voice.
His voice.
“You will not age. You will not die. Not until the blood of your mate runs down your blade. The only way out is through her heart.”
I blinked.
The mark pulsed — once.
Twice.
Like a countdown.
I turned away from her. Sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, heart pounding against ribs that no longer felt like mine.
She stirred behind me.
“Rheon?”
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t trust what I would say. Because I didn’t trust what I would do.