Chapter 35
Ember
The bench beneath me is hard, but I barely notice with Luke’s warmth against me and our bond pulsing within. My body hums with satisfaction, every nerve ending alive with a strange new awareness.
It’s not just his physical presence. Though that alone would be enough to leave me breathless. It’s something deeper. Through our newly formed bond, I feel the echo of his emotions: love, fierce protectiveness, and a sense of wonder that matches my own.
I’m surrounded by the earthy scent of Luke’s skin and the clean smell of weapon oil from the racks surrounding us. An unlikely sanctuary for such an intimate moment, but somehow perfect for us.
I reach up to touch the mark on my shoulder again, still tender where his teeth broke skin. Already, the edges are silvering into what will become a permanent scar. The skin feels warm to the touch, almost vibrating with energy beneath my fingertips.
“Does it always feel like this?” I whisper, not wanting to break the bubble we’ve created. My voice sounds different to my own ears; fuller, somehow, as if the bond has changed even that.
Luke’s smile is lazy, satisfied. His eyes, normally so alert and watchful, are half-lidded with contentment.
“I don’t know. First time for me too.”
This surprises me. “You never—?”
“Never found someone worth binding to.” His eyes hold mine without wavering. One of his hands traces the curve of my face, his thumb brushing over my lower lip with a gentleness that makes my breath catch. “Until you.”
The sweetness of his words washes through me, and through our bond, I feel the truth of them. We talk quietly, sharing the small things new mates share. Discoveries. Confessions. The texture of the wooden bench beneath us creaks softly as we shift positions, unwilling to break contact.
“I’m terrified about tomorrow,” Luke admits, his finger tracing patterns on my bare skin, leaving shivers in their wake.
“So am I,” I say, watching the play of light across his face, how the shadows accentuate the strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. “But I won’t back down.”
He nods, understanding. Neither of us would.
Eventually, reluctantly, we separate. Reality can only be held at bay for so long.
The cool air of the armory raises prickles on my skin as we start gathering our scattered clothes; his shirt flung across the room, my vest somehow hanging from a rifle rack.
The leather straps of my vest are cool against my fingertips as I retrieve it.
I burst into laughter. “We just bonded in an armory.”
Luke tries to look dignified as he pulls on his pants, but a grin breaks through. His hair is tousled in a way that makes him look younger, more carefree than I’ve ever seen him.
“Not my finest moment of romance.” His grin is wry.
“I don’t know.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Had a certain… warrior appeal.”
We help each other dress, fingers lingering on buckles and zippers.
There’s intimacy in this, too. Different from what we just shared, but no less meaningful.
The fabric of his shirt is soft beneath my hands as I help him button it, the muscles of his chest firm and warm against my knuckles.
Luke’s hands pause at my waist, and I can’t resist stealing another kiss, tasting the faint sweetness of myself on his lips.
The playfulness between us feels like something precious, a fragile gift I never expected to receive.
“Haven’t felt like a guilty teenager in about two hundred years,” Luke murmurs against my hair. His breath is warm, stirring the strands at my temple.
“Guilty?” I pull back, teasing. The bond between us pulses with shared amusement.
“We just desecrated Aurora’s armory.” He gestures around us. “Viktor’s going to notice the scorch marks.”
I follow his gaze and spot the faint burn patterns on the wall. Evidence of where my power flared during climax. We both dissolve into laughter, and the sound of it—our shared mirth echoing in this place of weapons—strikes me as perfectly, beautifully us.
The laughter dies in my throat when I hear it—running footsteps outside the door. Multiple sets, urgent, the rapid thumps growing louder with each second. Luke and I freeze, exchanging glances. We’re fully dressed now, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what we’ve been doing.
The door bursts open, the heavy metal hinges protesting with a high-pitched whine.
Nadia Frost stands there, breathing hard, her eyes wild with urgency. A few strands of her usually perfect black hair have escaped her ponytail, and there’s a flush of exertion on her high cheekbones.
“There you are! We’ve been searching everywhere—” She stops, taking in the scene: our rumpled clothes, flushed faces, the lingering scent of sex and magic in the air.
Her nostrils flare slightly, her enhanced senses picking up far more than a human’s would. Her expression shifts; understanding, then carefully neutral. Professional to the core, she doesn’t comment, though I swear I see the ghost of a smile cross her lips before she suppresses it.
“Viktor needs you both. Now. It’s—” She pauses, and something in her hesitation makes my stomach clench. Her fingers tighten on the doorframe, the knuckles tightening. “It’s Mara.”
The bottom drops out of my world. My pulse, which had been steady and content moments before, now thunders in my ears.
“What about Mara?”
Nadia’s face gives nothing away, but I notice the slight tension in her jaw, the too-careful control of her expression.
“Just come. You need to see this.” She turns and leaves.
We race behind her through the corridors of Aurora.
The polished floors gleam under the harsh fluorescent lights, our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.
Luke’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining instinctively.
The bond makes separation uncomfortable, a subtle pull drawing us together even as we run.
My heart hammers in my chest, each beat pounding out a single name: Mara. They found her body. Or worse.
Through our connection, I feel Luke’s dread matching my own, grief anticipated but still devastating. The emotion has a taste, harsh and metallic at the back of my throat.
Viktor’s office is already crowded when we arrive.
The air feels thick with tension, charged like the atmosphere before a storm.
Caleb stands with his back unnaturally straight, commander to the core, even in crisis, the overhead lights gleaming on his dark hair.
Dorian leans against the wall, his usual languid pose betrayed by the tightness in his shoulders and the rapid tapping of his fingers against his thigh.
Elena and Juno are there too, huddled close together near the window, Juno’s arm wrapped protectively around the dark-haired woman, whose face is stricken.
Off to one side, Hargen’s massive frame is somehow diminished by the heaviness in the air, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he grips the back of a chair.
My mother stands apart from the others, arms crossed, her expression shielded.
The temperature drops noticeably as we approach her side of the room.
All faces are turned toward the main display screen, the blue-white glow casting everyone in a ghostly light.
Viktor gestures us in, his face grave, deep lines carved around his mouth. “It’s a live feed. Encrypted, untraceable. Came through a few minutes ago.”
He activates the display with a swipe of his hand across the control panel. The screen flickers to life, static dancing across it before resolving into an image.
A face fills the frame; dirty, ash-streaked, familiar. Dark hair matted with what might be dried blood, a fresh cut along one cheekbone, but the eyes—those bright, mischievous green eyes—unmistakable.
Mara Jones.
Alive.
My knees nearly cave in. Luke’s arm comes around my waist, holding me upright as shock leaves me breathless.
The room spins briefly, colors blurring, before I force myself to focus.
It’s like seeing a ghost, except this ghost is grinning with that wild, feral smile that is utterly, unmistakably Mara.
Holy shit!
“Hey, kids. Miss me?” Her voice is rough, as if she’s been breathing smoke, but the cocky inflection is pure Mara.
The room erupts. Questions shout over one another, a cacophony of disbelief and hope and anger and relief.
Caleb slams a hand on Viktor’s desk, making pens jump and scatter.
Elena’s hand is covering her mouth. Dorian pushes away from the wall, moving closer to the screen, his eyes narrowed as if he suspects a trick.
Mara holds up a hand, commanding silence as only a recently dead person could. Even through a screen, even looking like she’s been dragged through hell, she’s impossible to ignore.
“One at a time, people. I don’t have long.” Her eyes flick to something off-screen, a brief flash of wariness crossing her features before she masks it.
Viktor takes control, stepping forward, planting himself directly in front of the display.
“Mara, where are you? Are you injured?”
“I’m fine.” She cuts him off, wincing slightly as she shifts position, belying her words.
Her shoulder moves awkwardly, suggesting an injury she’s hiding.
“Banged up, but fine.” Her eyes find me through the screen, and her expression softens.
The camera quality isn’t great, but I swear I see her eyes glisten momentarily. “You made it out. I knew you would.”
“We thought you were dead,” I say, my voice breaking. I move closer to the screen, Luke’s hand sliding from my waist to my hand, maintaining contact. “The fall—”
Mara’s grin widens, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s something haunted in her gaze that wasn’t there before.
“Takes more than a mountain to kill me.” She winks. “Though it came close.”
“God… Mara…” It’s Elena now, tears streaming down her face. I’ve never seen her cry. “I thought… I was…” Her voice chokes. “You died. I thought… you died.”