Chapter 11 #2
Her back arches. She gasps.
I shift closer, half kneeling, half bracing her against my chest so the force doesn’t snap her fragile mortal spine.
“Dagan—” she chokes.
“I have you,” I rasp into her ear. “Let it move. We’ll shape it.”
Together, we shove.
The ground bucks like a living thing, furious at being denied its easy collapse.
Stone groans.
Layers grind.
The fissure stops widening.
Then, much to my shock, it closes—not entirely, but enough that the worst of the gap knits, the raw edges sealing in a rough, jagged seam.
Around the village, the earth heaves upward in a ring, forming a low wall of rock—a barrier to catch any falling debris.
The tremors taper off.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
As if the evil driving them knows it is bested, yet doesn’t want to quit.
Then the Marches fall quiet.
My power gutters, leaving me breathless.
Alina sags back against me, trembling, sweat beading at her temples.
We stay like that for a long moment—hands pressed to the newly risen stone, hearts hammering in sync.
“My Lord, you did it,” Varen wheezes from somewhere behind us, awe thick in his voice. “You stopped it.”
“No,” I reply. “I didn’t do it.”
Alina whispers, staring at our joined hands, “We did.”
I can feel the zareth thrumming between us, stronger than it was before. Not a tentative tie, but a root driven deep into the bedrock of who we are.
I turn her gently in my arms.
She looks wrecked.
Beautiful.
Hair wild, face smudged with dust, eyes blazing with a mix of adrenaline, fear, and something that makes my chest hurt.
“You routed my power,” I say hoarsely. “Through your body. Through your will. No one has ever steadied me like that.”
She gives a shaky laugh.
“Yeah, well. I’ve always been good with foundations.”
Something inside me shifts.
Like a plate locking into place in the mantle.
“Aurel used to say love is the only thing that keeps us from drowning in our own power,” I murmur before I can stop myself. “I never believed him.”
“What changed?” she asks softly.
I cup her face in my hands, thumbs brushing the dust from her cheekbones.
“You,” I admit. “You changed me.”
Her breath hitches.
“I told myself I chose you because the bond would be useful,” I go on. Each word feels like breaking stone, like exposing old faults. “Because Nightfall needed one more viyella to stand with us. Because duty demanded I look.”
“And now?” she whispers.
“Now I know I am lying to myself if I pretend this is only about duty.” My voice roughens.
“I am Dagan, Lord of Earth. Warden of the Rooted Marches. I have stood alone by choice and by stubbornness. But today, when the ground tried to tear this village apart, the only thing I cared about more than holding the land together was not losing you.”
Her eyes shine.
I swallow hard.
“I do not know how to say this the way you deserve,” I confess. “But I will not insult you by pretending I don’t any longer. I love you, Alina Fawcett. My Oona. I think I did from the moment your boot hit my fault line, and it told me I would never know peace again.”
Silence.
The village noise fades into a distant buzz.
For a heartbeat, all I hear is the rush of my own blood.
Then she exhales, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, and throws her arms around my neck.
“You big, stubborn, rock-headed idiot,” she whispers against my mouth. “Do you know something? I’ve been waiting for you to admit that this was something more than duty.”
I blink. “You were?”
“Sure I have. What Jersey girl hasn’t imagined being loved obsessively by a dark shadow daddy?” She leans back just enough to meet my gaze, eyes wet and blazing.
“A what?”
“Seriously,” she continues, ignoring my confusion.
“Every time the ground shakes, I reach for you. Every time you scowl at me for risking myself, it feels like home. I’ve felt rootless my whole life.
Like I was always one shift away from collapse.
Then you crashed into my job site and yelled at the earth for misbehaving, and I thought, well, there he is. Finally. Mine.”
My throat closes.
I don’t have words for this.
So I do the one thing I know.
I hold on.
Tighter.
“Say it, Oona,” I murmur. “For me.”
Her smile is small and fierce.
“I love you, Dagan,” she says steadily. “Lord of Earth. Warden of the Rooted Marches. My foundation. My home.”
The Marches hum.
A low, deep, pleased sound.
“C’mere,” I growl.
Then, I kiss her.
Not like the desperate crush of mouths at the fault line earlier, when fear drove my hands.
This time it is intentional. A claim and a promise and a prayer all at once.
She melts into me, fingers tangling in my hair, drawing me down.
Somewhere, villagers are cheering. Or praying. Or just staring.
I don’t care.
When we finally pull apart, both of us are shaking—not from power, but from everything that has shifted inside us.
“You need rest,” I say roughly. “We both do. The node will hold—for now. Varen can oversee the temporary reinforcements.”
“You’re going to be a nightmare to work with now that I agreed I love you, aren’t you?” she teases weakly.
“Yes,” I say without apology. “With me now.”