25. Thane
Thane
The door closes behind us.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The room is small—stone walls, a narrow bed, moonlight cutting silver across the floor through the gap in the curtains.
Bree stands near the center, arms wrapped around herself. Not defensive. Just holding on.
I stay by the door because if I get closer right now, I’m not sure what happens.
My throat works against the hunger clawing up from my chest—sharp, relentless, alive with want that’s not just hunger anymore. It’s need, raw and undeniable, threading through every instinct I’ve spent centuries learning to control.
She’s here. Real. Not Riley’s polished edges and manufactured certainty, not the version that wore her face and tried to let me feed while my hunger turned sour in my mouth.
This is her.
The scent of her blood hums through the air between us—Ether-rich, electric, alive in a way that makes my fangs ache. Beneath it is her warmth, the faint trace of sweat and soap that makes heat coil low in my gut.
I lock my jaw. Force stillness into my hands even as my body tightens with need.
“You knew,” she says quietly.
Not a question. A statement waiting for confirmation.
I don’t pretend. “Yes. ”
“How?”
I let the silence stretch while I think through the answer, finding the shape of truth I can give her without admitting how much it cost to stay away.
“She wanted what you never offer,” I say finally. “Control. Certainty. You don’t beg.”
Her eyes find mine across the small space. Something shifts in them—relief, maybe. Validation.
“She tried to let me feed. More than once.” The admission costs me, but I give it anyway. “But my hunger refused every time she spoke because I could taste the difference before I ever got near her. It wasn’t you.”
Her breath catches. Just once.
“So you starved yourself,” she whispers.
“I couldn’t touch her.” The words come out flat. Final. “Not when I knew.”
She steps closer. One step, then another, closing the distance I’ve been maintaining like a lifeline.
The space between us shrinks and my control frays at the edges. I can see the pulse in her throat now, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. The way her lips part slightly as she looks up at me.
“Thane.”
My name in her mouth sounds like forgiveness. Like permission.
Her hand lifts, hesitates for just a heartbeat, then her palm cups my jaw. Her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth and the touch breaks something loose in my chest .
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just let her warmth sink into my skin, let the Ether humming beneath her pulse speak truths I can’t afford to question.
Her other hand joins the first, framing my face while her eyes search mine. Looking for lies, maybe. Or giving me one last chance to pull away.
“I know you’re starving,” she says softly.
I can’t deny it. Don’t want to.
My hands lift before I can stop them. One settles at her waist, fingers spreading against the curve of her hip. The other cups the back of her neck, threading through her hair, and the feel of her—solid, warm, real—makes something primal surge through me.
“Bree—”
“Let me.” Her voice is steady. Sure. “Please.”
The please does something to me because it’s not desperate—it’s a choice she’s making freely, without fear twisting through it. It’s trust, offered like a gift I don’t deserve but can’t refuse.
“Are you sure?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to, hunger and want bleeding together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
She nods. “I trust you.”
Three words. Simple and devastating.
I lean in slowly—giving her time to change her mind, to pull away—but she doesn’t. She tilts her head, baring her throat in a gesture that feels like both surrender and claiming. The sight of her pulse jumping beneath pale skin makes my fangs descend fully.
When I bite, it’s careful. Reverent .
Her blood fills my mouth—warm, electric; Ether singing against my tongue like liquid light. I drink once. Twice. Feel the power of it chase away the hollowness I’ve been carrying, filling spaces inside me I’d forgotten existed.
She gasps softly, her fingers tightening in my hair, and the sound goes straight through me. Heat floods my body, sharp and insistent, a pulse I can’t outrun, as her Ether mingles with my hunger and transforms it into something else entirely.
I pull her closer, the hand at her waist sliding around to splay across the small of her back, pressing her against me. She fits perfectly—curves to my angles, softness to my hard edges—and when she arches slightly into the bite, a low sound rumbles from my chest.
Her other hand grips my shoulder, nails digging in just slightly, and I force myself to stop drinking before I take too much. Pull back just enough to press my forehead against hers, both of us trembling in the space between heartbeats.
Blood—her blood—still coats my lips. Her pulse flutters wildly where my mouth had been, two small punctures already beginning to close as her Ether knits the wound.
“Thane,” she breathes, and there’s something in her voice that wasn’t there before. Heat. Want.
I should step back. Give her space. Let the moment settle before I lose myself completely in what I’ve been starving for.
But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her hands slide from my hair to frame my face again, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones, and when her eyes meet mine they’re dark with desire that mirrors my own.
“Stay,” she whispers .
Not a question. A command wrapped in invitation.
My control, already threadbare, snaps.
I capture her mouth with mine, tasting her gasp as much as her lips.
She opens for me immediately, no hesitation, and the kiss is hungry and deep and nothing like careful.
Her tongue slides against mine and I can taste traces of her own blood mixed with the sweetness of her mouth, the combination intoxicating.
My hand tangles in her hair, angling her head so I can kiss her deeper, while the other slides down from her back to cup her ass and draw her flush against me. She makes a small sound—not quite a moan, not quite a whimper—and I swallow it greedily.
Her hands move to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, and when she pulls me backward toward the bed, I go willingly. Every reason I had for staying away dissolving under the simple truth that she still wants this. Still wants me.
The backs of her knees hit the mattress and we tumble together, her falling back with me catching my weight on my forearms so I don’t crush her.
She’s soft beneath me, all curves and warmth and racing pulse, and when she wraps one leg around my hip to pull me closer, grinding against the hardness pressing insistently against her, I groan into her mouth.
“Bree,” I manage, pulling back just enough to look at her. To make sure. “Tell me to stop if—”
“Don’t stop,” she interrupts, her voice breathless but certain. “Don’t you dare stop.”
Her hands move to the hem of my shirt, tugging upward, and I help her pull it over my head before my mouth finds hers again. This time when I kiss her it’s slower, deeper, letting myself taste and explore while my hands map the shape of her body through her clothes.
She arches into my touch, her own hands roaming across my bare chest and back, nails scraping lightly across my skin in a way that makes me shudder.
When my mouth leaves hers to trail down her jaw to her throat—careful to avoid the healing bite—she tilts her head back and lets out a soft moan that makes my control fray even further.
I work my way down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, across her collarbone, down to where her shirt prevents me from going further. My hands find the hem and I pause, looking up at her in silent question.
She nods, chest heaving, and lifts slightly so I can pull the fabric up and over her head.
The sight of her—flushed skin, rapid breathing, eyes dark with want—makes something possessive surge through me. Mine. The thought is primal and absolute, and when I lower my mouth to trace the curve of her breast through the thin fabric of her bra, she gasps my name like a prayer.
“Thane—”
My tongue finds her nipple through the fabric, circling and teasing until she’s writhing beneath me, her leg tightening around my hip as she rocks against me in desperate need of friction.
I reach behind her, unhooking her bra with practiced ease and tossing it aside before lowering my mouth to bare skin. She tastes like salt and Ether and her , and when I close my lips around her nipple and suck, her back arches off the bed with a cry that goes straight to my cock .
My hand slides down her stomach, fingers finding the waistband of her pants, and I pause again. Waiting. Making sure.
“Yes,” she breathes before I can ask. “Please, Thane. I need—”
She doesn’t finish, but I understand. Can feel it in the way she trembles, in the desperate way she’s grinding against me, in the pleading note in her voice.
I unfasten her pants and slide them down her legs, taking her underwear with them, and the sight of her—completely bare, spread beneath me, looking up at me with trust and hunger and something that might be love—steals whatever breath I have left.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, voice rough with need. “Perfect.”
She reaches for me, fingers fumbling with my belt, and I help her, shedding the rest of my clothes until there’s nothing between us but air and intention.
When I settle between her thighs, the heat of her against me makes us both groan. I want to take my time, worship her the way she deserves, but I don’t know how long we have before the world intrudes again. Before we have to move, to run, to fight whatever’s coming next.
She’s slick and ready, and when I slide one finger through her wetness, testing, she bucks against my hand with a broken sound.
“Inside me,” she demands, nails digging into my shoulders. “Now, Thane. Please.”
I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her, and pause one last time. “Look at me.”
Her eyes find mine, hazy with desire but clear enough that I can see the truth in them.
“I’m yours,” she says simply. “Always have been. ”
The words hit like lightning. After everything—the distance I kept, the corruption I couldn’t explain, the year she spent trapped while I searched—she’s still mine. Still choosing me.
I push inside slowly, giving her body time to adjust, and the feel of her—tight and hot and perfect—makes stars burst behind my eyes. She gasps, then meets my gaze and nods, drawing me deeper with the leg still hooked around my hip.
“Move,” she breathes. “Please.”
I do. Starting slow, letting her body adjust, but she’s having none of it.
A quiet laugh escapes me—the first time we did this, I led and she followed, uncertain but trusting. Now she knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to demand it.
She rocks against me, urging me faster, deeper; I follow her lead—driving into her with steady, powerful thrusts that make her cry out with each one.
Her hands roam, anchoring me until there’s no space left between us. Our bodies move together, finding a rhythm that feels inevitable, like we’ve returned to something we’d only begun to discover.
I can feel her tightening around me, her breathing becoming more erratic, her moans pitched higher, and I reach between us to circle her clit with my thumb. The additional stimulation makes her keen, her entire body going rigid for a heartbeat before she shatters.
She comes with my name on her lips, her body clenching around me in waves that push me right over the edge with her.
I bury my face in her neck, breathing in her scent as my own release crashes through me, leaving me trembling and emptied and more satisfied than I’ve been since the first time we were together .
The air tastes different—lighter, like the world’s been reset.
We stay like that for a long moment—both of us breathing hard, bodies still joined, hearts racing in tandem.
Finally, I pull back just enough to look at her. Her eyes are soft, sated, and when she smiles up at me it’s small and real and utterly devastating.
“Then we start from here,” she whispers.
I nod, pressing my forehead to hers.
The quiet that follows isn’t emptiness; it’s the sound of everything we stopped running from.
Footsteps echo in the hallway outside—distant but deliberate enough to pull my attention toward the door. My instincts flare, protective and sharp even in the aftermath.
But I don’t pull away from her. Don’t move except to shift us both so I can tuck her against my side, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped securely around her.
The world can wait a little longer.