13. Sakura #2
“Torin, we’ll never get through here if Valesh is controlling everything. We need to go back. Tell the others that something might be out here. With Anouk and the others, we’ll be able to counteract this magic.”
Torin stops, shoving away a branch that hit him twice. Once going past it and once after he passed. “I think you’re right. We’re not making any progress right now.”
I pull Torin toward a gap in the trees. “There’s a path—I feel it—”
The path opens before us like the forest is responding to my need. Maybe it is. The Overgrowth has opinions about everything. Right now, those opinions seem to favor escape.
We come out of the tree line and keep walking—through mist, through the darkened streets of the Hollow, past closed shops and sleeping homes, until the familiar shape of my studio comes into view.
Torin pulls me inside. Locks the door. Checks the windows. He settles beside me—close enough to touch, but holding back. Giving me space.
Then he turns to face me. “How are you feeling? Your magic was reacting strongly.”
“Overwhelmed. Terrified. Furious.” I manage a weak smile. “The usual cocktail.”
“Any urge to create dramatic weather?”
“Constant urge. Remarkable restraint.”
“I’m impressed.”
“You should be. It’s taking significant effort.” I look at the window, where rain is still falling—lighter now, but persistent. “That’s probably mine. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He moves closer. Slow. Careful. Giving me time to pull away. “You’re processing a lot.”
“I’m always processing a lot. That’s the problem.”
“It’s not a problem.” He’s near enough now that I can feel his warmth. “Sakura. Earlier. Before Valesh left. You said you don’t want to leave me.”
My heart stutters. “I did say that.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” His hand finds my face—gentle, impossibly gentle for someone so large. His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “Because I don’t want you to leave either. Not the town. Not me.”
“Torin—”
“I know the timing is terrible. I know we’re in the middle of an investigation, that there’s a Preserver agent, that everything is complicated and dangerous.” His voice drops. “But I need you to know. Before anything else happens. You’re not too much for me. You never could be.”
I lean into his touch. Let myself feel it—the warmth, the safety, the promise of a future I’ve never allowed myself to imagine.
“I’m not good at this,” I whisper. “At feelings. At letting people in. My emotions have always been problems to be managed, not things to share.”
“Then let me help you share them.”
“What if they’re too big?”
“Then I’ll hold them with you.” His forehead touches mine. “I have hands big enough. Remember?”
A laugh escapes me—wet and broken and hopeful all at once. “That’s a terrible line.”
“All my lines are terrible.”
“They’re perfect.” I close my eyes. “Terrible and perfect. Just like you.”
For a long moment, we just breathe. Close and quiet and suspended in a moment that feels like the pause before a storm.
Then I stop waiting for the storm to break.
I close the distance between us.
His lips are warm. Gentle at first—tentative, questioning, giving me every opportunity to pull away. I don’t. I press closer, my hands finding his chest, feeling the steady heat of him through his shirt.
He makes a sound—low, almost pained—and his control cracks.
His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head as he deepens the kiss.
He tastes like chocolate and rain and a warmth that’s uniquely him.
His mouth moves against mine with a hunger that steals my breath, and my magic surges in response—not chaotic, not destructive.
Just present. Alive. Reaching toward him like it recognizes home.
I’ve been kissed before. Quick, awkward things that never went anywhere because I was always leaving, always running, always too much for whoever tried to hold me.
This isn’t like any of those kisses.
This is consumption. This is claiming without the magic. This is two people who’ve been circling each other for weeks finally admitting what they want.
His teeth graze my bottom lip and I gasp against his mouth. He swallows the sound, pulls me closer, one massive arm wrapping around my waist until I’m pressed against him completely.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“That was—” My voice comes out wrecked.
“Long overdue.” His thumb traces my jaw. His eyes are dark, heated, stripped of the careful control he usually wears. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day you tried to electrocute me.”
“I didn’t try to electrocute you.”
“You absolutely tried to electrocute me. It was adorable.”
“Lightning isn’t adorable.”
“On you it is.” He kisses me again—quick, fierce, like he can’t help himself. “Everything about you is.”
I laugh against his mouth. Feel him smile in response. This is what I’ve been missing. This is what running never let me find.
Belonging. Home. Someone who sees my chaos and calls it beautiful.
His hand slides down my spine, leaving heat in its wake. I shiver—not from cold. From want. From the realization that I could have more of this. That he wants to give me more.
“Torin.” His name comes out breathless. “We should probably—”
“I know.” But he doesn’t let go. His forehead presses against mine again, both of us catching our breath. “We have a Preserver to catch.”
“And evidence to deliver.”
“And a town to save.”
“Very responsible.” I brush my lips against his—just a whisper of contact. “Very bear-like.”
“Also incredibly distracted at the moment.”
“We should stop.”
“We should absolutely stop.”
Neither of us moves.
His mouth finds mine again. This kiss is slower—savoring rather than desperate.
His hands map the curve of my waist, my hips, like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
I grip his shoulders, feeling the muscle shift beneath my palms, imagining what it would be like to feel that skin against mine without barriers.
When the town is safe. When we have time to do this properly.
But right now, in this moment, I let myself have this. Let myself want without fear. Let myself fall without trying to catch myself.
The weather outside has gone perfectly calm. No storms. No lightning. Just peaceful, settled weather that mirrors the strange new quiet inside my chest.