Chapter 96 – Quinton
QUINTON
Three days. Three damn days. And she was walking beside me as if she hadn’t nearly died in the dirt.
I kept glancing at her as we moved through the quiet streets toward her house.
She didn’t rush. Her gait was careful, her posture still guarded, but she was walking.
Her shoulders were back. Her chin lifted.
Each step was steady. And gods, she looked alive.
Truly alive in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen before.
There was a flush in her cheeks, a steadiness to her eyes that hadn’t been there in months.
Whatever part of her spirit had been ground down by command, guilt, pain—it was burning again.
Kalias had worked his forest magic on her more than once after that first time. I’d watched it. I’d felt it in my own blood. My magic recognized something in her—something changed, something whole, as if a missing piece had been returned.
We stepped through the front door of her house; the wards clicking softly as they let her in. I followed, unable to take my eyes off her as she moved toward the sitting room.
“I think Dain stopped by earlier,” I said, trying for casual. “Left some food for you.”
Azaria let out a small, dry breath. “Of course he did.”
I watched her settle onto the couch, her hand brushing over the blanket folded neatly on the cushion. She leaned back slightly, quiet, and for a moment, I stood there. My heart pounded with everything unsaid.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked, softer than I intended. I needed to hear her say it. That she was here, still herself, still with me.
She turned her head, warmth and understanding flickering in her eyes—maybe even affection, edged with surprise. She didn’t answer with words. She reached for me, fingers curling in the air like she already knew I’d come. And she was right.
I stepped forward and dropped to my knees in front of her without hesitation. Her hands found mine and wrapped around them, steady and warm. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her hands said everything.
I’m all right. I’m healed. I’m safe. And you’re here.
I could barely breathe.
I looked up into those tired but shining eyes, and something inside me broke loose; the pressure I’d carried since the forest, since that blood and scream and the night she didn’t move. I couldn’t hold it anymore.
“I love you.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting, but I kept going.
“I’ve loved you longer than I’ve let myself believe. From the moment you looked at me like I was nothing more than a weapon; and you were right. I was.”
My hands tightened around hers.
“But something changed. Something broke open when you stood over me that day after the mission and cleaned the blood from my back. You didn’t say anything. You touched me, like I was worth caring for. You have no idea what that did to me.”
My throat tightened.
“And after I used my magic—when I could barely stand—you looked at me and asked if I was all right. No one’s ever done that, Az. Not like that. Not with that gentleness.”
I glanced down at her fingers, still wrapped around mine.
“All those moments: your voice when you asked how I felt, your touch on my forearm, the way you cleaned up my wounds when you thought no one noticed… they mattered. Every soft thing you gave me, every bit of trust… I held onto it like it was sacred.”
I lifted her hands, pressing them to my lips.
“The dinner, the quiet evenings, the artifact—every moment. The knife in your side; I thought I’d lose you that day. And then that night when you let me touch you, when you let yourself feel something that was yours alone—I’ve never felt anything so right in my life.”
The silence stretched, my heart pounding so hard it left me dizzy.
“I love you,” I repeated, softer, rawer. “So much I can’t put it into words. You are the strongest, most terrifying, most extraordinary thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I looked up into her eyes again.
“And if you’ll have me… I want to be yours. As long as you’ll let me.”
My heart hammered loud enough to drown the world. I waited.
Her mouth found mine like it was the only truth left in the world. She fell to her knees with me, pulling me into her as if I was the only thing she needed. I couldn’t breathe.
Her hands slid around me—one up to the back of my neck, the other fisting in my shirt like she was afraid I’d disappear. I held her tight, arms around her waist, drawing her flush against me. Her kiss was hungry, aching, packed with everything we’d left unsaid.
She broke the kiss long enough to whisper, breathless against my lips, “I love you, Quin. So much.”
My eyes fell shut. Her words went through me like lightning. A rough sound broke out of me—something between a groan and a gasp—as I lowered my forehead to hers. We stayed there on the floor, both of us on our knees, hands tangled, breathing unsteady, our hearts beating far too fast.
“I’m yours,” I murmured. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Her smile was trembling, raw, but it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
She pulled back enough to look at me—really look. Her eyes shimmered with promises I couldn’t name. Then she kissed me again, slower, deeper. There was no rush now, no need to hold anything back.
Her hands slid over my shoulders, palms pressing in as if memorizing every line of me. My own hands rested at her hips, thumbs brushing under the hem of her shirt. She shivered—barely—but I felt it.
“I need you,” she whispered against my lips. “All of you, Quin.”
“Are you sure?” I whispered back, my mouth brushing hers. “You need rest.”
“I’m sure.” She looked into my eyes, voice steady. “I need you. Now. Please.”
Those words, raw and honest, undid something in me. My control frayed, and I surged forward, kissing her hard. I shifted us carefully, rising from the floor with her in my arms. She let out a soft sound, almost a laugh, as I lifted her and carried her toward the couch, then paused.
No, not the couch. Not for this. This wasn’t a stolen moment. This wasn’t fleeting.
“Bedroom,” I murmured.
Azaria nodded.
I carried her up the stairs, her arms looped around my neck, her lips brushing my jaw. When we reached her room, I set her down gently. The hearth was still warm from earlier, casting a low amber light across the bed.
She stood there for a moment, breathing. Then, slowly, she reached for her clothes. Her fingers trembled.
I stepped in, catching her hands. “Let me,” I said, voice soft.
She nodded. I undressed her with aching patience, peeling away each layer like it was holy, revealing inch by inch of the woman I’d wanted for what felt like forever. Scars. Strength. Softness. All of it.
I found the first scar beneath her collarbone—a pale ridge, old and faded.
I lowered my head and pressed my lips to it.
She went still. Another along her ribs, newer, still pink at the edges.
I kissed that one too. A jagged line across her hip.
A raised knot near her shoulder blade. Each one mapped a story she’d never told me—battles, blades, years of surviving things that should have killed her. I kissed every one I could find.
She didn’t speak. But her hand came up to rest on the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, and I felt her tremble beneath my mouth. When she stood bare before me, my breath caught.
“You’re perfect,” I whispered. “You always have been.”
Her eyes flickered, and her mouth twitched like she still didn’t quite believe me. But when I stripped the rest of my clothes away, her hands came to me at once—wanting, certain, pulling me back to her.
We fell into the sheets together in a slow tangle of limbs and mouths.
I took my time with her, kissing my way along her throat, her collarbone, the soft weight of her breasts, learning her all over again through every sound she gave me and every breath that caught in her chest. By the time I finally moved over her, she was already reaching for me, legs wrapping around my waist as her breath hitched.
“This isn’t need,” I whispered. “This is everything.”
“I know,” she breathed. “I feel it too.”
I eased into her slowly, letting myself feel every part of it—the warmth of her, the tight, welcoming pull that nearly undid me on the spot.
Her mouth parted and her eyes drifted shut, and I forced myself to stay still for a moment, giving her time while I savored the way she held on to me.
A low, sweet moan slipped from her lips.
When I started to move, I did it slowly, with all the care in me.
Every thrust felt reverent, like I was learning her again with my body instead of trying to claim anything.
My blood magic surged in answer, feeding on her pleasure and deepening the bond between us until the line between her body and mine blurred.
Every sound she made, every arch of her spine, every shiver that ran through her hit me like it was happening inside my own skin—intoxicating, overwhelming, and impossible to resist.
She rocked against me, nails dragging down my back, crying out my name as her body tightened around me. The wave of her release crashed through both of us; her pleasure feeding my magic, my magic echoing it back.
It pulled me right after her. I let go, buried deep, lost in the feeling of her, in the heat and tightness and the wild, beautiful sound of her breaking apart beneath me.
When we finally stilled, I held her close; our bodies tangled, skin damp, hearts still racing. My blood magic faded to a quiet thrum, sated and warm. She looked up at me, dazed and glowing, lips parted in a smile.
“Quinton…” she whispered, voice raw and sweet.
I pressed a kiss to her temple, still holding her. “I’m here,” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”