Chapter Forty-Nine
ELYSSARA
I feel his gaze like a brand on my skin.
I roll my hips under the Stars, the golden belt cinching my waist, drawing his eyes exactly where I want them.
I don’t know if it’s the runes on my skin or the Silverwake in my veins, but I move like a woman possessed.
The ashdrum thrums in my bones, a pulse that is no longer separate from my own.
I twist under Ronyn’s arms, spin with Seren, and even manage to sway with Therion, but the entire time, I feel him watching.
Kael is a presence—solid, unyielding, inevitable.
The weight of his stare settles between my shoulder blades, heavy, intoxicating. I close my eyes, lifting my arms over my head to drag them through the thick night sky, feeling the moment slip between my fingers like silk.
I feel him approaching a breath before his hands snake around my stomach, and move lower over the curve of my hip. Not tentative. Not questioning. Possessive. Claiming. As if he’s lost a battle with his restraint.
His hard chest pushes against my back, enveloping and intoxicating, the scent of oakmoss and leather wrapping around me like a snare. He lowers his mouth to my ear. His voice is all smoke and sin.
“Let me give you that night to remember, Elyssara.”
My breath hitches.
There’s no more pretending.
His mouth brushes against the long column of my neck, hovering just close enough that I feel the heat of his breath but not the press of his lips.
Teasing. Holding me in place with nothing but anticipation.
A heavy, torturously seductive sensation pools low in my belly.
A sensation I am utterly helpless against.
I’ve lived my life without pleasures, without the power to choose what I desire. But this?
This, I want.
I swallow thickly. “Dance with me first, and then... I’m yours.”
Kael’s growl is pure satisfaction. His arm tightens around my waist, pressing me against the length of him. “You’ve always been mine, Elyssara—even before you knew it.” He pauses, his breath hot against my temple. “You always will be.”
Oh, Stars.
I turn toward him, pressing my hands to the solid expanse of the leathers pulled taught across his broad chest. His pulse is steady, but his breathing is not. My fingers drift over the tops of his broad shoulders, trailing down his arms, committing every inch of him to memory.
He grips my chin gently, tilting it up so I’m looking into his eyes.
Without breaking my gaze, Kael’s voice comes out like a low, reverent rumble. “I want you.”
The world tilts.
The bindings around my heart unravel. The weight of the past, of restraint, of denial—it all ceases to exist.
Because Stars save me, but I want him too.
I give in.
“I want you, too.”
Kael moves then. Not with hesitation. Not with uncertainty. He spins me—a controlled, effortless motion, like a warrior handling a blade he knows too well. He moves me across the dirt, guiding, leading, commanding, as if we are in a grand ballroom, skirts billowing.
We glide around the fire, the world dimming into nothingness around us. There is only him and me. Only the way our bodies move as one, the way our hearts beat in time to the same unrelenting drum.
The music begins to slow.
And so does he.
His hands skim down my spine, the touch light, reverent.
My arms wrap around his neck, my forehead pressing to his chest. His scent, his warmth, the solid weight of him—it drowns out everything.
We stay like this for a while, rocking gently to the drums and skyflutes that make this night feel outside of time, outside of fate itself.
My arms tighten around his neck, my forehead pressing against his chest. He is solid. Unshaken. A steady anchor while the rest of the world spins.
We sway in time with the final beats of the drums, the skyflutes weaving haunting, lingering notes through the air. My breath slows. His does too.
Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves.
The fire crackles behind us. The sounds of the Vaythari—distant laughter, the rhythmic stomp of feet, the clatter of drinking horns—all of it fades into a soft hum at the edges of my awareness.
But Kael is still here. Still holding me.
Still waiting.
For me to make the choice.
I exhale, a slow, shaky breath.
His hand slides up my back, fingers tangling into my hair, tipping my head back just enough to meet his eyes.
“Come,” he murmurs. Not a command. Not a request. An inevitability.
And gods, I go.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as he leads me away from the fire. Doesn’t pull. Doesn’t rush. Just walks—slow, steady, deliberate.
I follow.
The night air wraps around us, cool against my skin where the warmth of the fire still lingers. The distant rhythm of the revelry fades with each step, replaced by something heavier. More intimate.
I don't have to look to know that Ronyn is smirking, that Seren is biting back a grin.
That Therion looks like he’s swallowing knives.
Kael doesn’t acknowledge them. Doesn’t break stride.
Neither do I.
I barely notice the gold symbols shimmering along the worn path, leading us forward—until we’re standing before it.
The tent.
Ours.
And this time, I don’t hesitate.
The tent rises before us, standing taller and more regal than the others, its heavy fabric shimmering in the firelight like woven stardust.
Thick, dark hides stitched with golden thread stretch across the wooden beams, reinforced with carved bone. The entrance flap is embroidered with the same symbol that gleams on my belt—a mark of belonging, of sovereignty, of something more.
Low-burning lanterns dangle from the outer posts, casting flickering patterns across the fabric, their glow dancing like captured fireflies.
The air is thick with sandalwood and spice, curling tendrils of incense weaving through the space like a quiet invocation, a silent acknowledgment of the night’s purpose.
Inside, the air is warmer, quieter, the pulse of the music outside muffled to a steady, rhythmic hum.
The walls are draped with heavy tapestries, embroidered in ancient patterns—stories of warriors, gods, and Stars stitched in silver and gold thread.
Furs and thick woven blankets line the floor, soft and decadent, a stark contrast to the raw, primal energy of the Vaythari revelry beyond the canvas.
At the center, a low wooden table holds a decanter of Silverwake, two ornate drinking vessels carved from onyx, and a delicate plate of honeyed figs and spiced nuts—a quiet offering, a final indulgence before the night unfolds.
The bed is no mere cot, but a nest of thick pelts and layered silks, the kind meant for a queen—or for ruin.
I swallow hard. My fingers tighten around Kael’s.
He says nothing, but I feel the shift in his stance, the way his breath deepens just slightly.
He feels it too.
The weight of this. The inevitability. The choice.
And this time, for the first time in my life—I choose.
I choose him.
I release his fingers then, and begin loosening the laces on my leather pants, boots long since forgotten around the fire.
“Stop,” he commands. “Let me do that. Lie down.”
I do as he bids, liquefying under his instruction.
My body melts into the silks, smooth and decadent against my skin. Kael’s hands smooth back my hair, brush down my cheek—deliberate, reverent.
“A fucking goddess.” The words are thick, dark, and worshipful. Before I can respond, his mouth claims mine, a slow, languid stroking of his tongue against mine, taking his time with me. I don’t know whether I relish it or want to combust.
He shifts lower, removing the lacy straps of my undergarments, exposing my breasts to the cool air. A shiver cascades down my spine—but then his mouth is there, warm and wet, sucking, biting, claiming.
A small moan escapes me, and his grip on my thigh tightens.
“I dream of that sound every night, Elyssara.” His voice is breathy, rough with hunger.
His tongue circles my nipple, his mouth devouring me like a man who’s suffered too long without this.
“It’s enough to bring any man to his knees.”
Another moan rips from my throat, my back arching, and something in his restraint snaps.
He pauses, breathing heavy. The room thickens with something unspoken.
“I don’t want any man,” I pant. “I want you.”
His entire body stills.
And then, his voice drops to something lethal, something edged in pure, brutal possession. “Well, allow me to get on my knees, then.”
Holy fucking Stars.
He makes quick work of my laces, dragging my leathers down, taking my undergarments with them, peeling them from my body like he’s unwrapping something forbidden. Something he intends to keep.
Kael kneels before me, grips my thighs, and spreads them open—wide enough that my breath catches.
His tongue drags along his bottom lip, eyes darkening as he takes me in.
“The sight of your legs spread for me and the taste of your wet pussy is what I think of every time I touch my cock.”
I let out a desperate, ragged moan, but he only smirks.
“What do you think of when you’re fucking your hand, Elyssara?”
My stomach clenches, pleasure tightening inside me. My head swims, my pulse thundering.
I should be embarrassed. But I’m not.
“You,” I whisper, voice breaking. “It’s always you.”
Kael growls. “Good girl. I’m the only one you think of, understand?”
And then, his mouth is on me.
He licks into me like he’s starving, like he needs this, needs me.
My fingers twist into his hair as I cry out, arching into his mouth, chasing his tongue.
“Don’t forget that, Elyssara. Who do you think of?”
He slides a finger into me, slow, deliberate.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You,” I whimper. “I’m yours.”
He groans, slipping another finger inside, curling them just so, pressing against that spot that sends pleasure crackling through me like a spark.
“Do you like the sight of me bowing before you, Duskae?” His voice is a dark, hushed promise. “Does the sight of me on my knees for you make your pussy wet?”
I let out a whimper, but that’s not enough.
He stops. Pauses.