Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
But none of it was his fault. I want to tell him that. I want to say something, but I can't find the words.
He turns his head toward me, his profile silver in the moonlight streaming through the window. "And if I'm never ready?"
"Then we'll deal with that when the time comes," I reply.
His hand finds mine in the darkness, fingers intertwining. "You should hate me," he says softly. "For keeping things from you. For pulling you into... this."
"I don't," I tell him. "And I'm here because I choose to be. With you. Whether you like it or not."
He makes a sound, half laugh, half sigh. "So fucking stubborn."
"Says the most stubborn man at Confluence."
That earns a real laugh, quiet but genuine. The sound warms me more than any fire magic could, chasing away the lingering chill of void corruption.
We fall silent, the rhythm of our breathing synchronizing in the quiet room. Through our tether, I feel his emotions settling—the sharp edges of worry softening into something closer to contentment.
"I'll protect you," he murmurs, voice heavy with meaning. "Whatever comes."
"I know," I whisper back. "We'll protect each other."
As sleep claims me, I wonder which is more dangerous—the secrets Raith keeps, or the feelings growing between us despite them. Both have the power to destroy, to wound beyond healing.
Chapter 32
I wake to warmth—a perfect, comfortable heat that makes me want to burrow deeper into the covers and never emerge. As consciousness gradually returns, I realize the source of that heat is Raith, his body curled protectively around mine, one strong arm draped over my waist. Sometime during the night, the careful inch of space between us had vanished, our bodies finding each other like matching puzzle pieces drifting closer until we clicked into place.
His breathing is deep and steady against the back of my neck, his heart a solid thump against my spine. For a moment, I allow myself to simply exist in this bubble of safety and comfort, memorizing the weight of his arm and the way our bodies fit together as if designed for exactly this.
Too soon, the reality of our situation intrudes on my thoughts—the meeting with Voss, the approaching Crucible, the lingering mystery of the siphon. But I cling to this moment like a talisman, tucking it away to revisit when the world inevitably turns dark again.
"You're awake," Raith murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
"Mmm," I confirm, reluctant to move or speak and break the spell.
He doesn't withdraw his arm as I expected. Instead, his hold tightens slightly, drawing me closer. Through our tether, I catch a whisper of his contentment, a peace that feels foreign and precious to him.
Somehow—whether through the tether or some other intuition—I know touching him all night didn't drain him dry of his fire essence. Instead, we're like two bodies of water that have joined, finding equilibrium as we both hold equal amounts. I think I could draw more from him if I sort of... pulled, but it's comforting to know I can touch him as much as I want without making him run completely dry.
"In time, you should be able to stop yourself from draining his energy entirely when you don’t wish it," Typhon says.
That would be nice, even though I've guiltily come to enjoy the feeling of his magical heat swirling and twisting inside my own body.
"Did you sleep?" I ask.
"Some." His breath stirs my hair. "Better than usual."
I smile into the pillow, oddly pleased that my presence has given him even a modicum of peace. "How long until we need to see Voss?"
"If you're feeling up for it, we could go as soon as you're up and ready," he says, and I feel a reluctance in him that mirrors my own.
With a sigh, I turn in his arms to face him, our noses almost touching on the narrow bed. This close, I can see the fan of dark lashes, the curve of lips that I've now tasted but still hunger for.
Heat flares in his eyes as they drop to my mouth, and his hand slides from my waist to my hip, fingers splaying possessively. The fire inside me answers his call, curling through my veins with scorching heat.
"Nessa," he says, my name a warning and a plea.
I lean forward, closing the scant distance between us. Our lips meet with no hesitation. No restraint. This kiss is hunger unleashed—teeth nipping at my lower lip, his tongue sweeping into my mouth when I gasp. I arch against him, my hands finding the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his shoulders.
Emotions flow between us, intensifying each sensation. His desire coils through me, mirroring and amplifying my own until I can't tell where mine ends and his begins.
His hand tangles in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, trailing fire up his side. A low groan rumbles in his chest when my nails scrape lightly along his ribs.