The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting warm shadows across the walls of the hunting lodge. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, restless and wild like the blood pounding in Lyra's veins.
She stood by the window, arms crossed, staring into the night as if it could offer answers.
Kael hadn't said a word since they'd returned.
Not one.
She felt it in the silence between them, the unspoken tension, the heat still clinging to her skin from their earlier closeness. His touch had lingered like a brand. Even more so, his kiss.
She heard the floorboards creak behind her.
She didn't need to turn around to know it was him.
"You're brooding," Kael said quietly.
Lyra's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "And you're still watching me like you expect me to vanish."
"I'm not sure you won't," he murmured, stepping closer.
His voice was lower now, rougher. That voice that slipped under her skin like velvet laced with danger.
She turned to face him, her back brushing against the windowpane. "Do I seem the type to run?"
"No." His gaze swept over her. "You seem like the type to burn everything down before you leave."
She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe I am."
Kael stepped in until there was barely any space left between them. The firelight made his eyes glow gold, like a predator's in the dark.
Lyra tilted her head, challenging. "Fenryn, are you scared of getting burned?"
Reaching up, he brushed back a lock of her hair. His fingers grazed her cheek, slow, deliberate.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said.
Her breath caught.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "I crave the fire."
Her knees almost buckled.
The air between them shifted, dense, electric, heavy with things neither of them dared say aloud.
Lyra reached up and gripped the front of his shirt. "Then stop standing there and take it."
Kael did not require a second explanation.
His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that wasn't sweet or gentle. It was raw and aching, fueled by every bit of restraint they'd shown until now. His hands cupped her jaw, fingers threading through her hair as he deepened the kiss, devouring her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
She gasped against him when he lifted her, setting her down roughly on the wooden table behind them, papers and maps scattering.
Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.
He growled low in his throat. "You taste like something forbidden."
Lyra arched into him, her voice breathless. "And you act like you've already claimed it."
Slowly and teasefully, his hand moved over her thigh, claiming skin as if it were his own.
"I have," he said, lips trailing along her neck. "Don't pretend I haven't."
Every word was heat. Each touch holds a promise.
As she traced beneath his shirt, feeling the tenseness of muscle beneath her palm, she allowed her fingers to explore the hard lines of his chest.
Kael pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. His voice remained steady, but his pupils were blown wide with hunger.
Say it, Lyra.
Her lips parted, breath ragged. "Say what?"
"That this isn't just lust." His voice was hoarse, thick with something deeper. "That you also feel it."
Lyra stilled.
She could lie.
She could claim that this was simply tension from too many nights spent together and a lack of personal space.
But she didn't.
Her voice came out softer than she intended. "It's more."
Something flickered across his face: relief, longing, maybe even fear.
He kissed her again, slower this time. Less devouring. More desperate.
There was a sense of desperation that came from realizing that once something was important, it might disappear.
He traced her jaw with his thumb, grounding her.
He muttered, "Lyra Virelle, you are mine now."
In her bones, she sensed the reality of it.
She didn't resist.
But as the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, Lyra's mind echoed with one thought:
What happens when the world tries to tear us apart?