When I say I will choose you, something in Lucian’s eyes cracks open, something vulnerable and raw, like a locked door creaking on its hinges. He stares at me for a long moment, that quiet kind of stunned that never needs words.
Then, without speaking, he rises to his feet.
I watch as he crosses the room, his boots silent against the rune-etched floor. Magic hums faintly in the air, laced through the space like threads of silk, familiar and soothing. But I keep my eyes on him, not the runes, not the fire, just him.
Lucian moves with that deliberate grace he always has. Each step, each movement of his fingers, is precise and thoughtful. He opens a small cabinet and pulls down a tin, then pours herbs into a stone bowl. The scent—lavender, rosemary, something darker and grounding—rises into the warm air.
I smile faintly. Even now. Even after everything, he still defaults to taking care of me.
"You’re quiet," I say softly, my voice still hoarse but steadier now.
He doesn’t turn, but I see his shoulders tense ever so slightly. "Trying not to say the wrong thing."
He pauses. His hand trembles slightly as he pours water into the cup, barely noticeable—but I see it.
In the glow of the fire, his expression looks like it has been carved from both tenderness and torment. I can see every emotion etched into the fine lines of his face—regret, longing, and something else I don’t dare name aloud yet.
He walks toward me, the tea forgotten. He sets it aside and kneels beside the bed, the rug beneath him woven with charms that pulse with faint light. His gaze finds mine, and the intensity in his eyes knocks the breath from my lungs.
"I’ve thought about this moment so many times," he says, voice low and gravelly. "About holding you. Touching you. Not like I used to… but like you deserve."
I reach up, brushing my fingers along his jaw. His skin is warm under my touch, a little rough with stubble, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
"I don’t want who we were," I whisper. "I want who we are now."
His lips meet mine with a gentleness that makes my eyes sting. But it doesn’t stay soft for long. The kiss deepens, grows urgent, desperate, even. Years of pain, of longing, of words left unspoken pour into that kiss. His mouth opens to mine with a groan that vibrates through my chest, and I clutch at his shirt, pulling him down to me.
His hands slide along my waist, cautious but hungry. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, as if I might break apart if he holds too tight. I melt into him, the pain in my body dimming under the flood of heat and magic rising between us.
He carries me to the spell-warmed rug near the hearth, laying me down with aching reverence. The fire crackles behind us, casting golden shadows that dance across his bare skin as he shrugs off his shirt.
He hovers above me, gaze searching.
"You sure?" he asks, voice raw. "I don’t want to hurt you."
I curl my hand behind his neck, dragging him closer until our foreheads touch. "Don’t make me beg," I whisper, breathless. "I need this. I need you."
Lucian kisses me like he is starving. Hands roam across my skin, relearning me, rediscovering every scar, every tremble, every gasp that leaves my lips. His body presses against mine, hot and solid, and I feel the weight of him like gravity itself—anchoring me.
When he enters me, it isn’t just physical.
His name slips from my lips in a broken moan, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck, groaning against my skin as our bodies move together with a rhythm older than time. Magic flares beneath our skin, a wild pulse that makes the runes around us glow brighter.
My wolf purrs inside me—still weak, still healing, but humming with joy. This… this is what she’s craved. Not dominance. Not victory. But this raw, beautiful connection that ties us together across every scarred battlefield and broken vow.
And even though we no longer share a traditional mate bond, something deeper stirs. Something older. Wilder.
A surge of power crackles between us, a rush of light that spreads from where our skin meets and moves outward in shimmering waves. It isn’t a bond of fated souls—it’s a choice. Two beings choosing each other again, even after everything has broken.
When it ends, we collapse together onto the rug, our bodies slick with sweat and magic. My head rests on his chest, rising and falling with each of his breaths. His heart beats beneath my ear like a war drum settling after battle, steady and strong.
The fire pops softly behind us, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Lucian’s arm is wrapped around me, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles along my spine.
"I needed that," I whisper, voice soft, raw. "Not just the sex. I needed to feel you love me again."
He tilts his head, resting his chin atop mine. His voice is thick with emotion when he speaks.
"I never stop loving you," he says. "Even when I leave, even when I am hurting—I never stop. It’s always you, Talia."
I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of his voice calm the storm still spinning inside me. I have lost so much—friends, family, a future I once thought was mine. But in his arms, I find something I hadn’t realized I’d been grieving.
He pulls the blanket draped over the nearby couch around us, tucking it over my shoulder as if shielding me from a cold neither of us wants to name.
For a moment, we say nothing.
There are still battles ahead. Kael still sits on a stolen throne. Blood still stains the earth. But in this moment, under the soft glow of rune-fire and the warmth of Lucian’s embrace, none of it matters.
I am not the Alpha cast aside or the warrior left behind.
