She exhales a shaky breath, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “You’re so foolish sometimes. Why do you do this?” Her voice cracks. “Why risk everything for me?”
I can’t tear my gaze away from her. She stands inches away, trembling with fear and anger, yet all I can see is how fiercely she’s fought to protect me as well—her search for evidence, her unwavering loyalty. “Because you’re not just some foreigner, Mira. And I can’t abide a world where you’re punished for telling the truth.”
She seems poised to argue, but the fight drains from her posture. Her tears hover, unshed, as she murmurs, “I’m scared for you.”
The rawness of her admission pierces me. I step closer, closing the distance. My chest feels tight with unspoken emotions. “Don’t be. I’ve survived orc champions, political manipulations, the arena’s deadliest contenders. I can weather the Senate.”
She lifts her chin, though her shoulders still tremble. “I don’t want you to lose Milthar’s respect, or your Freedmen’s future. They look up to you… If the Senate brands you a traitor?—”
I cup her face, gentle yet firm. “They can brand me any label they like. My sense of honor doesn’t hinge on their decree.”
For a moment, the tension in the air thickens as we stare at each other, everything that’s been simmering threatening to boil over. She swallows, voice wavering. “I never wanted to be the cause of your downfall.”
My heart twists. “You’re not. Vaelen and his conspirators are. You’re the reason I see clearly how corrupt they’ve become.”
She releases a choked sound, half sob, half laugh, pressing her hands over mine. An electric jolt runs through me at her touch. The swirl of relief and anger entwines with longing. We stand in silent stillness, our breaths mingling. The threat of the Senate lurks like a monstrous shadow at the edge of consciousness, but right now, I only feel her presence—vibrant, defiant, heartbreakingly vulnerable.
Her eyes dart to my mouth, then back to my gaze. My pulse kicks. We’re not safe, everything is on the brink, but the closeness tugs like a magnet. She tugs her hands free and presses them against my chest, swallowing. “Why can’t we be sensible?” she whispers, voice trembling with an odd mix of yearning and frustration.
Sensible has never fit us. We’re bound by forced proximity, fueled by mutual defiance of a broken system. My hands drift to her waist, uncertain if this is the right moment or a disastrous one. My body, thrumming with leftover adrenaline, yearns for her. “Because we’re too far gone,” I rasp.
Her lips part, a silent agreement. In a single, decisive motion, I dip my head, capturing her mouth with mine. She whimpers softly, nails biting into my tunic. Every ounce of fury and fear converges into this kiss, a collision of desperate needs. The forceof our longing catches me off-guard, but I surrender, pouring all my pent-up tension into the press of our lips.
She returns the kiss with matching intensity, one hand sliding up my chest to grip my shoulder. My heart hammers. We clutch each other like a lifeline, the threat of our entire world collapsing only tightening this frantic embrace. Our mouths move, devouring the moment of solace from the chaos. My tail lashes behind me, adrenaline surging anew. She murmurs something unintelligible against my mouth, a blend of relief and anguish.
Then she breaks off, panting, tears gleaming. “This— is insane,” she whispers. “You just assaulted Senate soldiers for me, and I can’t see a way out of this madness.”
I cradle her face, breathing hard. “I’d do it again, a thousand times. Even if the city brands me a villain. I can’t stand seeing you in chains.”
She bows her head, leaning into my palm, shuddering. “I can’t stand watching you sacrifice everything either. But gods, I need you.”
Those words unleash a storm of emotion. I scoop her closer, guiding her backward until her spine meets the study’s wall, the subtle crackling of parchment underfoot as we likely jostle a stack of documents. She lifts her face to mine, eyes glimmering with conflicting passion and worry. The unstoppable current between us surges, scorching away restraint.
I brush a thumb across her cheek, voice trembling. “If this is the last moment we have before the Senate storms in, I won’t waste it.”
She nods, tears slipping free. “Don’t hold back.”
That’s all the permission I need. I capture her mouth again, gentler this time, but no less urgent. She responds, fingers curling around my horns in a move that sends a fierce jolt of pleasure through me. A strangled groan escapes my throat. I pinher to the wall, mindful of her smaller frame, letting the rough edges of my desperation melt into a fierce longing to comfort her.
Her tunic bunches under my hands as I slide them down her sides. She inhales sharply, parting her lips to deepen the kiss. Each shared breath feels like a rescue from the world’s cruelty. The study’s hush amplifies every soft sound—our mingled gasps, the rustle of cloth, the steady thunder of blood pounding in my ears.
When her hands slip beneath my own tunic, grazing the bare fur of my sides, I choke out a low, needy sound. My old wounds and the day’s tensions fade under the warmth of her touch. She breaks the kiss, pressing her forehead to mine, breathing unsteadily. “I hate them for making us feel so desperate,” she murmurs.
I echo the sentiment in a ragged whisper, “But we have each other. That’s enough right now.”
Our lips meet once more, slowly, a fragile tenderness taking over. We’re caught in the friction of defiance and comfort, anger and devotion. My heart twists at the vulnerability in her eyes. This moment is about more than physical need—it’s about anchoring each other when the Senate tears at our world.
We fumble toward a small couch against the wall. She almost trips over scattered scrolls, letting out a breathless laugh that turns into a desperate moan as I catch her around the waist. We tumble onto the cushioned seat, limbs entangled. Her laughter fades, replaced by a trembling exhale, and I realize she’s holding back tears. I gently kiss them away, letting her see every ounce of reverence I feel.
She clings to me, burying her face in my neck, whispering, “I can’t lose you. Not after everything.”
My chest tightens like a vise. “You won’t. I promise.” It’s a vow I’m not entirely sure I can keep, but in this space, I’ll give her all the certainty I can muster.
Our clothes shift aside in a mutual scramble, each piece falling away to reveal patches of skin, my fur pressed against her bare arms. The vulnerability is stark—our bodies marked by bruises and scars. She traces one of my old arena scars, eyes shining with empathy. I stroke her cheek, silently marveling at how our worlds collided to bring us here.
When we come together, it’s slow at first—a communion of raw need tempered by the desire to soothe. I brace my arms around her, supporting her weight on my lap. She moves against me, a shallow gasp echoing in the hush. My breath catches. The closeness is more than physical; it’s an affirmation that we choose each other over fear.
She arches, muscles trembling, and I match her rhythm with a gentle push, eyes locked on hers. There’s a quiet urgency, an undercurrent of heartbreak fueling every motion. We embrace each other as if the universe might tear us apart once we let go. My mind reels with the thought that tomorrow we could face condemnation or arrest. So I cherish every second, memorizing the flush of her skin, the way her nails bite into my shoulders.
