He hesitates, eyes searching mine even as his edges dip and blur and shift.
“You’re sure?”
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. He exhales, slow and deliberate, and I feel the ripple in the air before I see the shift. The glamor peels away like smoke. And suddenly he’s not just Caziel the Ember Heir or the warrior or the stoic Daemari. He’s something older. Wilder. More honest. Red-gold skin flushing deep crimson along his cheek bones. Jet-black eyes that shimmer with something deep and ancient, no pupils or iris, just endless shimmering black.
Curved horns, elegant and powerful, rising from his temples, nestled among thick, waves of fiery hair. A tail flicks behind him, balanced and coiled, like a prowling big cat. His mouth is the same, his lips a tinge darker but parted now, white fangs glinting faintly. And gods help me, my breath catches. Because he is beautiful.
“There you are,” I say, voice shaking. “Is this what you were afraid of?”
He shifts slightly, enough for the collar of his shirt to slip down. Deep red lines cut across his chest, a line tracing up the front of his throat as the markings spread across his face. The stark lines cut up his throat and band across his strong, straight nose. The embermark looks like molten gold forged into runes, not the curling vines of my own mark, but the clean, stark tattoo I’ve seen on other hands, wrists. Never like this. I step forward placing a hand on his chest. He is beautiful. Fierce. Alien. And I want to touch him.
“May I?”
His answer is a soft tilt of his head. I reach for him, fingers brushing across the glowing lines, and he shivers. His skin is warm—hot, really—but not burning. More like sun-warmed stone. The mark pulses beneath my touch.
“Your embermark?” I whisper and he dips his chin in a nod.
“It marked me when I came of age.” His voice drops. “No one else has touched it. Not like this.”
The weight of that lodges somewhere in my chest. My hand stills. “Caziel…”
He catches my wrist before I can pull away, threading our fingers together. “You are not hurting me, Kay.”
I believe him. Still, my voice comes out quieter. “I just… want to do this right.”
“You are.” The sincerity in his tone makes me ache. “Kay,” his voice is a strangled plea as my hands travel up the column of his throat.
“Please don’t pull away. Not this time,” I say, and press up on my tip toes, trying to get closer. “Please.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
KAY
He doesn’t move as I explore him. Not when my fingers brush the curve of his horn. Not when I trace the jagged line of Embermark burning low across his cheekbone. Not even when I shift closer, until I can feel the heat of his skin. Not human warmth, but something deeper. Something forged.
“I told you,” I murmur. “I needed to see you.”
“And now that you have?” His voice is quieter than usual. Uncertain, but hopeful.
“Now I want you even more.” My answer is breathless, but it’s true. All of it.
“You cannot mean that.” He says, but there is a plea underneath the words. “I am not—”
“I read, Caz. A lot ofinterestingbooks.” I smile at the confusion on his handsome face, “humans routinely fall into different realms, and fall for the creatures they meet there. The parts aren’t all that important.”
“You are saying—”
“I’m not afraid of you. Not repulsed. In fact, if you play your cards right, I might even find a cute nickname for you, like Fire Daddy.”
He leans in slowly, likely giving me a chance to change my mind. But I don’t need the out. I meet him halfway, fingers curling in the collar of his tunic just as his lips press to mine. The kiss is slow. Searching. A quiet kind of hunger that builds by degrees. His hands bracket my hips,steady and warm, but careful; like I might spook if he pushes too fast. I tilt my head, deepening the contact, and he groans low in his throat. The sound makes something in me pull tight.
He breaks away first, panting. “Are you certain?”
“I’m not made of glass,” I whisper. “And I’m not going to break.”
His eyes flash. “No. But I might.”
That wrecks me a little. He bends to drag a kiss along my jaw, and I slide my hands over his shoulders; hisrealshoulders, broader and hotter than any human’s, marked with that same ember-bloom pattern that dances across his chest.
