It’s You
cassian x reader
[ part one ]
warnings: angst to fluff, sexual tension, vague smut, swearing, implied substance abuse, implied suicidal ideation, men being dumb but grovelling, not edited so be nice
summary: a part 2 based off this request
—
Food curdles in your stomach, the pallor of your skin a little green when you return to the dining room. The desire for dessert has passed even when you can smell the appealing notes of a warm cinnamon sugar crust under baked red apples.
There are words being spoken, toasts made with heartfelt speeches about your hard work and irreplaceable position in the inner circle. You do your best to appear engaged, smiling when appropriate and nodding in acknowledgment but you can’t stop thinking about Elain’s words—how only a few syllables has sent the entirety of your nervous system into a fritz.
Thankfully, wine is poured in excess and most of your friends are too tipsy to notice your inability to relax into your seat.
The table is cleared shortly after, the group begins to gather around the fireplace, pulling out deck of cards and tossing gold coins in the middle of a table. Boisterous bets are placed, Fey and Rhys whispering promises of personal prizes if one of them wins big.
You use the opening to break away from the chaos, seeking solace on the balcony where the cool breeze carried away the cold sweat breaking out along your forehead.
You barely get ten breaths in before another presence is detected. Their steps are heavy, unguarded; familiar even and once their scent catches in the breeze you don’t even have to turn to know who’s there.
“Was hoping I’d find you alone.”
You hate the way your heart jumps at the sound of his voice. Despising the way you subconsciously straighten the fit of your top or wiping away mascara residue that maybe transferred when rubbing at your face. Either way, your nerves won’t let you mince words. “You need something?”
Cassian doesn’t seem offended by your blunt tone, taking a few steps closer until you can feel his heat radiating at your side. “Just some answers.”
“About what?”
“Come on, are you really going to play dumb about this? I know you can feel it too. I know that you know—I can smell it on you.” You avoid his stare, swallow thickly when he turns to face you head-on. Goosebumps loiter your flesh when he dares to brush away stray hairs that have blown across your cheeks but you recoil when you consider the fact that he’d done that to some other female recently. The hope in his eyes falters at your flinch, defeat coating his tongue. “Just tell me how long you’ve known.”
You shrug, arms crossing over your chest as you will your voice to remain steady—strong. “What’s the point? The bond is a suggestion, not a requirement.”
“Maybe that’s the truth for you but it means so much more to me.”
“Is what you feel supposed to matter to me now?” Strength returns in the shape of anger or maybe even frustration because all of a sudden you’re consumed by it, cadence overtaken by betrayal. “Because, I’ve always considered you before. I loved you, cherished you, remained loyal even before I’d known about any divine connection declaring us equals. But you? You betrayed me. Y-you humiliated me and made me second guess myself—caused me to doubt my worth because you allowed yourself to be distracted by a pretty face and a little power to back it up.” You barely notice the tears streaming down your face, only realizing they’re there when it tickles down the column of your throat. “All I’ve ever done is think about you and look how that ended up for me.” Palms wipe the wetness off your cheeks, nose sniffling away the emotion clogging your sinuses. You turn away, ashamed of the vulnerability that you can’t seem to rid yourself of. “Where is she anyway? I’d assumed the two of you would be fused at the hip given the opportunity to publicly flaunt your union.”
Cassian is quiet. Quiet enough to hear the way he sucks in a harsh breath through his nose, it whistles sharply, evidence of the numerous breaks it’s endured over the decades. “She moved away.” He confesses, using the time to take you in. Your hairs longer, skin more tan; you’ve lost weight, the bones of your hips more prominent than before. He wonders if you worked too hard in attempts to forget him. “She’s with Eris now.”
You can’t contain the laugh you bark out. Hands brace on the balcony rail, head thrown back as they overtake you, shoulders shaking and tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. “You left me for her,” You can barely catch your breath. “—and she left you for another. Gods, karma’s a bitch.”
“He’s her mate.”
“Well, I hope he cherishes her more than you ever bothered to with me.”
That seems to trigger his temper, a fire burning in his eyes when he forces you to face him. A seriousness you never associate with him lives in the lines of his face, it hardens the line of his cheekbones, the set of his lips, accentuating the way he’s lost sleep over imagining this very moment. He supposes this is the best possible outcome, you spitting jabs his way knowing he’ll take it—he’s certainly earned your ire. But the newfound connection that exists between you two makes the feelings amplify tenfold, settling in his bones as if the emotion belongs to him instead. It’s confusing, consuming, exhilarating and a bit exhausting but it’s everything he’d ever prayed for with a female who’d been standing right in front of him this whole damned time. “Look, I get that I hurt you and you have every right to be upset and want to hurt me back but—“
“Hurt me?” You scoff, pretending that his touch doesn’t send electricity buzzing beneath your flesh. That his grip doesn’t have your heart racing and blood pumping a mile a minute. You blame it on the bond the way your body remembers the feel of him manhandling you the way he pleases, positioning you in a way that best suits him. “I’m not hurt anymore, Cassian. I’m mad as Hel.”
—
Sleep evades you that night, unable to even step foot in the room once shared with a love that has run its course.
The library is a suitable replacement, leather couch baring your weight as the fireplace before it warms you to the bone. One could argue that you were too close, the flames so near it turns your skin red; nose rosy and lips dry but it’s as similar as can be replicated of a large body sharing the sleep space.
It’s not until you’ve sat up, arms stretching and a yawn cutting through the silence do you notice another presence in the space you’ve quietly claimed. “Az?” Shadows perk up at the way you whisper his name, azure eyes parting from the window, away from the city he so valiantly protects.
“You know, you talk in your sleep.”
You nearly trip on the couch leg in your rush to him, arms thrown around his shoulders for a hug. His sentient extensions of him dance through your hair, tickling at your ears fondly like curious little children. “When’d you get in?”
“Early this morning, was waiting for someone to finish their work so I could bring them along for tonight.”
“Bring them along?” Azriel barely acknowledges your Summer acquired pajamas or their skimpiness, his gaze returning to its surveillance of the outdoor surroundings. “You have a girlfriend I don’t know about?”
“I could. You haven’t been around much.” Your lips purse, an apology on the tip of your tongue before Az shrugs off whatever contempt had begun to rear its ugly head. You aren’t offended, certain that his words stemmed more from self-loathing than any real anger directed towards you. He was like that sometimes, envious of the way his family was able to come and go as they please while he was anchored to this Court due to his high profile—his rarity. “I was asked to bring a friend of yours. Though, I suppose it should be me asking if you’ve run off and found new romance given the way they spoke of you the whole way here.”
“Tarquin and I are just friends.”
A smug little smile begins to etch itself in the crease of his mouth—a hint of a dimple dipping against his cheeks. “I never said it was Tarquin.”
“Oh shut up, we’ve gotten close since—“ You scramble for a vague enough word to explain the rift that grew between family after Cassian had left you. After you left everyone without a word. Nothing feasible pops up, gaze drifting off, voice dying out. Arms cross over your chest, that shameful feeling beginning to return but Azriel slays it away before it can really set root.
“I understand.” Frustration is evident in the way his jaw clenches, tendons straining against the delicate skin, pushing against inky tattoos and three day old stubble. “Just hope you don’t think replacing us because of Cassian’s wrongs is the way to go. We’ve missed you around here.”
You nod jerkily, leeching off the warmth he emits and re-familiarizing yourself with the comforting scent he gives off. “That’s…you’re right that’s on me. I was avoiding and took it too far.” You peer up at him, a glossy sheen lining your vision. “Forgive me?”
“I can consider it—if you give me all the details about you and this High Lord you’ve captivated.”
“You’re a glutton for gossip.”
“I’m a spy, I’m collecting valuable intel so don’t leave out a single thing.”
—
An hour later, clothes are changed, hair is done, beds are made and the extravagance of your birthday begins. Rhys insists on a shared breakfast before the group bites into the real meat of the itinerary planned for the day. It’s supposed to be fun, perhaps a little festive at the very least. All that flies out the window, tensions running high the moment Tarquin steps foot through the door, his presence gravitating towards yours like magnets searching for their counterpart.
Cassian hates every second of it.
Tarquin is too familiar, too comfortable; too touchy. He takes it upon himself to fix your plate, pour your wine—no, champagne and orange spritz. Your favorite, he claims. His hands frequent your body, tugging at the hem of your top to examine the Night Court fabrics, adjusting the necklace you wear, flicking at the earrings dangling from your lobes. Mid-conversation he collects a few strands of your hair that keeps falling across your cheek and absently begins braiding—you don’t flinch away. You don’t even so much as miss a beat in your words, body language completely lax as if things like this happens everyday.
“You’re going to lose a molar grinding your teeth like that.”
Cassian can’t even tear his eyes away long enough to spare his brother the time of day. Azriel wouldn’t have known he heard if it weren’t for the way the soldiers stance shifts, adjusts; braces himself before he does something stupid like procure a broad sword and use it to slice Tarquin’s hands clean off. “She tell you if something happened between them?”
“Didn’t mention anything of that nature to me,” Azriel watches too while forking eggs onto his plate, distantly amused at the way the High Lord fawns over you. Showering your work in his Court with compliments, explaining to Rhysand and Feyre how quickly you’ve clicked with the people and wedged your way into the town like a true native. “Either way, it looks like she’s got him wrapped around her finger.”
“I can see that. I don’t like it.”
Azriel shrugs, instigating just a little. “She’s not a kept female, she’s free to do as she pleases. You made sure of that.”
Cassian doesn’t answer right away, every thought formed is laced with violent intent. He imagines murder, pictures homicide; criminal offenses that would surely break out into a war. He pictures Tarquin’s head rolling on the hardwood, blood seeping through that stupidly expensive rug that Rhys had imported from Winter Court a half decade ago.
He barely realizes he’s blatantly staring, mind fixated on pulling out a High Lord’s teeth with his bare hands. Stringing him up by his toes and using his soft underbelly as target practice for his battle axes. Each thought grows more vicious than the next until a familiar feeling penetrates his psyche, talons tapping at the poorly concealed mental shields that loosened in his indulgence of murderous delusions. “Stop staring like that, it’s getting creepy.”
Hazel eyes flicker to Rhys at the head of the table, his grip on his silverware annoyingly posh when spearing through fluffy pancakes and breakfast sausage. “Then make him stop touching her.”
“I don’t recall her making demands like that when you put your paws on another.” His brothers words bite, though Cassian is sure that’s the intent because his shoulders sag like a puppet with their strings cut, spine slumping into his seat as his hypocrisy smacks him clear across the face. “She hurt for you, now it’s your turn to bleed and endure.”
Bleed and endure he does.
Tarquin doesn’t hold back for any male.
He makes it his mission to capture and maintain your attention. Whispering comments in your ear, jokes that make you grin over the rim of your glass; coaxing you out of the shell that heartbreak swept you into.
“We’re excited to have you here,” Mor directs towards your companion, a knowing grin on her mouth. “A little birdy told me how fun you get off faerie wine and tonight we’re all going to Rita’s to celebrate.”
“Rita’s?”
You refill your champagne, shifting slightly in your seat. “It’s a club we frequent—best bar in the city.”
“Not as good as Benny’s, I’m sure.”
You huff out a laugh, it’s not exactly pretty but it’s real and Cassian is forced to set down his glass before it shatters to pieces in his grasp. “I’m not sure anything quite compares to Benny’s.”
Mor’s brows raise, a whiny noise clawing up her throat as she complains about you both and your inside jokes. A blush forms before Tarquin even begins opening his mouth. “Benny’s is our Rita’s, except it has this pole in the middle of the room and past midnight they host challenges to see who’s brave enough to dance on it. Winner gets free drinks for the rest of the night.” His shoulders shake with laughter when your blush grows up your neck, brightening up the point of your ears. “Your emissary has won twice already.”
Laughter ensues, little quips made at your expense but you take it in stride; basking in this one little moment that finally feels like something you remember. Comfort and joy, casual happiness around the people you used to know your place amongst.
It’s a damn shame all that fades when your gaze shifts to your right, catching on the seething Commander who watches you like you’re something he lost—something he wishes to reclaim and obtain.
You physically shake yourself out of that thought. You’ve been fooled once following your feelings and twice burned is too much to comeback from.
Reminding yourself of the pain endured is a never-ending task. Phantom pains live within your body with every step, aches with every movement, only dulled when plied with imported wines and puffs of rolled joints while Mor and Feyre spend countless hours filling your time—refusing to leave you alone long enough for you to get lost in your own mind.
To be fair it works, the sun rising and falling before you can track the hours, minutes, or seconds that pass. Every moment is filled with a plan; shopping, mani-pedi’s, snack boards and gossip while the three of you rustle about newly acquired outfits for the night.
They squeeze you into something tight and shiny, figure glistening in gold with a slit so high up your left leg it broadcasts the cut of your hipbone. You’re forced to forgo underwear, modesty hidden by nothing more than a slip of fabric. The wine makes it difficult to care much. High heels alter your train of thought, more worried about balancing in five inch heels rather than what would happen if a stiff breeze were to show off the naughty bits. Earrings dangle from your lobes, makeup is spread across your eyelids and fanned through your lashes. Gloss is smeared across your lips and the imprint of your mouth stains your wine glass with every sip.
All three of you are tipsy by time you saunter down the stairs in a group of clicking heels, girlish giggles and one final smoke puff of mirthroot before you join with the males downstairs.
They serve as perfect bodyguards, holding you upright when your inebriation robs you of your coordination. Grin down at you when words slur together and sentences are abruptly interrupted by laughter. You’re allowed a little recklessness now that you have your family to keep an eye on you but Cassian’s lingers the longest. His hand hovers the closest. His worry festers with every shot taken, concern growing with every misstep and casual bump of your shoulder against his arm. He knows you’ve reached your limit when your foot drags along his calf under the table—an action done purely subconsciously, without thought.
He doesn’t move away. Skin buzzing at the contact.
Azriel spares his brother a look a few hours later before he slinks off into the night, one that screams might as well take the chance before you never have the opportunity again.
You slowly recognize the pattern of your friends filtering off in their own pairs; couples breaking away until it’s just you and the bar. “Can I get—“
“The tab.” A voice rumbles over your own, a small pouch of coins is sifted through and gently tossed over the bar top. It takes a second for your vision to focus long enough to fully put a name to face even if your body recognizes who it is as if it were an extension of yourself. “Come on, sweetheart. Time for bed.”
He expects you to fight him, to shove his hands away given the way your skin usually winces at the mere thought of him. Instead, you sink into his grasp, leeching his warmth, all but forcing him to carry your weight when you mumble something about your feet hurting in your heels.
He indulges you albeit selfishly. Cassian can’t help the way he melts when you drop your head into his shoulder, breath fanning along the length of his neck. Fingers grip onto the fabric of his top and toy with the ends of his hair. “Where are you going?” You slur out, gaze blurry but still cognizant of the route being taken. “The House of Wind is the other way.”
“You haven’t stepped foot in your room at the House. I figured you’d want to sleep in your own bed instead of the couch.”
There’s a brief pause. Your grip shifts on his shoulder. “I didn’t think anyone noticed that.”
Cassian’s lips purse, a sigh deflating the muscled pump of his chest. “I see you.”
A little scoff escapes you, breath tickling at his collarbone. “Yeah, now.”
“You’re drunk, we should wait to talk about this when you’re of sound mind.”
“No,” You shift in his grasp, head perked up as you stare at the side of his face. “We should now before I lose the nerve to say anything at all. I want to know—what do you see in me now that you never saw then?”
In retrospect, you should be alarmed that he knows the exact route to your personal residence. Should be angry that he knows precisely where you keep the spare key and irritation should brew in your belly the way he comfortably maneuvers around the space once inside. “Me leaving had nothing to do with you. Not really.”
“Then just tell me. I deserve the truth—for closure at the very least.”
It’s a struggle to let him go when he crouches down to set you on your couch. He’s on his knees when he answers, fingers undoing the tie of your heels around your ankle. “My whole life has been this never ending story of struggle and pain and hardship. I couldn’t tell you one time growing up where I experienced genuine kindness without the expectation of giving something in return. I can’t recall the softness of a mothers touch or the strength of a fathers love. I don’t know how to be gentle,” His hands shake when he takes your heels to the shoe rack by the door. He moves easily around your kitchen, knows which cabinets to open to procure a glass and is fully aware of where you keep the cold water in the fridge infused with berries and mint. “I was made to pillage and kill and destroy. I barrage my way through towns, scavenge their treasures and burn them to the ground in the name of my High Lord. That’s all I know—death and destruction. Hel, they call me Lord of Bloodshed, it’s engrained in the very marrow of my bones.”
“Cassian.”
“You are nothing like me.” He finally meets your stare, palms flat against cool granite, wings taut at his back. “You are kind, you’re generous; you’re selfless to a fault and I found myself…I found myself running through all the ways that being with me would destroy that part of you. I feared that being with me would snuff your light out.” Something serious fills his iris, burning gold looks at you but see’s right past you. His voice hardens, his shoulders stiffen to a straight line, spine like a metal rod. “Nesta is a cruel female—she is hard edges and clipped responses with words that cut like blades. There was not a loving or nurturing bone in her body. It was harsh and grating like sparring in the desert for days with no water and I got involved with her because I assumed that was all I deserved. Someone who bled and could make me bleed in return.”
It’s a sad realization. A harsh truth. One that makes the liquid courage burning through your veins dissipate like water droplets under the sun. Salty tears well in your eyes without any real reason and you struggle to keep them at bay. Bare toes draw up to the plush couch cushions, knees propping your chin up as your arms wrap around your shins to hide the frantic beat of your heart.
It’s all for naught. You keep forgetting about the divine connection you share with him, so accustomed to it being one sided that you don’t even realize how your shields have crumbled and you’re pushing uncapped emotion down the bond. All that shame and self-deprecation, the hatred and anger, the depression and brokenness you tried to patch up with distance and substances. “Did you—“ You hesitate, suck in a steadying breath. Attempt to appear stronger than you are and his wings drop an inch as he feels everything you do, the way you muster up a crumb of courage and build this armor around you. The selfless way you gentle your tone as to not scare him off in his moment of honesty. “Do you love her?”
“No. I don’t love her.” The answer is immediate, like a band snapping against skin and you don’t detect any lie. For some reason that makes the tears stream down your cheeks even harder, bottom lip wobbling with vulnerability.
“Did you sleep with her?”
Cassian sighs. “Not while we were together.”
“Okay.” You nod to yourself, trying to absorb the information. To close doors whose shadows have haunted you for months. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“That’s it?” He’s bringing you over a glass of water, dress shirt unbuttoned enough to show the planes of his chest and you struggle to not notice. “You don’t have anything else to say?”
“What else matters, Cass? What happened, happened. We both made our choices and I have a contract—I’ll be spending three months in Winter Court once I finish tying up lose ends in Summer, then I’ll be gone another three months in Spring to try and facilitate come semblance of unity between them and us.”
He scoffs at the business-like tone you take, he sits too close on the couch next to you. His thigh covers the length of your bare toes, warmth instantly settling in even if goosebumps liter your skin in direct contradiction. “What else matters? Us, we’re so unfinished. You can’t tell me you expect me to know about our bond and just let you go? To just let Tarquin swoop in and steal you from under my nose? Not a chance. I’d rather die.”
“I almost died.” You pull away from him, forcing distance even if every atom of your being protests against it. “Do you really think this was easy for me? That I just disappeared off to another Court, found some fun little fling and have a hot High Lord to fuck?” A calmer version of yourself would be worried about your volume, concerned about eavesdropping neighbors or bystanders passing the open windows and catching a glimpse of your dirty laundry. You can’t find it in yourself to care when you finally have Cassian’s full attention—now you can unleash every burden he’s cursed you with right back onto him tenfold. That desire only grows when you see the jealous curve of his brow, the grip on his glass that borders on too tight. “He’s not my lover since you’re so concerned. More like a glorified babysitter because the hole you left in my chest couldn’t be filled with any male or the substances they provided —trust me, I tried!”
You don’t mean to laugh, it’s not funny. Nothing about this was funny but the dam has opened and all of its contents spill free without any warning to those in its path.
“He’s my friend.” You spit out, cheeks flushed. “We’ve gotten close, I care for him. Nothing about it has ever been flirtatious or sexual. Are you satisfied now?”
He rises to his full height, two of his strides taking up the space needed to stand before you. “I won’t be satisfied until things between us are good again.”
“You’ll be waiting a while, General. I may be mated to you but I don’t trust you.”
Cassian isn’t deterred in the slightest at the way you snap his rank in his face. He barrels through the distance you try to keep like a bull barraging past red cloth. He walks you into a corner, the bare skin of your back meeting cool drywall. You stare up at him defiantly, not scared by his bulk or brawn. The cloak of his wings blocking out most of the golden light casting through the living space. “But, do you love me?”
“Cassian—“
“I’m a stupid male. I hurt you and I will spend the rest of my miserable existence making it up to you but I have to know.” Knuckles brush the curve of your cheek, thumb grazing over the plush of your mouth and you pray to the Mother above that he doesn’t notice the tremble that ensues from the touch. “You have to tell me—do you love me? Can you still love me despite it all?”
“That depends.”
Cassian presses closer, trapping you against his bulk. You can smell the shampoo he used, the woodsy body wash that lingers on his skin and the cologne that latches onto the fabric of his shirt. “On what?”
“On how serious you plan on taking this. I’ve been burned by you once and while I do believe in forgiveness I don’t believe in being made into a fool while you figure out what you feel you deserve for yourself.” Your voice is but a whisper, eyes scanning the familiar lines of his face until you can’t help but get stuck on the shape of his mouth. The way his tongue darts out to wet them. “I love you but I won’t act on that at the expense of being taken advantage of. I deserve better than that.”
“You do,” His touch wanders lower, grazes down the column of your neck, traces the line of your collarbone, ghosts over the swell of your breasts over the fabric of your dress. Goosebumps raise, a soft gasp pulling free when Cassian drops to his knees before you. “I’ll do whatever it takes to regain your trust. I’ll do anything to earn you back. I’ll swear it, vow it, bargain my life for it—for you.”
Blaming the bond for what you allow next, you can’t help but assist him in tugging the hem of your dress up. He groans when he see’s a lack of undergarments, forehead dropping to your abdomen, nose nudging at the mound of your sex. Your scent evades his senses, grip going feral when he re-familiarizes himself with the shape of your hips, the curve of your thighs, the full slope of your ass. “Cass—“
“You’ve been bare under here all night?”
“Panty lines are tacky.” You pant like a dog in heat, back arching when one leg is quickly lifted and thrown over his shoulder. Painted toes tickle at the leathery texture of his wings, a violent shudder rippling through his body. “Please don’t tease,” One hand braces behind you on the wall, hips bucking forward as you desperately chase the heat of his mouth, melting into the wet kisses he trails up your inner thighs. “Waited too long for this.”
Cassian groans at the implication of no one touching you since the last time he had, some possessive piece of him flaring with pride. Every touch is charged, electrified; zaps of pleasure shooting up your very being when his tongue finally laps at where you need him most. Fingers dig into the thick of his hair, urging him closer, head tipping back when he teases at your clit, fingers prodding at your entrance and filling you full until legs shake and moans spill free like wine poured in a glass.
When it all becomes too much, he bares the brunt of your weight, lifting you as easy as linen, folding you like cloth when you’re carried to the couch and spread out like a freshly prepared feast.
All you can hear is your moans and his groans, the filthy promises he vows to keep while your essence drips down his chin. It glistens in the stubble of his beard, leaks trails down the cut of his chest until your fingers are straining to tug it off of him. You yearn for more, whimpering it out like some helpless animal, pouting when he takes too long to unbutton it so more skin can touch your own. “Missed this,” He confesses, abdomen bare and breeches untied. Two fingers spread you wide for his viewing pleasure, golden irises eating up the flesh you expose when the thin straps of your dress slip away, the swell of your breasts spilling free and nipples perking from the midnight chill. “I missed you. So soft, you know? Always so fucking soft.”
Too bad you want anything but soft. Rising up, this kiss you initiate is everything but delicate, a clash of lips and a battle of tongues; your taste mixing with his own. Teeth bite into the fat of your lip, Cassian’s grip traveling to your neck to tilt you to the side so more teeth can make their mark along the length of your neck, into the dip of your clavicle. Bruises are suckled along your shoulder, down your chest, possessively across your breasts. “Cass please,” You arch into his touch, brows crinkling under the pleasure he sends through your body—through this sacred bond you’d spent so long enduring on your own. Everything is amplified with his own feelings in the mix, desires becomes carnal need, love feels more like obsession, pleasure feels like drowning with no urgency to come up for air. Nails bite into thick muscle, the heels of your feet urging the waistband of his pants down low, low, lower until the turgid length of him is freed and pressing against you. “Need you inside.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you serious about this?” You counter, the head of his cock nudging the slick warmth between your thighs. “About us?”
“Fixing what I broke is a covenant I will keep as long as there is breath in my body.” A gasp releases when thick swirled lines magically ink his flesh, beginning at the base of his heart and ending at his jaw.
A visible brand.
A bargain set in stone.
A promise embedded in the very marrow of his bones and filtering through his bloodstream.
“Whatever it takes, I will do.” Foreheads touch, bodies connect and for once in months you feel full—whole. “I am yours and you are mine.”
“Yours.”
“Mine.”
