Page 172 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“But you do,” she said and took his face in her hands to guide him back up.

His brows knitted together, and he closed his eyes, hanging his head again. “After everything—”

“You have spent the last year and a half making up for what you did.” She shifted so she could look up at him still, her hands moving to his chest. “I cannot forgive you for what you did because there is nothing left to forgive. You have proven yourself to me again and again.”

“I would do anything for you.”

“I know.” She pressed her forehead to his. “I know.”

Ariadne had lost count of how many times he had put himself between her and an adversary. He had even tried at the mountain keep, and though he failed, he ensured her escape. She remembered seeing him and Ehrun as Madan snuck her out, circling one another and ready to strike. She remembered him looking up as they passed and saying nothing—it had been odd then.

Now she understood.

She pulled back from him and stood. He watched with blatant confusion as she closed the stable doors and said, “I need one last thing from you.”

“Anything.”

“Change.” She turned back to him, and her heart kicked up the pace again. Again and again, she had thought about what she would do the next time she saw him in his other form.

“What?”

“I want to see you as a dhemon.” Ariadne swallowed hard and bit her lip. “I need to.”

Azriel did not move for a long moment. He merely watched her as though waiting for her to tell him it was a joke. Then he nodded and closed his eyes.

It did not take long—not like when he had changed in the study. That had been painful to watch, though not as painful as it sounded. This time, he did not scream. He did not flinch. He merely melted from one form into the other.

Her stomach twisted, and her heart crashed against her ribs. She stepped closer, held out a hand, and said, “Now hold me.”

Azriel’s red eyes widened. His face was just as handsome as a dhemon, she realized. Different complexion and broader bones, but at the core, he remained the same. At his heart, he had not changed.

“Ariadne…” His voice, deeper than she was accustomed to, still said her name in the same tone and with the same yearning.

“Please.”

He took her hand and stood. Still, he did not move closer.

So she closed the gap and laid a hand on his chest. “Hold me like you wanted to the night we met.”

His face fell. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a long breath. Without another word, he wrapped his arms around her—gentle and loving—and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Slowly, she breathed in. He smelled the same, though with more sweat and dirt mixed in with his clothes in such a state. She wrapped her arms around his bigger body and curled her fingers into the back of his shirt.

This. This was how they were supposed to meet. This was how he had intended it to happen if not for the horrific circumstances. This was how they were meant to be.

“I love you,” she whispered.

The last bit of tension left his body. Muscles beneath her hands loosened, and he stroked her side with the back of his fingers. When she pulled back to look up at him, his face remained relaxed.

“I love you, too.” He bent a bit, those red eyes sweeping over her mouth, then stopped.

She hesitated. Searched his face. He pulled back, but before he could go far, she pushed up onto her toes to plant her lips on his.

He froze, eyes wide, as she sank back. Then he leaned forward and returned her kiss, soft and sweet.

Warmth bloomed in her core—not at all what she expected. She reached up and drew her fingers up his neck, then across the lower twist of one of his black horns. He remained still as she moved, touching and exploring him.

When she kissed him again, it was with more enthusiasm. She parted her lips so she could slip her tongue into his mouth. He responded with slow, calculated movements.

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