Page 83 of Moonlit Fate

Exhaustion clung to my limbs as I collapsed alongside Atticus, our sweat-slicked bodies tangled together. My breath came out in ragged pulls, each inhalation mixed with the warmth of his skin. The loft was quiet now, the cacophony of our union fading into the gentle patter of rain against the window—nature’s soft applause.

“Atticus,” I whispered, my voice a sultry hum that vibrated through the quiet. I rested my head on his chest, my silver hair spilling across his skin like cool streams of moonlit water.

I lifted slightly, my gaze locking onto his. The connection was electric, a silent conversation that needed no words yet spoke volumes of the love we harbored.

“You are my storm,” I said softly, tracing the intricate tattoos that chronicled the story of his life. A life that was now inextricably intertwined with my own.

“And you,” he said, his voice deepening, “are the calm that soothes it.” His fingertips glided over my curves.

The storm outside had ebbed, its fury spent, leaving a tranquil hush in its wake. We lay there, our breathing synchronizing as if our bodies were reluctant to part from this perfect harmony they’d found.

“Stay with me,” I murmured, my hands idly roaming across his broad chest. It was not a command or a question, but an invocation. A wish for the future, a plea for the eternities we both craved.

“Always,” he vowed, sealing the promise with a kiss to my forehead. It was a vow I intended to keep until the stars themselves burned out.

With two days left until the ritual, the first light of dawn filtered through the cabin’s sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stirred, my senses slowly awakening to the entrancing rhythm of Atticus’s steady breathing. I blinked open heavy lids, allowing myself a moment to relish the tender peace before reality set in.

As consciousness fully claimed me, an unfamiliar sense of optimism bloomed within my chest. The troubles that once seemed insurmountable were now mere hurdles waiting to be leapt over with grace. I turned my head to gaze at the man beside me, the man who had unexpectedly become the axis of my world.

I watched the soft morning light play across the contours of his sleeping face, tracing the intricate tattoos that adorned his skin. Each inked marking—a lingering scar of memory—seemed to whisper secrets of resilience and freedom. In their silent language, they spoke of a spirit unbound by convention, a living testament to the warrior he was.

“Atticus,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath as I reached out to trace the silhouette of a forest tattooed along his arm.

My touch must have roused him from the depths of slumber because his eyes fluttered open, their color reminding me of the sky above a canopy of ancient trees.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep yet brimming with the warmth that always set my soul aflame.

“Good morning.” My heart swelled with love for him. He curled an arm around me, drawing me closer into the shelter of his embrace. Here, wrapped in his strength and heat, I felt my burdens momentarily dissolve.

“It feels like things are aligning in our favor,” I said, listening to the steady drumming of his heart. “My father… if he’s starting to understand, that means everything.”

“Understanding is the first step towards acceptance.” Atticus stroked my back lazily, setting every nerve ending alight with desire. “But we still have much to do.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “We need to plan for the days ahead. Time’s running out. We have just over a day left. We need to make sure we have the pattern of the triskele and the ritual memorized and ready to go. I know we’re heading in the right direction, that everything is coming together. I just wish we had more time to prepare, ensure we’re ready…”

“Tell me your thoughts.” He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at me.

“We know where the rest of the amulet is hidden,” I said. “And I’ve gathered the ingredients for the ritual. But before we infiltrate Crimson Fang?—”

“Before we reclaim what’s ours,” he interjected.

“Before that, yes, I need to speak with my father alone.” It was a declaration but also a plea for understanding. I sought his support, even as I prepared to venture into the lion’s den without him.

“Alone?” Atticus’s question held no censure, only concern.

“Alone,” I repeated, nodding. “There are things I must talk to him about. Things that might sway the path forward.”

“I’ll give you the space you need.” Atticus pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I trust in your strength. And tonight, I’ll be waiting in the den, eager to hear how it went.”

“Thank you.” The simplicity of his faith in me was more potent than any spoken vow.

With plans laid and hearts entwined, we rose from the bed to face the day, each step taken on a tightrope between destiny and desire. With slight trepidation, we opened the door, instantly leaving behind the cocoon of the magical loft and confronting the overwhelming reality that had been patiently waiting for us. I’d heard people say destiny is a bitch, but I was starting to think time was its twisted big sister.

The rapid thumping of my heart filled my ears, but Atticus was there, his warm hand clasping mine, grounding me and preventing the panic from taking over.

“We’ll get through this,” he promised. “Together.” He placed a gentle kiss on my lips.

Reluctantly, I stepped away before I could fall into the safety of his arms. I had to put on my big-girl alpha panties and speak to my father, then prepare for the ritual ahead. I wished it was the simple celebration the pack had planned for the eclipse, but I couldn’t ignore the foreboding sense that it was going to be a challenging time.

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