Page 61 of Shattered Crown

Thorne’s mouth moved lower, dragging down his chest, across his ribs, biting into the soft flesh of his hip before licking the mark left behind. “You smell like forest and blood,” he murmured, voice hoarse with want. “Like you belong to me.”

“I do,” Silas said, tilting his head back. “I always have.”

Thorne pushed his thighs open wider, settling between them with a low groan. Silas’s hole pulsed in anticipation, already slick with the remnants of magic and longing that clung to their skin like dew. Thorne didn’t waste time. He pressed two fingers inside, thick and calloused, and Silas cried out, hips jerking up.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was the kind of desperation that came from losing everything and clawing it back. Thorne twisted his fingers inside him, stretching him open, pressing against his sweet spot again and again until Silas was panting and begging.

“More,” he gasped. “I need you, Thorne, please.”

Thorne removed his fingers and lined himself up. The head of his cock was hot and leaking against Silas’s entrance. “I dreamed of this,” he whispered. “I thought I’d never feel you again.”

Silas wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him down. “Then fuck me,” he said, voice cracking. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to know you’re real.”

Thorne pushed in with a low groan, slow but relentless. Silas cried out at the stretch, nails digging into Thorne’s back. He felt every inch, every thick, aching inch, and it burned in the best way. His hole clenched greedily around Thorne’s cock as it slid deeper, deeper, until Thorne was buried to the hilt and shaking with the effort not to move.

They held still, breathing each other in. Thorne pressed their foreheads together. “You feel like home.”

Silas choked on a laugh that turned into a sob. “Then don’t leave again.”

“I won’t,” Thorne swore. Then he pulled back and thrust in hard.

Their bodies slammed together in a rhythm born of fury and need. Thorne fucked him like he was trying to carve himself into Silas’s soul, and maybe he was. Magic sparked where their skin touched, brilliant arcs of green and gold dancing up the ceiling beams like northern lights. Silas’s back arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry as Thorne hit the perfect spot again and again.

“Gods,” Silas gasped, sweat dripping down his temples. “You’re... fuck... so deep...”

Thorne growled again, the sound vibrating against his throat as he bit into Silas’s shoulder. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Silas cried, legs shaking. “Yours, Thorne, gods, don’t stop.”

Their magic merged fully then, wild and untamed. The air thickened around them. Silas felt Thorne’s essence pouring into him, wrapping around his soul like vines reclaiming something sacred. It wasn’t just sex. It was communion. It was forgiveness and fury and mourning all wrapped in breathless, brutal pleasure.

Silas came first, with a hoarse shout and his whole body locking up. Come painted their bellies, sticky and hot between them. Thorne didn’t slow. He fucked him through it, hips snapping harder, chasing his own end. Silas gritted his teeth, overstimulated and trembling, but desperate for more.

“Come inside me,” he begged, voice wrecked. “Mark me. Fill me.”

Thorne groaned his name like a prayer and slammed in once more, burying himself deep as he spilled inside him with a shudder. Silas felt the heat flood his hole, pulsing with each wave of Thorne’s release. Their magic surged in tandem, light flashing wildly across the cracked beams before fading, leaving only their ragged breathing behind.

Afterward, they lay tangled in sheets that smelled of lavender and sage, limbs heavy and bodies sore. The room had cooled, but neither moved to cover themselves. Thorne’s fingers traced aimless patterns on Silas’s chest, every stroke reverent, as if memorizing the shape of him all over again.

“I almost lost myself,” Thorne said at last, voice barely audible.

Silas turned his face toward him. “What do you mean?”

“The forest needed so much,” Thorne murmured. “And without you to anchor me... I started forgetting what it meant to be individual. I stopped dreaming. I forgot my name when I woke up. Only remembered your face.”

Silas pulled him closer, burying his face in Thorne’s damp hair. “But you didn’t lose yourself. You held on.”

“Because of you.” Thorne pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Even when I couldn’t feel our bond clearly, I knew you were fighting to reach me.”

“Always will,” Silas promised. Then, quieter, “I was terrified I was becoming my father. Using people. Manipulating. The court brings out the worst in Ashworths.”

Thorne lifted his head, eyes fierce. “You’re nothing like him.”

“You don’t know what I did to survive.”

“You use power to protect,” Thorne said. “Not control. That’s the difference.”

Before Silas could respond, a sharp knock rattled the door. Lyra’s voice carried through the thick wood. “Silas? I have an urgent message from my father.”

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