Page 75 of Desired By Eros

Psyche pulled back slightly, and she started snapping her fingers, the rhythmic clicks filling the space between them.

Eros tilted his head, watching her with curiosity. “What’s this?” he asked, motioning toward her fingers.

She giggled, her face lighting up. “This is stimming too—but I’m happy,” she explained, the excitement in her voice unmistakable.

Eros grinned, brushing his nose against hers. “Checking all my boxes makes you happy?” he murmured.

She nodded enthusiastically, her fingers still snapping. She practically vibrated with joy.

His grin widened. “Oh, right. You like lists. Should I write it down for you?”

Psyche’s smile softened, and instead of answering, she leaned in and kissed him. Her heart pounded, and she clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as if she could fuse them together. He groaned softly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and her knees nearly gave out beneath her.

Eros caught her easily, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other sliding up to cup the side of her face. His thumb brushed over her cheek, gentle in contrast to the raw hunger in his kiss.

The kiss shifted, growing more intense and urgent, like he had been holding himself back for too long. His lips pressed harder, his breath warm against her skin, and she felt everything they had been through in the way he kissed her. It was an apology, a promise, a confession all at once.

Psyche felt everything in that moment—love, relief, longing, the unshakable certainty that this was where she was meant to be. And as she kissed him, she poured all of it into him, letting him feel it too.

Then she felt a pull so fierce it stole the breath from her lungs and hit her all at once.

Psyche’s body locked up, her vision blurring at the edges as a searing heat swept through her veins. It was overwhelming like something inside her was being unraveled, pulled away, piece by piece, yet she didn’t feel empty. She felt…connected.

Her hands clutched at her chest as if she could physically hold onto whatever part of her was slipping away. But she wasn’t losing anything—she was gaining something. Or rather, someone.

Eros.

Her soul stretched toward his, recognizing, claiming, binding. It wasn’t just a feeling—it was a knowing, something ancient and instinctual, something written into her very bones. A breath hitched in her throat as her heart seemed to stop—and then it restarted, beating in perfect sync with his.

She could feel him. Not just his presence, but his emotions intertwining with hers—his awe, his need, the way he struggled to steady himself even as the bond overwhelmed him. His feelings surged through her like a tide, undeniable and inescapable, merging with her own in a way that left her breathless.

Eros stared at her, his silver-blue eyes wide with something between wonder and disbelief. “What’s happening?” he breathed.

She pressed a hand over her chest, feeling the invisible threads of the bond pulling tighter, weaving something unbreakable between them. “It’s theanami ekarde,” she whispered. “My wolf chose you to be my mate. Our hearts and souls ripped themselves apart to knit together.”

A sharp gasp left her lips as another wave of the connection crashed over her. She felt him—his warmth, his strength, his hesitation, and the way he was trying to make sense of something so primal, so absolute.

He lifted a hand, pressing his palm to his chest. “Psyche—” he started, but the words faded as something deeper took hold, pulling them into a fate neither of them could escape.

The bond was sealing.

And then, with one final snap—it was done.

A rush of warmth flooded her, unlike anything she had ever known. It was safety, belonging, certainty. A love so deep it settled into her very being, reshaping her world in an instant.

She gasped, meeting his gaze, and the silver-blue depths of his eyes were filled with the same wonder, the same undeniable truth.

They were bound. Forever.

Epilogue

Dostoevsky once said, “The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.”

Of course, Eros knew better than to take advice from a gambling addict. In fact, one night, the novelist had been so desperate, Eros had actually witnessed him sell off his wife’s dresses just so he could play a few more rounds at the roulette table.

However, these days, he couldn’t help but think that perhaps ol’ Fyodor was actually right about this one thing. And maybe, if he had listened to his old friend, he would have realized what the council had meant when he had to learn to be human.

Not that Eros had suddenly turned into some kind of bleeding-heart softy in the last year since he regained his godhood. No, he was still the same asshole he always was—at least that’s what Apollo said the last time they had been at the same place and time, at a gathering at the Alaska Pack for Artemis’s birthday party, after he made some witty remark challenging Apollo’s manhood. In any case, he was what he was. But, perhaps, with some improvement, or at least, his immortallife was much improved, now that he did, in fact, find someoneto live for.

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