Page 81 of Stolen Star

“I know exactly how strong you are,” he says, his voice softening. “It’s why you were given to me. It’s why I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant for this—forme.”

And in this moment, gazing up into Aerix’s eyes with the Night Court spread beneath us, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

“Take me back down,” I say, pressing one last kiss to his lips. “I’m ready.”

“Then it’s time.” He nods, studying me before leading the way back down the spiral stairs.

The room is charged with anticipation as Aerix lights several candles placed around the room, their flames casting long shadows across the stone walls. Once finished, he circles me slowly, his wings extending with each step. And when he stops before me, his fingers find my face, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

“For rebirth,” he says, his voice like velvet wrapped around ice, “we return to our most vulnerable form.”

His hands move to the fastenings of my dress, not exploring—we’re far beyond that stage of discovery—but with the touch of an artist preparing his canvas. And despite the hunger swirling in his eyes, each movement is deliberate and unhurried. As if he’s savoring not my body, but my offering.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs when the dress falls away, stepping back to remove his own clothing with fluid, elegant movements. His wings extend fully when he’s done, casting shadows that seem to swallow the candlelight as he takes my hand, leading me to the bed with its midnight blue silks.

I lie back, watching as he joins me, his body moving over mine with familiar grace. But unlike our previous encounters, there’s a ceremonial quality to his touch now—each caress weighted with significance beyond mere desire.

His hands move with purpose, trailing across my skin as if he’s memorizing the shape of his creation before breathing new life into it. His kisses are slow and consuming, like he’s sealing a vow with every press of his mouth.

My hands slide over his back, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the tremble in his wings when I touch the place where flesh meets feather.

He responds with a groan that vibrates through me as he finally joins us together. Each motion is deliberate, controlled, paced like a ritual meant to honor the gods. He isn’t just taking me. He’s claiming me. Conjuring me. Completing something he’s waited lifetimes to create.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, his voice fraying around the edges, repeating the word like a prayer.

Every sound, every brush of skin, every whispered name becomes part of something larger—something eternal. And after, as we lie tangled in silk and moonlight, his hand finds mine, grounding us in this final moment.

“Do you remember the first time I tasted you?” heasks, tracing my neck. “How you trembled, caught between fear and pleasure?”

“I remember everything,” I say, shivering at the intensity of his touch—at the knowledge of what’s to come. “Every moment with you. All of it.”

His midnight eyes darken further as he shifts to hover above me again, his wings creating a canopy over our bodies.

“Tonight, you will die.” His voice drops to a whisper that seems to echo through the chamber. “And when you rise again, you will be my eternal masterpiece.”

He pulls back and stills, watching me, waiting. Always waiting.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. “I love you, Aerix,” I tell him. “Only you. Forever.”

His wings tremble, feathers rustling with satisfaction, but he doesn’t move immediately.

“I’ve sculpted you from pain and pleasure, from darkness and desire,” he says, his fingers tracing the scar on my hip, his touch light but possessive. “Now I’ll give you immortality, and you’ll wear it like my crown—beautiful, ruthless, and entirely mine.”

And then, he bites.

The initial sting blooms into sharp, exquisite pleasure, making my back arch and a gasp escape my lips. I don’t just feel it—I surrender to it, warmth and pain twining into something deeper, something primal.

His body presses me deeper into the silk sheets, one hand at my waist, the other curling in my hair like he’s anchoring me to the world as he takes me apart and consumes my life one swallow at a time. And as his arms tighten around me, I feel the shift in his breath, the way his hands adjust, the way his body aligns against mine as if the inches between us have become unbearable.

His growl vibrates through my throat, and then, with one fluid motion, we’re joined as one again. Pleasure and pressure, desire and death—twining together until I can’t tell them apart.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his magic curling around me in a dance that feels like it was written in the stars. “Now. Forever. Always.”

Eventually, the pleasure begins to fade, replaced by a spreading coldness that moves from my extremities inward. Colors blur at the edges of my vision, sounds becoming distant and muffled. My limbs grow heavy, fingers loosening their grip in his hair as my heartbeat slows, each thud more labored than the last.

This is the end approaching.

Just as consciousness begins to slip away, a sharp, burning sting spreads from the puncture wounds on my neck.

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