Page 115 of Severed Heir

“Still binding,” I whispered. “He’s Victor’s heir. I’m the Blanche daughter. I’m being forced to marry your brother.”

The world didn’t tilt. It just... quieted.

Archer stepped in and lifted me onto the granite counter, his grip fierce, his touch trembling. His knees brushed mine as he leaned in, caging me like he couldn’t bear the thought of distance.

“I won’t let him have you,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “He’d have to pry you from my dead hands before he calls you his wife.”

His hand lifted to my cheek. “What happens to someone who’s riderless?” I murmured. “Quelless?”

“Enough talking,” he said, voice rough. “I believe I still owe you my breath, Miss Blanche.”

I raised a brow. “You also mentioned something about hands.”

His fingers brushed my shirt, then slipped lower, undoing the buttons with quiet urgency before parting the fabric.

His mouth found mine.

Gone was the taste of mist and darkness. This kiss didn’t swallow me whole, it tethered me. Like rain soaking into dry earth, slow and sure. There was no ache, just sensation. Just... him.

His hand slid over my bare chest, his thumb circling my nipple until my breath hitched. “I want you,” I said, my voice unsteady.

“I’ve never wanted you more,” he whispered. I pressed both hands to his chest and took off his torn shirt over his head. His skin was warm and damp beneath my palms, every muscle tense with need.

His hand skimmed lower, over the curve of my waist, pausing at the hem of my slacks. “These need to come off.”

I wiggled them past my hips as his other hand clamped down on my thigh. “Archer,” I said. “I can’t pretend I don’t want you. Not when you touch me like this.”

His forehead rested against mine. “I don’t give a damn anymore,” he said. “I can no longer deny my need for you.”

Then he kissed down my collarbone, trailing his tongue along the curve of my breast. He moved slowly, reverently, like every inch of skin deserved worship. My fingers brushed a scar along his ribs, the skin ridged and sensitive beneath my touch.

“They hurt you,” I whispered.

“I’ll heal,” he said softly.

Then the door slammed open.

“Archer!” Amria’s voice rang out, hoarse and panicked. She stumbled into the room, and a sliver of glass was buried in her palm. “I tried to stop him—”

Footsteps thundered behind her.

Damien stepped through the wreckage like a storm given form, flanked by six guards in black armor polished to a mirror-sharp sheen. His gaze swept the room, pausing not on my bare skin, but on Archer, half-dressed and furious.

“Oh, Severyn,” he said with mock delight. “How scandalous. Locked away with a Serpent, when you’re promised to someone else.”

His words sliced, but it wasn’t jealousy in his voice, it was venom. Not at me. At Archer.

Archer stepped forward, shielding me with his body. “You won’t touch her,” he said, voice low and lethal. “You won’t marry her. She is mine—my heir.”

Damien’s lip curled. His eyes dropped to Archer’s bare palm. “Heir?” he said, voice dripping with contempt. “You’re noSerpent. No dragon. No shield. Just a man who let love destroy his legacy.”

I fumbled for my shirt, hands trembling as I yanked the fabric over my chest. “How can you force this?” I demanded. “How can you be so cruel?”

Archer didn’t move. “She will never choose you.”

Damien’s gaze sharpened. “She already did once.” He looked Archer dead in the eyes. “You were her second choice.”

Archer’s voice turned to steel. “She never felt a damn thing for you.”

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