Page 65 of Blood Marked

“No.” She pressed her forehead to his, their breaths mingling. “It’sus.”

He made a sound like a snapped wire, hands cradling her face as he kissed her again—slower now, deliberate. His touchdrifted lower, mapping the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, as if relearning her. When she tugged his shirt over his head, he didn’t flinch from her gaze. Scars littered his torso, pale and knotted, but her fingers glided over them like they were scripture.

The forest blurred. Only the heat of him mattered—the way his heartbeat thudded against her palm, the hitch in his breath when she bit his shoulder, the shudder that racked him as their marks aligned.

He murmured her name against her mouth, her throat, her wrists—each syllable a prayer, each kiss a covenant written in salt and heat.

When she rose above him, the night air cool against her flushed skin, his hands found her hips with a possessiveness that bordered on reverence. She sank down slowly, a gasp catching in her throat as he filled her, the slick ache of her need yielding to the exquisite stretch of him. His breath hitched, a ragged sound that mirrored her own, their shared rhythm already faltering as she rolled her hips experimentally. The friction drew a moan from them both, liquid and low, her wetness smearing across his abdomen as she leaned forward to capture his mouth again.

He didn’t look away. Not when she began to move in earnest, her thighs trembling as she rode him, not when her nails scored his chest and her head fell back in abandon. The second seal blazed between them, its glow threading through their joined hands, but it was the rawness in his gaze that undid her—the way his eyes darkened with every shuddering thrust, as if he were memorizing the flutter of her lashes, the part of her lips, the sweat-slick hollow of her throat. His thumbs brushed the peaks of her breasts, coaxing whimpers she didn’t recognize as her own, before sliding down to where their bodies joined, circling the sensitive bud that made her sob his name.

The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the creak of the forest floor beneath them, the molten coil tightening in her belly. He sat up abruptly, arms banding around her as he shifted angles, and the new depth wrenched a cry from her—a sound he swallowed with a kiss that tasted like desperation and devotion. Their pace turned erratic, grinding rather than thrusting, each movement dragging her closer to the edge. She felt it first in the tremor of his shoulders, the way his fingers dug into her back as if she might vanish. Then in the heat pooling low and urgent, her climax cresting like a wave as the marks on their wrists fused into a single searing line of light.

She shattered with a scream she didn’t bother to muffle, her body clamping around him as pleasure ripped through her in white-hot currents. He followed moments later, his groan muffled against her collarbone, hips stuttering as he spilled into her. For a heartbeat, there was only the echo of their ragged breaths and the hum of the forest—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl—witnesses to the quiet, trembling truth neither could name aloud.

When she finally slumped against him, boneless and spent, his lips found her temple. No words. None were needed. The way his calloused palm cradled her cheek said enough.

They lay in silence after, her head on his chest, his arm draped around her waist.

The forest was still. For once, so were they.

“I think it’s always been you,” Kael said quietly.

She lifted her gaze. “Since when?”

He smiled faintly. “Since the moment you walked into my court and didn’t flinch.”

She let that settle between them. Then whispered, “You’re mine too.”

The Mark pulsed again. A second bond.

No one had told her this could happen. No onecould.Because this wasn’t prophecy. This waschoice.

And the world would have to burn before she gave him up.

TWENTY-EIGHT

KAEL

Selene lay curled beside Kael, tucked against his chest, her fingers still looped loosely with his like some quiet promise. Her hair fanned over his shoulder, catching the glint of moonlight. Her breathing had slowed into the steady rhythm of deep sleep—but the bond between them still pulsed faintly with residual heat from what they’d done. What they’dchosen.

Not fate. Not prophecy.

Them.

And gods help him, that terrified him more than anything he’d ever faced in battle.

Because now… he would give it all up.

The throne. The name. The power.

He’d walk away from it tomorrow if it meant keeping her safe.

And that was the kind of love that destroyed kingdoms.

He eased away from her with a care usually reserved for blades that bit back.

Selene murmured something in her sleep but didn’t wake.

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