Page 77 of Wings of Shadow
We dock in Positano, the town rising above us in a riot of color and charm. Kaisner leads me through winding cobbled streets and up endless stone stairs until we reach a restaurant perched high on the cliffs. The view steals my breath—a stretch of limitless blue sea, blurring into the horizon.
We dine beneath the glow of hanging lanterns, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and lemon. Over plates of fresh seafood and crisp local wine, we talk and laugh, shedding the weight of politics and legacies. Here, we are not leaders or heirs or enemies. We are just two people savoring the moment.
Kaisner’s hand finds mine across the table, his thumb drawing slow, lazy circles over my palm. The simplest touch, yet it sparks something deep inside me.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” I sigh, my gaze tracing the gold-tipped waves beyond.
His gaze finds mine, shadowed and intense. Hungry. “Say the word, Clarissa, and I’ll make it happen. We could disappear, just you and me. Leave the expectations. Leave the politics behind.” His voice drops, low and firm, each word a promise carved from stone.
The sincerity in his words knocks the air from me. There’s no hesitation, no flowery sentiment, no illusion. Just Kaisner, stripped bare. Raw. Vulnerable. And just then, I believe him. With every part of me, I believe.
But reality crashes down too soon.
“You know we can’t,” I whisper, pain lacing my voice. “Creatures like us… We can never truly escape our lineage.”
A shadow crosses his features—regret, maybe, or resignation. He doesn’t argue. “I know,” he adds quietly. “But a man can dream.”
He rises, hand steady as it closes around mine. His thumb brushes my knuckles, and the touch is an apology. “Come,” he says, voice low and rough. “There’s somewhere else I want to show you.”
We descend to a hidden cove, cloaked in shadows and kissed by the amber hues of the setting sun. The cliffs guard us, the sea whispers to the shore, and the air is thick with salt and desire.
Kaisner’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His eyes catch the last light of the day, smoldering. “You’re more dangerous than any fire,” he murmurs, just before our lips meet.
The kiss is soft at first, a question, a plea. But when I answer—when my mouth opens beneath his—it becomes something deeper, wilder. Like lightning striking dry earth. His tongue sweeps into me, tasting, claiming, and I can only cling tighter.
My fingers tangle in his hair as I pull him closer, craving more. Needing more. His hand slides up my spine, trailing heat in its wake. Every nerve ignites beneath his touch. I arch into him, molding myself to his body as if I were made for him. Maybe I was.
The world tilts, and suddenly I’m on my back, the cool sand a stark contrast to the fever of my skin. Kaisner’s weight presses me down, grounding me even as his kisses lift me toward the stars.
My hands roam his chest, feeling the shift of muscle beneath linen. Desperate, I tug at his shirt until he breaks the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, casting it aside. He’s pure strength and heat beneath my hands, all corded muscle and raw power.
And then his mouth is on me again, devouring, tasting, worshiping.
For a second, I catch a glint of something around his neck—an amulet, intricate and ancient, pulsing with an energy I don’t understand. But the thought is fleeting. His mouth finds that sensitive spot just beneath my jaw, and reason dissolves.
The crash of waves becomes our soundtrack, their rhythm matching the ragged rise and fall of our breaths. His fingers skim my sides, rough and reverent. Sand clings to my skin, but I don’t care. I’d burn for this. For him.
His hands find the tie of my wrap dress, fingers deft as they work it loose. The fabric slips from my shoulders in a whisper of silk, falling away entirely as cool air kisses my exposed skin. His gaze sweeps over me—dark, hungry, devouring.
“You’re exquisite,” he breathes, voice rough and reverent.
Before I can answer, his mouth claims mine again, deep and slow, as if he wants to memorize the taste of me. His lips blaze a path down my neck, along my collarbone, to the swell of my breasts. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth, sends a tremor through me. My hands clutch at him, nails raking his back, claiming him as my own.
And when his hand slides down my thigh, hitching my leg over his hip, I sense the evidence of his desire. Hard and hot, pressing against me. The friction makes me gasp, and my body arches, longing for more.
“Kaisner,” I breathe, my voice breaking. “Please…”
His gaze snaps to mine, fierce and demanding. “Say it,” he rasps, his lips brushing my skin. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I whisper. “All of you.”
A growl rumbles in his chest, dark and dangerous. And then he’s there, claiming me, joining our bodies in a rhythm as ancient as the sea.
The world falls away. There is only this. Only him. Every touch, every kiss, every breath is magnified. His hands gripping my hips. My fingers threading through his hair. The taste of him, the feel of him, the sound of his name on my lips. It’s fire and shadow, heat and surrender. It’s ruin and rapture, all at once.
And as I fall apart beneath him, as pleasure sears through me, I realize it’s not just lust burning in my chest. It’s something deeper. Something I’m terrified to name.
Later, as we lie tangled beneath the stars, I can’t hold back the fear pressing at my throat.
