Page 72 of Feral Gods
Reluctantly, Thane agrees, escorting me through the sanctuary's winding passages toward the northern tower. The evidence of yesterday's confrontation marks our path—cracked walls, collapsed sections hastily shored up, scorch marks where magical energy discharged against stone. The sanctuary bears the physical scars of emotional wounds still raw and bleeding.
At the tower's base, Thane pauses. "He is not himself," he warns, one massive hand gently squeezing my shoulder. "Approach with caution, little warrior."
"I know what I'm doing," I assure him, though in truth, I'm navigating uncharted territory. Before my escape from Liiandor, relationships meant only exploitation and power imbalance. Now I find myself at the center of something unprecedented—three powerful beings offering different forms of connection, each vital, each overwhelming in its own way.
Thane reluctantly retreats, leaving me to climb the narrow spiral staircase alone. Each step requires concentration, my balance still compromised by yesterday's injury. By the time I reach the uppermost chamber, my head throbs in earnest and perspiration dampens my tunic despite the mountain chill.
The watchtower opens to the sky, its ancient roof long since collapsed. Ravik stands with his back to me, wings folded tightly against his obsidian form, silhouetted against the vast mountain panorama. He doesn't turn at my approach, though I know he's sensed my presence.
"You shouldn't be here," he says, voice rough with emotions kept rigidly in check.
"Yet here I stand." I move closer, stopping a few paces behind him. "Will you at least look at me?"
"To what end?" Still he keeps his back turned. "To see the damage I've caused? To witness the fear I've planted where trust once grew?"
"To see that I'm healing. That I'm whole. That I'm choosing to be here despite what happened."
A tremor passes through his powerful frame. When he finally turns, the anguish in his amber eyes steals my breath. Gone is the imposing commander, the territorial alpha. In his place stands a being stripped to raw nerves, self-loathing etched into every line of his face.
"I swore to protect you," he rasps, gaze fixed on the bandage at my temple. "Instead, I became the threat I vowed to shield you from."
"You made a mistake," I acknowledge, taking another step forward. "One born of emotion, not malice."
"The distinction matters little when the result is your blood spilled by my hand." His talons flex at his sides, then curl intotight fists. "I am what I have always been—violence given form, possession given voice. Unworthy of your trust. Your touch. Your—" He breaks off, jaw clenching.
"My love?" I finish for him, the word hanging between us like a challenge.
His wings mantling slightly, a reflexive response to emotional exposure. "A concept I barely comprehend, let alone deserve."
"Love isn't earned like battle honors, Ravik. It's given, chosen, created between equals." I close the remaining distance between us, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from his stone-like skin. "And I choose to create it with you, despite your flaws. Perhaps even because of them."
Confusion clouds his amber gaze. "I endangered you. Nearly killed you in my jealous rage."
"You lost control," I correct gently. "Then found it again at the critical moment. Your first instinct when the ceiling collapsed was to protect me, not yourself."
"Too little, too late."
"No." I reach up, ignoring his flinch to lay my palm against his cheek. "That moment revealed your true core beneath all the possession and jealousy. When life was truly at stake, your instinct was protection, not control."
He remains rigid beneath my touch, disbelief warring with desperate hope in his expression. "How can you stand before me without fear after what I've done?"
"Because I see all of you, Ravik. The rage and the tenderness. The possessiveness and the sacrifice. The beast and the being. I choose all of it—all of you."
Something breaks in his carefully maintained facade. With a sound that's half growl, half sob, he pulls me against his chest, arms encircling me with exquisite care, as if I might shatter at any moment.
"I do not deserve this chance," he murmurs into my hair.
"Perhaps not," I acknowledge, nestling closer. "But you need it. And so do I."
We stand entwined as morning light strengthens around us, neither speaking, each absorbing the other's presence. Gradually, the rigid tension in his frame subsides, replaced by a different kind of alertness—the vigilant protection that defines him at his core.
"The others," he finally says, pulling back slightly. "I owe them apologies as well."
"Yes, you do." I don't soften this truth. "But first, we need to talk about what truly triggered your rage yesterday."
His jaw tightens, gaze shifting away from mine. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters completely if we're to prevent a recurrence." I take his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Tell me. Please."
