Page 43 of Crown of Storm and Silence
Instead, I sink to my knees in front of him, my hands tangling in his dark hair as he pulls me closer. The kiss deepens, becomes something desperate and consuming that makes the world around us fade to nothing. His shadows writhe around us both, caressing my skin through my clothes, and instead of fear, I feel only desire spiraling higher and hotter.
"I don't understand," I gasp when we break apart, both of us breathing hard. "I don't remember you, but this feels?—"
"Right," he finishes, his thumb tracing my kiss-swollen lips. "It feels right because it is right. Because you're mine, and I'm yours, and no amount of lost memory can change that."
His hands slide down to cup my face, and I see myself reflected in his dark eyes—wild-haired, flushed, utterly undone. But there's no judgment there, only love so profound it takes my breath away.
"Kaan," I whisper, and the sound of his name seems to snap whatever restraint he's been clinging to.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine, thorough and consuming. His hands move over my body with desperate reverence, mapping curves and valleys like he's trying to memorize every inch. When his palm settles over my breast, thumb brushing across the sensitive peak through my dress, I arch into the touch with a sound that's pure need.
"So responsive," he murmurs against my throat, his lips trailing fire along my skin. "So perfect. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
The gold light that always seems to hover just beneath my skin begins to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat, respondingto his touch, his proximity, the dark magic that wraps around us both like a living thing. Shadow and light dance together in ways that should be impossible, creating something beautiful and otherworldly in the swaying grass.
His mouth finds the spot where my pulse beats wild and frantic, and when his teeth graze the sensitive skin, I cry out in pleasure so sharp it borders on pain. My hands fist in his hair, holding him against me as he works magic with his tongue that has nothing to do with supernatural power and everything to do with intimate knowledge of my body.
"I want—" I begin, not even sure how to finish the sentence, not sure what I'm asking for.
"What do you want?" he asks, pulling back to look at me with eyes that burn with hunger. "Tell me,hatun. Tell me what you need."
"You," I whisper, the admission torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "I want you. I don't understand it, I don't remember why, but?—"
"Nesilhan?"
The voice cuts through our private world like a blade, foreign and male and utterly unexpected. We spring apart so quickly I nearly fall backward into the grass, my heart hammering against my ribs as I scramble to make myself presentable.
A man stands at the edge of our hidden clearing, and my first thought is that he's beautiful in the way expensive things are beautiful—polished, refined, elegant. Golden hair catches the afternoon light, and his features are aristocratic, almost ethereal. But there's something in his blue eyes that makes me want to step closer to Kaan despite my confusion.
Recognition. This stranger looks at me like he knows me.
"Nesilhan," he says again, and there's such relief in his voice that it makes my chest tight. "Thank the gods. I've been searching for you for months."
Beside me, Kaan has gone very still in a way that screams danger. Shadows begin pooling around his feet, and when I glance at him, his expression is coldly murderous.
"Who are you?" I ask the stranger, though something deep in my chest whispers that I should know the answer.
His face crumbles slightly, pain flickering across his perfect features. "You don't remember me." It's not a question. "Of course. Banu told me you'd lost your memories, but I hoped—" He takes a step closer, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I'm Zohan. Your brother."
Brother.
The word resonates through me like a bell, awakening something deep and primal that has nothing to do with memory and everything to do with blood recognizing blood. This man—this beautiful, elegant stranger—is family. Part of whatever life I used to have, whatever past I've lost.
First Elçin, now a brother. After six months of silence, my entire family decides to surface within days of each other? The timing feels too convenient to be a coincidence.
I take an unconscious step toward him, drawn by something I can't name or understand. But before I can take another, Kaan's arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back against his side with possessive force.
"Stay where you are," he says, his voice carrying enough menace to make birds flee from nearby trees. "Don't come any closer."
Zohan's blue eyes narrow as he takes in Kaan's protective posture, the way my supposed husband has positioned himself between me and what should be a joyful reunion. "Still playing the devoted husband, Shadow Lord?" he says with distaste. "The same monster who drove my sister to destroy her own mind rather than remain in your tender care."
The insult hits its mark. Kaan's shadows explode outward with violent hunger, turning the peaceful afternoon into something primordial and dangerous. "Watch your tongue, boy, before I remove it along with the rest of your worthless head."
"Stop," I say sharply, stepping between them before this can escalate into actual violence. "Both of you. Just…stop.”
But my mind is reeling. Brother. I have a brother. Someone who shares my blood, my history, my lost past. Someone who might have answers to questions I've been too afraid to ask.
Someone who might be able to tell me who I really am.
