Page 186 of Shifting Hearts 1
I felt her arms tighten, like she could stitch me back together with touch alone. Her magic surged again — burning, wild — looking for a way to hold me here, only I wasn’t sure it could.
Because the oath hadn’t just been a bond. It had been a cage. A bargain. A price carved into the roots of the world.
And fate always collects.
NINE
Eris
Ifelt him slipping away before he even hit the ground — the thread tethering his soul to this world unraveling like a frayed rope in a storm. The edges of his presence faded, the warmth leaking from him like cold smoke.
I refused to let him go.
My fingers found the jagged edge inside me — a tooth I’d cursed long ago, soaked in blood and memory and the weight of every choice I’d made to survive. I didn’t hesitate. I brought it to his chest, raw magic screaming through my veins like wildfire.
The moment the tooth touched his skin, pain tore through me — sharp, fierce, like carving a line between life and death, between the past and something new. His breath caught, ragged and shallow, and I felt the thread catch, twining itself around the tooth, binding us together with a raw, trembling pulse of magic.
It was agony, yes. The kind of pain that sears through bone and soul. But it was mine. A choice forged from want, not fate. From will, not doom.
He gasped, eyes fluttering open, wild, and dark and burning with need and fear and something deeper — relief, maybe, or hope.
I pulled him close, our skin slick with sweat and blood and ash, and whispered his name like a vow. “Brannan, I won’t let you go.”
His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me down until our lips crashed together — not desperate, not fractured, but fierce and claiming. His mouth was hot and hungry against mine, tongue sliding deep into my mouth, teeth grazing my bottom lip. I opened to him, tasting salt and iron, smoke and need.
He rolled me beneath him with a growl that vibrated through both of us. His hands were rough, reverent — sliding beneath what was left of my shirt, pushing it up, baring my breasts to the cold air and his burning gaze.
“Still mine?” he asked, voice ragged against my throat.
“Always,” I breathed.
He dipped his head, took one nipple between his lips, and sucked, slow and deep. I arched against him, hands clenching in his hair as his mouth worshipped me, his tongue dragging wet heat over sensitive skin. His other hand slipped between my thighs, stroking my folds, his groan vibrating against my chest as he felt how ready I was for him.
“You’re so wet for me,” he said, and the raw heat in his voice made my core clench.
“Then take me,” I gasped. “Make me yours.”
He knelt back just long enough to rip the rest of my clothes away. I watched him — every inch of him fierce and bruised and glowing faintly with the magic I’d forced back into him. His cock was already hard, flushed, leaking, and when he wrapped a hand around it and stroked once, slow, I nearly came from the sight alone.
“Eris,” he murmured, voice reverent and dark. “Look at me.”
I did.
He slid back over me, lined himself up, and pushed in with one long, slow thrust that punched the breath from my lungs.
My back bowed, mouth open, no sound coming out. He filled me completely, his body heavy and real, the soul-thread between us burning gold.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my neck. “You feel like fire.”
We stayed like that for a moment — joined, breathing the same air, hearts pounding. Then he began to move.
Long, deep strokes. Slow at first, letting me feel every inch of him dragging in and out. His pelvis ground against mine with each thrust, hips rolling to hit the spot inside me that made my whole body tighten.
I moaned, loud and broken, clawing at his back as he picked up the pace.
“More,” I gasped. “Don’t stop?—”
He didn’t. He fucked me like we had all the time in the world — like this was a ritual, a reckoning. Every thrust a vow, every movement a claiming. Our bodies slapped together, the sound raw and obscene against the stone walls, his cock slick with how wet I was, gliding in and out with perfect friction.
