Page 41 of Hunted By the Wraiths
She made a small sound in her sleep and pressed closer. Her back against my chest now, fitting against me like she always had. The bond purred with satisfaction.
I was halfway to sleep myself when my hand, the one still holding hers, flexed in a dream. The small movement was enough to pull her from the depths.
She stirred, her breathing catching. She turned in my arms, still more asleep than awake. Her eyes opened, unfocused, finding mine in the dim light.
“The pain?” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
She studied me for a long moment, as if testing the truth of what I’d said. Then her hand came up, fingers tracing the edge of a scale on my jaw. It was a test. The touch sent warmth through me. Just warmth.
She let out a breath she’d been holding. Her eyes searched mine, seeing the lack of any pained reaction.
“You really meant it,” she whispered. “It’s... gone.”
“Yes.”
Her fingers continued their exploration, mapping the new territory of painless touch. Each contact sent sparks through ourconnection... and for me, they were grounding. Real. After eight years of agony, this simple, painless touch was overwhelming.
Her exhaustion was fading, but my control was gone. I’d been starved of this, of her, for a lifetime.
“Maris.” My voice was rough, unrecognizable.
I couldn’t wait for her. I caught the hand on my jaw, stopping its movement, and pulled her to me.
I kissed her.
Soft. Careful. Testing. When I didn’t pull back in pain, she made a sound against my mouth. Relief and need tangled together.
“The bond doesn’t hurt?” It was like she couldn’t believe it.
“No.” I kissed her again, harder this time, to prove it.
She pulled back enough to look at me, her breath catching. There was a question in her eyes. Not about pain or safety... a question about us. About what we were to each other now, after everything.
I touched her face, thumb brushing the new scar on her jaw.
A small, logical part of my brain—the part that had kept me alive for eight years—whispered that we were exhausted.
That we were vulnerable. That we should sleep.
“We should be sensible,” I said, testing the words.
“We should,” she agreed, her voice just as tired.
I looked at her. At my mate, alive and warm and here. The bond hummed between us, clean and right.
“Sensible can wait,” I said, and pulled her back to me.
MARIS
His mouth was on mine again, and sensible was gone.
This wasn’t the desperate, pained kiss from the safe house, or the testing, wondering touch from moments before. This was new. Slow. Sure. The bond hummed between us, clean and warm, and for the first time, I could feelhimin it, without the static of his pain.
His hands tangled in my hair, angling my head so he could deepen the kiss. I made a sound I’d deny later and pressed closer. The kiss turned hungry, desperate, years of loneliness trying to make up for lost time in a single moment.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
“Clothes,” I said. “Off. Now.”
