Page 85 of The Bound Mage
“It is,” Loren said quickly. “It is your choice. Always. I never wanted you to feel forced?—”
Araya slammed the cup down, water sloshing over the rim. “Youforcedme to watch youdie.” She rounded on him, her silver eyes bright with furious tears. “How could you do that to me?”
Loren opened his mouth—but he had no defense, not really. He wasn’t sorry. He’d do it again, if it came down to it. Without hesitation.
“I didn’twantto die,” he said finally, staring up at her. “But I would have—gladly—if it meant you lived.” His throat worked, but he forced the next words out anyway. “And if you still feel you have to leave…I won’t stop you?—”
Araya’s expression cracked, her shoulders sagging. “You are afool, Lorendrael,” she whispered.
And then she kissed him.
Her hands framed his face, her fingers threading into his hair as her lips smashed against his. For a moment, Loren couldn’t move, the press of her lips against his stealing the air from his lungs and every thought from his mind.
But then her tongue swept the seam of his lips, hot and demanding, and something inside him broke.
He surged up into the kiss, groaning against her mouth as his hand found her waist and dragged her onto the bed with him, heedless of the pain that flared in his ribs. She tasted like salt and heat and everything he’d thought he lost. Nothing mattered but her and the way her mouth moved against his, as fierce and unrelenting as he was, like she was trying to breathe him back to life.
He clung to her when she finally pulled back, stroking his fingers across the tear tracks that marked her cheeks and winding them into her damp hair. She laughed, catching his hand and clasping their fingers together.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And it’s not about some bond. It’s because I’mchoosingto stay, Loren. Iwantto stay here—with you.”
She lifted her other hand and gently touched his face, her fingers slipping down to trace the terrible scars that still marked his throat where the Arcanum’s collar had sat for so many years.
“I’ve made choices before,” she said softly. “To protect myself. To survive. But I can’t walk away from you. Not now. Not after everything.” Her fingers lingered over the scar at his throat. “I’m choosing you, Loren.”
Loren tightened his arm around her waist, tugging her closer until their foreheads touched. He wanted more—Goddess, he wanted everything. But his body had already begun to tremble with exhaustion and pain.
“Stay,” he begged.
Araya curled into bed beside him, her hand resting over the steady beat of his heart, their bond quiet and whole between them. “Always.”
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Araya lay awake,Loren’s heartbeat strong and steady under her ear. The soft morning light crept through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting streaks of gold across the dark wood furniture.
Sunlight.Realsunlight.
The shadows that had choked Eluneth for more than two decades were thinning at last, no longer fed by the rot and rage that had festered at the heart of the island. Now, that same darkness lingered at the edges of their room, a shadow curling into a patch of sunlight as if it too had missed the warmth. This wasdara’elas it was meant to be—a guardian, not a curse. What could it become now that it had found peace with its chosen prince?
Loren stirred, mumbling something too slurred with sleep to be intelligible. His hand traced lazily down her back, pulling her closer. His breath skimmed the scarred tip of her ear, sending a warm flush through her chest.
Alive. Against all odds, they were both alive.
Ilyana had cleared him forcareful activityyesterday, delivering her verdict with a pointed look at both of them. Lorenhad laughed—but Araya had only managed to nod, burying her shaking hands in her skirt.
She had kissed him—chosen him—but there was a vast difference between that and what might come next. Not because she didn’t want him—but because after everything she’d survived, Araya couldn’t shake the feeling that wanting something so badly always came with a price. One she might not see until it was too late.
She’d wanted Jaxon too. Desperately—the same way a drowning person clung to driftwood. She’d been certain she could save herself by loving him hard enough, that she could earn safety in his bed and protection by his hands.
The same hands that had carved a tapestry of scars into Loren’s skin.
And now she lay here, curled up in bed beside the male who would have died rather than take her choice away. And that was more terrifying than anything Jaxon had ever done.
Loren’s brow furrowed, sleep-dulled contentment shifting to warm happiness through the bond as he blinked awake, his bright green eyes still soft and blurry with sleep as they met hers.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough. “What are you thinking about so hard this early?”
