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She’s very lucky this didn’t kill her.” I would’ve split the world if it did. Then split my fucking self.
“I once knew a female who’d cry when it rained, though she thought I never noticed,”
The storm stops just as abruptly as it began, Kaan planting the final note against the arch of my neck like a phantom kiss—the tender press of his lips infusing me with a burst of knee-buckling familiarity. Like I’ve been here before. Caught in his grasp. Crushed close to his chest. Kissed. Like I’ve been lulled by his comforting presence in a dream I can barely remember the shape of. Only the sturdy bind of his arms keeps me from crumbling into a heap
“Because I knew a female who died. Tragically. Whose lifeless body was sailed into the sky by the adoring beast at your back with my torn-out heart in her fucking fist,”
“Spend your life alone, forever wondering why you scream in your sleep. Calling for that very Moonplume I’ve spent the past twenty-three phases piecing back together, hoping it would bring your spirit peace.
“Chase death, Moonbeam. And I pray your bloodlust brings you the same sense of peace I feel just knowing you exist.”
“Raeve, you could flay me down the middle and I’d still fucking love you.”
Yet here I am again, standing stationary while Raeve dances around me with my soft heart in her fucking hands, dripping blood all over the floor. Here I am again, looking at her like she crafted the world with a few whispered words, every sweep of her eyes twisting that jagged weapon lodged in my chest. Only this time, I’m not blind or in denial. This time, I fucking see.
It most certainly will, but what she doesn’t see is that her love bolsters me. Strengthens me. When she shines that light my way, nothing can hurt me. Nothing.
There’s nothing but a pair of big azure eyes, our tangling exhales, and the welcome weight of her in my arms. A fucking moon could fall and I wouldn’t notice. Her gaze drifts to my mouth, and my heart becomes a ferocious beast pounding for release. Begging me to crush the barrier between us and kiss her, like throwing myself to a nest of Sabersythes to be torn apart—slowly. Painfully.
What I wouldn’t do to help her feel whole again. To piece her back together, much the same as I did her dragon. Weathering the cuts to my flesh. The frostbite. The endless fucking regressions when the entire thing would crumble and I’d have to start all over again. And again. And again.
“Your hands know me,” she whispers. “Yes,” I murmur against her hair. “Know you, crave you, worship you.” Her breath hitches. I could go on. Tell her our bodies clash like they were made to tangle for eternity. That I could spread her in the mist and make her body sing. Have her unravel in seconds from a few tender touches coupled with a nuzzled nip to her neck, just below her ear. I’d mulch her enemies with my bare hands to see those dimples. Or at the very least, pave a bloody path for her to slaughter them herself.
“I’ve hunted your spirit for one hundred and twenty-three phases, Raeve. Forgive me if I’m a bit jaded.” “What do you mean by that?” “Exactly what I said,”
“Any lost opportunity to worship you is a tragedy.”
