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“No, you don’t, Moonbeam. You love me. You’re just too busy feasting on my heart to notice.”
“Yield.”
“Fuck you, asshole. I fucking yield.”
All I see is molten adoration. A fierce, untamable love so heavy it stomps me breathless. All I feel is him.
“You feel that?”
he rumbles, setting his hand on top of mine and holding it over the thumping organ. His eyes take on a lighter shade that almost looks like reverence.
“You found us, Mo...
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I fissure. Split....
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“What did I just agree to?”
“You’re not erasing me—no matter how much our impending conversation hurts.”
“This is so much bigger than us, and you need to soften that heart or you’re going to break someone who’s not attuned to being stabbed through the chest by your reluctance to build connections.”
“This truth is going to hurt, and you’re going to hate me for it. But there’s someone out there who needs you, and you’re going to change their life even more than you changed mine.”
I picture little Nee fluttering about, dancing the giddy swirls she danced whenever I lifted the lid on her box. Picture her nudging against me, nuzzling my neck, remembering all the times I gave her a belly rub. Unfolded her delicate pleats. Flattened her. Read her. Need. My throat thickens so much I’m forced to swallow. I always thought that little parchment lark came to me by accident, but maybe she wasn’t lost at all. Maybe she was exactly where she needed to be . . .
“So, Raeve. You can swipe at me all you want, pretend you don’t love me as much as I love you. I can take more scars, despite how much they hurt. But you’re not running away.”
“That’s what you just agreed to.”
I certainly don’t do love. That word has a single definition: dangerous, potentially devastating inconvenience.
“Why the long face?”
“Any lost opportunity to worship you is a tragedy.”
He’s never looked so big. So severe. So heartachingly beautiful. Too bad he’s in love with a death wish.
I’ve decided this is the trade-off for finding such a great love like Mah and Pah’s. That mine, too, must end in tragedy, bearing the curse of my family name.
But what makes him so special that he gets to make me hurt, but I don’t get to do the same to him?
“Who were you talking to, Raeve?”
“We’re not having this conversation,”
“You seem to be under the illusion that I’m going to drop every bone you accidentally toss my way simply because you command it, but that was before I watched your entire body knot like you were being fucking tortured in your dream,”
“Now, my beautiful, spectacular, indignant Moonbeam, let’s try this again. Who. Were. You. Talking—”
With his beast at my back and this massive, impenetrable male at my front, I should feel small. I don’t. He’s only ever made me feel vast. Mighty, even.
Rather than shackle me in any way, shape, or form . . . he’s blowing me back to the wind.
I can understand why Elluin loved this male with her entire heart . . .
“Come back to me, Raeve. To us.”
Kaan may never know he’s everything to me. That I’d fall just to watch him fly. He may never know the youngling I carry is his or that I’m pitted with a fear that I won’t survive long enough to find a way to make this right. Pah thought I was remarkable, and once, I believed it. Now, I can’t stand to look at my own filthy face.
Much as she acts fierce and impervious to pain, it’s mostly because she tosses the hurtful things down to gather like tombstones within The Other’s den. The Other understands loss, death, and pain differently from Raeve, who is but a hatchling in her eyes. But Raeve will grow. Adapt. Embrace, and therefore conquer—if she is open to it.
“You’re dead” through the material she stuffed in his mouth. The Other chuffs. Strictly speaking, he’s not incorrect.
Raeve was quite repulsed when she learned The Other had chewed off this male’s finger, leading The Other to spend some time pondering whether or not she should be more considerate with the way she uses her host’s pliant, precious body.
Unfortunate, considering how delicious his fried flesh smells— No. Must not. Shoving down her natural urges,
is Saltra the other?
“Vaghth,” The Other whispers, and Rekk’s gaze whips up to meet hers. She hears his heart skip a beat. Feeds on the pulse of his surprise as a bulb of flame flutters from the open fireplace and settles in the palm of her clawed hand.
He doesn’t know about Rayne. Doesn’t know it’s actually four. Neither does the one she loves, The Other having gone out of her way to absorb Ignos’s spitting, scalding tune so it doesn’t trigger her strong but delicate host. Until she’s ready.
