Page 180 of Lady of Starfire

“Yeah, yeah,” Cyrus replied, moving closer and flopping down onto the blankets. “I’m familiar with uncomfortable, Cass. Let’s do this.”

Cassius retrieved a dagger from across the room, and Cyrus propped a hand behind his head, bending a knee and getting comfortable. Cass snickered when he came back, and Cyrus felt the bed dip when he sat on the edge of it.

“Where do you want the Mark?” he murmured, pulling the book closer and studying the page once more.

“Whatever’s easiest,” Cyrus answered with a shrug. “Forearm? Like Sorin’s?”

“That would be fine, but I was thinking the back of your hand. Your right hand,” Cass added quickly, twisting to face him fully.

“That’s fine, but any particular reason?” he asked curiously, studying him. His eyes were already shifted to an amber-red, and he reached for Cyrus’s right hand where it was resting atop his stomach.

“Because you said the Mark would ground you,” Cass answered, his thumb swiping across the back of Cyrus’s hand. “Seeing it would remind you that you’re wanted, even if I can’t be there to say it at the time. This way, it’s visible at all times.”

Cyrus swallowed thickly, rotating his wrist so their fingers intertwined. “Yeah, Cass,” he rasped. “Back of the hand is good.”

They didn’t speak after that.

Cassius dragged the dagger across the back of Cyrus’s hand, holding it in his lap while he carefully drew the Mark with his finger. Cyrus watched him. Head bent low. Hair hanging in his face. Entirely focused on the task. In complete control.

When he was done, he compared it to the Mark in the book for a long moment until Cyrus said, “I’m sure it’s perfect, Cass.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” he murmured back, eyes darting from the book and back to the Mark again.

“Let’s go, Cass,” Cyrus urged, stretching out his leg. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we find that mugweed.”

Cassius huffed a laugh, reaching for the dagger again. He held it over his palm. “Last chance.”

“I’m all yours,” Cyrus answered with a wink. Cassius huffed another laugh, but when he sliced his palm and started to bring it to the Mark, Cyrus said, “Cass?”

Cassius froze. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The corner of his lips tipped up. “I love you too, Cyrus.”

Then his hand was on the Mark, their blood mixing, and Cyrus was cursing.

“Fucking fire of Anala,” he gasped when heat blazed through him, and not the fire he was used to. This was the same heat that had steadily burned through his shield in a training arena the first time Cassius had kissed him. He’d known if that dragon fire touched him, it would hurt like a motherfucker, and he’d been right becausefuck.

His own fire flared to life, rising up to protect him, and he tried to pull his magic back, to make it submit to Cass’s power. It was useless. That’s not how magic worked, not when its bearer was being directly attacked. This had to be done between their power, not their will.

He barked another curse when Cassius sent more magic into his veins, and Cyrus tried to pull away on instinct alone. Cassius held his hand in a vice grip though, and at the movement, a growl came from him that had Cyrus falling still. His magic stuttered for a moment too. There was nothing of the watchful, kind-hearted male on Cassius’s face. This was just pure want and primal dominance at something he viewed ashistrying to be taken from him.

“Let me have it, Cyrus,” Cassius demanded, his voice low and rough, and the way Cyrus wanted to do just that—

“Fuck!” Cyrus snapped when another wave of black flames slammed into him. He couldn’t just lie here. His Fae nature wouldn’t allow it, even if he consciously knew what they were doing. He surged up, flipping them so he was on top of Cassius, his teeth bared and fire slamming up against his black flames.

“Godsdamnit, Cyrus,” Cassius snarled, his eyes glowing brighter. He’d managed to maintain the grip on Cyrus’s hand, and his fingers tightened. “If we break this connection, we have to start over.”

Cyrus heard him, even understood the logic of that, but his primal Fae maleness didn’t give a fuck. He snarled back, leaning in close. His elongated canines were getting dangerously close to Cassius’s throat when it was Cassius surging up. They were both on their feet, and Cassius was forcing him back and back. His wings ripped free, and smoke appeared on his next exhale as Cyrus’s back hit the wall hard.

“Cyrus.” His name was a feral order on his lips. A primal claiming. A demanding possession that again had his fire stuttering, and Cassius took the opportunity to wind his black flames around Cyrus’s magic so tightly, it had no choice but to give in.

Cords of orange and black erupted between them, twining together until there was no way to tell where one started and the other began before they flared a bright gold and settled into them. Cyrus felt it in his soul. This connection was different from what he’d had with Merrik. Different from the twin flame bond he’d had with Thia.

This was theirs. Solely theirs.

They were both breathing heavily, bodies still tense. Cyrus tugged his hand from Cass’s grip, reaching out to tug the remains of Cass’s tunic from his chest. It had torn when his wings had appeared. Of course, now it was just taut muscle for Cyrus to look at. He tossed the shredded tunic aside, immediately reaching back to run his fingers along bare skin, but Cass caught his wrist before he could.

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