Page 69 of Tempest Rising

The pleasure built until it crested, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over me, dragging Mason under with me. We came together, our bodies shuddering with the force of it, our voices mingling in a final cry of completion. In that moment, I felt our bond snap into place, a tangible thread tying us together, heart and soul.

Afterward, we lay tangled together. My cheek rested against the broad expanse of Mason’s chest, rising and falling steadily with his breaths. The hard planes of muscle beneath my fingertips were a sharp contrast to the softness in his dark eyes as he gazed down at me. There was something unreadable in his expression, something that made me ache and yet feel whole at the same time.

“So…” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “this mating thing. It’s official now, right?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, crooked smile. “It’s official,” he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, a sound that sent a shiver cascading down my spine. “You’re mine now, Tess. My mate.”

His words should have felt possessive, maybe even suffocating, but they didn’t. Instead, they felt like an anchor, something solidI could hold onto as the storm of my life raged around me. “Yours,” I murmured, testing the word on my tongue as a smile tugged at my lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Mason’s hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a gesture so gentle it made my chest tighten. “And I’m yours,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

I swallowed hard against the lump rising in my throat. “What does it mean, exactly? Being your mate, I mean.”

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at me. The movement made the sheets slip lower on his torso, revealing more of the intricate tattoos that traced across his dark skin. His wings, still partially unfurled from earlier, cast faint shadows across the bed.

“It means a lot of things,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “For Gargoyle Shifters, it’s... instinctual. Once we find our mate, our wings manifest for them—like they did for you earlier. It’s a sign of our bond. A part of me recognizing you as mine.”

My eyes widened as I remembered the moment from earlier that night. His wings had burst forth in a display of raw power and beauty, wrapping around me like a shield. “Your wings,” I said softly, my gaze flicking back to them. “They’re incredible, Mason. Can I... can I touch them?”

“Of course. They’re yours to touch.”

I sat up, the sheet pooling around my waist, and turned to get a better look. The massive, stone-gray wings stretched out behind him, their surface marked with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and glow faintly in the soft light. They were breathtaking. Tentatively, I reached out, my fingers brushing the base where they connected to his back.

Mason sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body tensing beneath my touch. “They’re... sensitive,” he admitted, his voice tight.

I froze, panic flaring in my chest. “Oh no, did I hurt you?”

His lips quirked into a small smile, though his eyes had darkened with something I couldn’t quite name. “Not hurt,” he said, his voice rougher now. “The base is... kind of an erogenous zone.”

“Oh.” My cheeks heated, the flush spreading down my neck. “Good to know.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling, and reached out to take my hand in his. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a growl that sent warmth pooling in my stomach. “I like it.”

Tentatively, I let my fingers explore the surface of his wings. They were smooth yet firm, like polished stone warmed by sunlight. The markings shifted subtly under my touch, and I leaned closer, marveling at their beauty. As I traced one of the patterns near the base, Mason’s breath hitched, his wings trembling faintly in response.

“These markings,” I murmured, my voice soft with awe. “They’ve changed, haven’t they?”

He nodded, his dark eyes locked on mine, a quiet intensity in his gaze. “They do,” he said, his voice low and steady. “When we mate, they shift. It’s not just a reflection of the bond—it’s a part of me... changing for you.”

The weight of his words wrapped around me, heady and profound. I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to one of the shifting patterns, my lips brushing against the warm, solid surface of his skin. “They’re beautiful,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Mason’s expression softened, his wings curving slightly inward as though to shield us from the outside world. “It’s not just decorative,” he said quietly, his tone reverent. “The bond changes us both. Our connection strengthens our physical abilities—sharpening senses, enhancing strength. Even my Gargoyle form... it will be larger now, more powerful because of you.”

A flicker of wonder fluttered through me at the enormity of what he was saying. This wasn’t just about him; it was about us. The bond we’d forged had altered us both, drawing us closer in ways I was only beginning to understand.

As my gaze drifted downward, I caught sight of the faint scars crisscrossing his chest and sides, barely visible against the rich dark tone of his skin. My breath hitched, my heart aching at the sight of them. I reached out, my fingers brushing lightly over one of the marks, tracing its jagged path. “These...” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “They’re from the fighting ring, aren’t they?”

Mason’s jaw tightened, and though he didn’t speak immediately, his silence spoke volumes. The scars told a story of pain, survival, and resilience—a part of him that he carried silently, just as I carried my own. It was a reminder of everything he’d endured, and yet here he was, steady and unyielding like the stone he could so effortlessly become.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly, as if the words themselves hurt to say. “They’re from a long time ago.”

I could see the weight he still carried—the shame that lingered in his dark eyes, the way his broad shoulders tensed as if bracing for judgment. But judgment was the furthest thing from my mind. All I felt was gratitude—gratitude that he had survived, that he was here with me, whole and alive. My chest ached, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning closer.

Without hesitation, I pressed my lips to one of the scars on his chest, a soft kiss meant to soothe. Then another, and another, each kiss carrying the words I couldn’t quite say aloud. His body tensed beneath me, the muscles in his chest coiling like a spring, but he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my lips brushing against his skin. “For surviving. For fighting your way out of that hell and finding your way to me.”

Mason exhaled sharply, the sound almost a growl, his large hands coming to rest on my arms. His touch was warm, grounding, but there was a tremor in his fingers that betrayed the storm beneath his calm exterior.

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