Page 67 of Crowned

“You have my clan’s support,” the outerbanks leader says finally, his deep voice breaking the silence. “But only if the mages agree to share their protective wards with our borders.”

The mages shift, protests rising, but Vance speaks before they can object. “We’ll make it work. Whatever it takes, we’ll ensure every faction is protected.”

His certainty is a steadying force. One by one, the representatives voice their agreements. The fractures begin to mend.

The days blur into a relentless rhythm of war councils, training, and strategy, but in the chaos, I cling to the quiet moments with the people who matter most.

The crackling fire is the only sound in the room, as I sit with the ancient texts, my mind clouded with thoughts that refuse to settle. The words blur, but not because of the strain – they blur because I can’t focus on anything but Reef. He’s been here with me through everything, his presence like a quiet hum beneath my skin, even when he’s not touching me. And now... now I can feel the weight of it all, the distance we’ve kept.

The door creaks open behind me, and I don’t need to look to know it’s him. His scent is the first thing that hits me – earthy and wild, tinged with the hint of salt from his training. I feel his eyes on me before he speaks, a silent pressure, steady and unrelenting. His presence fills the space, thick and heavy, as if it’s finally time to close the distance.

“You should be resting,” his voice rumbles, low and hushed, like it’s a command wrapped in concern. There’s that edge to his tone, the one that betrays just how much he’s held back, just how tightly he’s been clinging to control.

I glance up, meeting his gaze. His bright green eyes are darkened, burning with a hunger I’ve seen before. It’s the same hunger that’s been lurking between us for so long, the one that I’ve felt every time our paths crossed, but that he’s buried beneath layers of patience and restraint. His dark hair falls over his forehead, his tattoos winding down his arms like silent promises, but it’s his gaze that’s got me locked in place.

“I’m fine,” I manage, though the words feel like a lie the moment they leave my lips. I’m anything but fine. The truth is, my body is screaming for him, for the touch that I’ve been denying myself just as much as he’s denied it. “I just need to finish this.”

But he doesn’t wait. His footsteps are quiet, determined, and before I can protest, he’s right next to me. His large hand covers mine, stilling it, and I don’t pull away. I can’t. His skin is warm against mine, his pulse thrumming beneath the surface, and I know he can feel mine – racing, frantic.

“You’re lying,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something darker now, something I’ve heard in his voice before but never in this context. “You haven’t been fine, Malia. Not since you came back.”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe. He’s right. I’ve never felt further from fine than I do in this moment, standing on the edge of something that’s been waiting to consume me. Waiting for us both.

Reef doesn’t give me a chance to answer. He pulls me to my feet, the movement sharp, possessive, and I collide with his chest. My breath hitches at the feeling of him, the steady beat of his heart against mine, the undeniable heat radiating from his body. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else. His lips crash down on mine in a kiss that is anything but gentle – urgent, desperate, primal.

His mouth moves against mine with a fierceness I haven’t felt in far too long, and I respond, hungry for him, for the closeness we’ve been starved of. His hands are everywhere – on my hips, my back, pulling me closer, as though he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t keep me anchored to him. His touch is possessive, but it’s also tender, as if he’s trying to make up for all the time he’s spent holding himself back.

When he pulls away, just enough to look me in the eyes, I can see the war raging in his. His lips are bruised from kissing me, his jaw clenched in restraint, but it’s his eyes – the wildness in them – that betrays him. He’s been holding back for too long.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he growls, his voice raw. “I’ve let you heal, Malia. I’ve let you take all the space you needed...but now it’s time to stop pretending like I’m not fucking falling apart because of you.”

Before I can even process his words, he’s lifting me effortlessly, pressing me against the nearby bookshelf with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs. His body is pressed against mine, solid and unyielding, as his hands move to the buttons of my shirt. The sound of each one coming undone is like a snap, and I know it’s not just the buttons he’s undoing – he’s unraveling everything we’ve built up to this moment.

I reach for him, desperate to feel his skin against mine. His chest is just as hard as I remember, his tattoos like the mark of a god I’ve spent too long resisting. But no more. No more waiting, no more distance.

His lips move down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his hands explore my body with an urgency that matches the pounding of my heart. He’s losing himself in me, and I can feel the same thing happening to me. We’re both burning alive, and I don’t know if I’m ready to be consumed, but I don’t care.

“I need you, Reef,” I whisper, the words raw and desperate. “Now.”

He groans, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’m right here, Malia. Always have been.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to protest before lifting me again, his hands gripping me tighter. I can feel the raw power in him, as if every inch of his body is made to claim me. He carries me toward the desk, shoving everything aside with a force that leaves no room for hesitation, no space between us. The kiss comes fast and fierce, his lips crashing into mine, his body pressing against me with an intensity that pulls the air from my lungs. It’s not just sex; it’s everything – everything we’ve held back, everything we’ve denied.

His hands are everywhere, his touch urgent, fevered. He undresses me with a frantic need, as though he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he hesitates even a second. The moment he’s inside me with one urgent, hard thrust, I gasp. The sensation of being filled, of being whole again, surges through me like an electric shock. I meet him, matching his rhythm, feeling the pull of desire deepen with every thrust. It’s frantic, relentless – like he’s afraid of losing me again, and I’m just as afraid of losing him.

I grip him tighter, urging him to go deeper, to tear down every barrier we’ve kept between us. And he does. With a guttural growl, his pace quickens, his hold on me tightening until it’s almost painful, and I can feel the tremor in my body, the burn of need that’s been simmering under the surface for too long. The way he moves inside me, the urgency of his touch – it’s like we’re both drowning, both struggling to stay afloat in the wave of sensation, of connection.

Reef doesn’t stop. Not until we’re both gasping for breath, our bodies entangled, our hearts finally beating in sync.

My body responds to him, every nerve alight with desire. I can feel myself unraveling, each breath coming harder, faster, as the pressure inside me builds. His name falls from my lips, a desperate plea, and that’s when it snaps – his rhythm breaks free, and I come undone beneath him.

My body trembles with the force of it, and he follows me, his own release shuddering through him. We collapse together, tangled and breathless, my chest heaving against his.

Reef pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me like he never wants to let go. His forehead rests against mine, his breath ragged, as his fingers trace idle patterns along my skin. “I’m not letting you go, Malia,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “Not now, not ever.”

I know that he means it. And I never want him to.

The clang of metal against metal echoes through the training grounds as I approach. Bhodi is in the centre of the ring, sparring with a group of soldiers. His movements are sharp and precise, every strike purposeful, fluid in a way that makes it look effortless. But I know better. There’s a controlled power in the way he moves, each shift of his body calculated, every strike landing exactly where he intends it to – never wasted, never wild. And yet, even as he moves, there’s an ease to him, a confidence that borders on cocky. He’s holding back, I realise, just enough to let the others keep up.

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