Page 63 of Wicked Depths

We ride it out, gasping, panting, clinging to each other as the aftershocks roll through us.

Nyxara’s weight is solid against me, her warmth seeping into my skin, her breath fanning over my lips in slow, uneven waves. I feel the tension in her muscles begin to ease, the possessive grip she has on my waist loosening just slightly, but not entirely.

Because she still holds me.

Because neither of us are ready to pull away.

Her emerald eyes flicker open, searching mine, something unreadable glinting beneath the fire that still lingers there. Want. Need. Ownership.

And something deeper.

Something I feel too. From this moment on, I know I am hers.

But I cannot belong to her, not like this. Not with the weight of a contract still binding my choices, my fate, to a deal that should never have been made.

So I shift beneath her, my magic coiling around us, cool where hers is hot, soothing where hers still burns. A whisper of the ocean seeps through the air, and in an instant, the scroll appears in my hand.

Nyxara stiffens, her gaze darkening as she watches the contract hover between us.

The magic embedded in the parchment pulses, faint and eerie, the ink shimmering as if sensing its inevitable end.

Nyxara moves to sit up, her claws flexing, but I tighten my hold on her, keeping her pressed against me, our bodies still tangled, still warm.

I meet her gaze, letting her see the honesty in my own. "I am not bound to you because of this," I whisper, my voice steady, sure. "Not anymore."

She watches me, unblinking, unreadable.

I lift my free hand, summoning a slow, curling tendril of water that wraps around the parchment, weaving through the fibers, seeping into the ink.

The moment the water touches it, the contract withers.

The edges curl. The words dissolve, fading into the ether, erased as if they had never existed.

And then, the parchment bursts into nothing.

The magic that once tied me to an obligation, to a forced fate, is gone.

Nyxara’s claws tighten against my hip, her jaw clenched as she stares at the empty space where the contract had been.

"You would destroy the bargain?" she murmurs, her voice unreadable.

I reach up, brushing my fingers along the sharp angle of her jaw, letting my thumb drag against her bottom lip. "I don’t need a contract to stand by your side, Nyxara."

Something shifts in her gaze.

Something cracks.

"You have me," I continue, pressing my lips to hers. "Not because I have to be here. But because I choose to be here."

A slow exhale shudders from her lips, and for a long moment, she does not speak.

Then, finally, she nods.

As I pull her back down against me, as our breaths tangle once more, as her lips ghost over mine in something softer than possession, something closer to devotion, I know this is no longer a war of bargains.

This is ours.

And I will fight for her, not because I made a deal.

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