Page 101 of Born in Fire

I move without thinking, crossing to sit beside her. My hand finds her shoulder, warm through the thin fabric of my borrowed T-shirt.

“You don’t have to face this alone,” I tell her. “Not any of it.”

She looks up at me, tears tracking down her cheeks, and something inside me breaks. I pull her against my chest, cradling her head under my chin. She fits perfectly, like she always has.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my shirt. “I don’t know why I’m crying for people I can’t remember.”

“Because they’re still part of you,” I murmur into her hair. “Memory isn’t just in your mind. It’s in your bones, your blood.”

She pulls back slightly, looking up at me. Her eyes search mine, and I see the moment something shifts. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back up.

Before I can process what’s happening, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.

I freeze, caught between desire and conscience. Her mouth is warm, familiar yet new. I should stop this. She doesn’t remember us, doesn’t fully know me—

She pulls back, uncertainty clouding her features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” I say quickly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. God, Juno, you have no idea how much I want to. But you don’t remember me, us. I don’t want to take advantage.”

Her expression clears, determination replacing doubt. “I may not remember you, but my body does. My heart does.” Her hand finds mine. “I feel safe with you. Connected. I want you, Dorian.” Something smolders behind her quicksilver eyes.

I search her face. “There’s no rush. We have time.”

“Do we?” she challenges. “I’ve already died once. I don’t want to waste whatever time I have left wondering.”

She’s right. Life is too fragile, too fleeting to hesitate. I’ve been given a miracle—she’s been returned to me. Why question it?

I cup her face in my hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “If at any point you want to stop—”

“I’ll tell you,” she promises.

This time, I kiss her. Gentle at first, relearning the shape of her mouth, the soft sigh she makes when I deepen the kiss. Her hands find my shoulders, pulling herself closer.

Heat builds between us, just as it always did. Her body remembers mine even if her mind doesn’t. When she shifts to straddle my lap, I groan against her mouth.

“Bedroom,” I manage between kisses.

She nods, allowing me to stand with her in my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her there, her mouth trailing fire along my jaw.

The bedroom is still rumpled from her sleep, afternoon light streaming through the windows. I set her down beside the bed, suddenly hesitant.

“You’ve been through a lot,” I say. “Your body—”

“Is fine,” she interrupts, pulling her shirt over her head in one smooth motion as she kicks off the shorts. Naked now, she stands before me without shame. “Better than fine.”

My breath catches. She’s exactly as I remember—pale skin, gentle curves, the small birthmark above her right hip. But there’s something different, too—a subtle luminescence to her skin, as if she’s lit from within.

She glows.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper.

She smiles, reaching for my shirt. “So are you.”

I let her undress me, her fingers tracing each newly revealed inch of skin. When she finds the dragon tattoo spreading across my back and chest, she traces its outline with her fingertips.

“Dragon,” she murmurs. “I remember this. It means something.”

My chest tightens as I recall the day I told her what I am. How much does she remember about that revelation? We’re going to have to cover it at some point.

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