Page 178 of Seeking Shadows

His hand slides down to the curve of my waist, pulling me flush against his chest despite the strain on his broken leg. His eyes lock on mine, dark and molten.

“If we go down,” he says, kissing me with a slowness that aches, “we go down together.”

And in that moment, I believe him.

I kiss him harder, taking everything, drinking in the sound of his ragged breath, the tremble in his arms, the way he grips me like I’m already slipping away.

And then I feel it.

The way his body responds—despite the pain, despite the blood drying on his skin and the weight of everything around us—he’s still hard. Still aching for me.

Still mine.

I shift, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice shaking.

“Shh,” I whisper, guiding him inside me again. Slowly. Purposefully. “I just want to feel you.”

I sink down on him inch by inch, every stretch, every pulse making us both tremble. This time, it’s not frantic. It’s not desperate.

It’s reverent.

Like maybe this is the last prayer we’ll ever get to say, and we’re whispering it in the language of skin and breath and the impossible ache of love.

Zane groans, burying his face in my neck. I know he is in pain—but he doesn't stop me.

He clutches me tighter instead, his mouth trailing hot, broken kisses along my jaw.

I ride him slowly, letting the rhythm carry us—him inside me, deep and pulsing, again and again—until I feel him fall apart beneath me with a guttural moan, spilling into me one final time.

And I stay there. Holding him. Keeping him buried deep inside me, like I could fuse us together and keep this moment suspended forever.

I don’t breathe. I don’t move.

I only realize one thing.

Maybe fate will be merciful.

If I die, it will be in his arms.

CHAPTER 29

ZANE

Mia sleeps besideme, and I watch her in fear.

She’s in pain. She’s weak. Too weak.

I finally understand what she meant about being unconscious—it’s like slipping in and out of a void, never fully aware, never in control. They feed me, but I don’t see it. I was unconscious most of the time.

Nico thinks Mia will give in. That she’ll break. That she’ll attack me.

But she won’t.

I know she won’t.

She’s shaking, her hands curled into fists so tight her knuckles go white. Her breathing is uneven, ragged, like she’s swallowing back a scream that’s clawing to get out. I see it in her eyes—the war raging inside her. The weight of it pressing down on her chest, making her ribs feel like they’ll crack under the pressure.

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