Page 28 of Bound In Stone, Claimed In Fire

I beckon for Sariah to follow. She ducks under the low entrance, cloak catching on a jut of rock. With a curse, she tugs it free. Her exhalation clouds in the cold. Further in, the corridor widens enough for me to stand at my full height, though the ceiling remains uncomfortably close to my horns. We walk carefully, each step accompanied by the gritty crunch of gravel underfoot.

The tunnel branches left and right. We choose the left by unspoken agreement, the faint sound of wind funneling from that direction. Soon, we emerge into a broader cavern, perhaps twice my wingspan across. The walls bow inward like an ancient ribcage. Boulders litter the floor, but the roof is intact. Best of all, the air is less biting. We can make camp here, at least for the night.

A deafening peal of thunder reverberates outside, and Sariah flinches. She presses her back to the wall, breathing raggedly. Her face is pale, either from exhaustion or the toll of too many close calls. I gasp at the sight, my chest tightening. I want to ask if she’s all right, but the bond already provides me with an echo of her swirling turmoil. Guilt, fear, anger, a throbbing sense of vulnerability.And something else,an undercurrent of wanting that mirrors my own.

Tentatively, I lift a hand to her good shoulder. She doesn’t recoil—her eyes flick from my palm up to my face, and I catch the flicker of conflict there. “Let’s rest,” I say, voice gentler than usual. “I’ll see if the walls are stable.”

She nods mutely, letting me guide her to a relatively smooth patch of ground where she can sit. Outside, the storm unleashes a barrage of hail, the clatter echoing through the corridors. The temperature plummets further, wind howling. I search around for any stray debris or dried vegetation that might serve as kindling. There’s little to be found, but I scrape together enough to form a small mound.Better than nothing.

Sariah stirs, kneeling to touch the pile. Her purna magic flickers at her fingertips, conjuring a spark. The twigs glow, embers dancing to life, casting a shaky light across the cavern. Warmth doesn’t truly radiate from the meager flame, but psychologically, it’s a lifeline. We huddle around it, wings brushing shoulders, breath mingling in the gloom.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the entrance, momentarily revealing the swirling fury outside. The wind shrieks with inhuman force, as if the gods themselves rage. Our bond resonates with the environment’s chaotic energy, heightening every sensation. My runes flare, responding to both the storm and her presence.

“You’re hurt,” she says suddenly, nodding to the red stain peeking through the tear in my side. I’d almost forgotten the wound inflicted by that rogue purna’s blade. A shallow cut, but it never had time to properly heal.

“I’ll manage,” I reply, forcing nonchalance. In truth, my side throbs fiercely.

She eyes me, then tears a strip from her cloak. “Let me bandage it. It’s bleeding again.”

I consider refusing, but the tether hums in a low, urgent manner.Accept help.She’s stronger than before, but I sense her guilt from that last confrontation with Drayveth’s faction. This small act might ease the tension.

“All right,” I concede. Slowly, I slide back a portion of my leathery wrap so she can reach the wound. The air stings as cloth peels away from dried blood. She inhales sharply, probably at the sight of dark rivulets. I keep my gaze fixed on the faint, flickering flame.

Her fingers press against my side, applying the cloth strip to stem the flow. Instinctively, my wings bristle at the contact. Her touch is careful, but the bond magnifies the sensation, sending an unexpected jolt of heat through me. She’s kneeling close, each breath stirring the air around my face.Focus on the pain, not the pull.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, feeling me tense. “I’ll be gentle.”

My voice emerges gruffer than intended. “I know.” She focuses on the bandage, brow furrowed, lips parted in concentration. Her face is pale with fatigue, but there’s a certain softness in her expression that banishes my usual wariness. The brand on her wrist glows faintly, an echo of my runes.Two currents of magic, forced to flow in tandem.The storm’s energy crackles beyond these walls, fueling an undercurrent of raw power that swells in my veins.

At last, she ties off the makeshift bandage with trembling hands. “That should help,” she whispers. Her gaze flicks to mine.So close.The tension between us brims, poised on a knife’s edge. Thunder booms again, shaking loose a trickle of dust from the cavern ceiling.

She doesn’t pull away. Nor do I. The faint glow of the fire plays over her features, highlighting the silver strands in her hair, the parted curve of her lips. My heart thrums in my chest.We nearly died. Again.This knowledge tangles with the leftover adrenaline, fueling a surge of primal need. Our eyes lock, and the bond roars to life, thickening the air with possibilities.

“Sariah,” I say, voice low.

She swallows, chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm. “Kaelith.”

A single moment. A single breath. Lightning flashes once more, painting her face in stark light. The brand pulses with an otherworldly glow. I realize I’m half-lifting my arm, drawn to her by a force I can’t resist. She leans in, eyes alight with the same restless craving that churns in my gut.

The distance collapses. Our mouths meet in a crushing kiss, the tether flaring. It’s not the tentative brush from before. This is raw, desperate, and hungry—born from too many close calls, from the swirl of our powers, from the need to confirm we’re still alive. I groan into the kiss, hands sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against me.

She gasps, an edge of pain in that sound, probably from her injured shoulder, but she doesn’t stop. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp with heated urgency. My runes blaze, responding to the closeness of her magic. Sparks dance at the periphery of my vision, as if the storm outside has found a mirror in our union.

We kiss until air becomes a secondary need, until the flickering fire almost dies for lack of attention. Our bodies align, my claws pressed lightly to her back, her hand snaking beneath my wrap to feel the curve of my side. Every brush of skin sends molten sparks through my veins. The gargoyle side of me—predatory, dominant—surges in my chest. Yet something deeper, gentler, tries to tether that ferocity, mindful of her recent wounds.

When we break apart, panting, her eyes shine with tears or desire—or both. “I don’t want to lose control,” she breathes, voice quivering. “After what happened with my magic?—”

I rest my forehead against hers, inhaling the faint floral note that envelops her. “Then let me ground you,” I murmur, runes still flaring with an unholy glow. “We can anchor each other.”Or plunge together into the chaos.I try not to recall Nerezza’s twisted journey.Sariah is not her.

She bites her lip, a shudder coursing through her. A flash of lightning illuminates the cavern, revealing the swirl of unspoken hunger in her gaze. “Just… promise me we won’t let this bond devour us.”

A pang resonates in my chest. “I promise.” My gargoyle instincts bristle with need, but I force them to yield. This moment must be more than mindless rutting.We’ve both lost so much.Gently, I guide her down, my wings folding around us, a dark canopy that wards off the storm’s furious light.

She exhales, tension uncoiling as she allows me closer. The small flame sputters at our side, shadows dancing across stone. Outside, the hail intensifies, hammering the earth, as if the planet itself roars its disapproval. But in our cramped sanctuary, we forge a different tempest—one of heated skin, ragged breaths, and the trembling vulnerability that comes from defying fate.

With careful hands, I trace the curve of her body, mindful of the bandages on her shoulder. She arches against me, each movement stirring the tether. A faint glow emanates from our combined magic, lighting the cavern with a ghostly aura. She moans softly, burying her face in the crook of my neck, lips brushing the runes at my collarbone.

“Sariah,” I whisper, losing myself in the feel of her breath. My mind reels with conflicting emotions: protectiveness, lust, fear, longing. I slip a clawed finger under the edge of her cloak, revealing more of her chilled skin. She doesn’t protest—her trembling is from desire, not reluctance. She meets my gaze, nodding once, giving silent permission that floods me with relief.This is consent. This is need. This is the moment we choose to cling to life, no matter the cost.

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