Page 91 of Heir of Shadows

“I know,” Elio murmured. His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “But you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, my cheeks wet and flushed. “Why are you helping me? Really?”

His hand moved to cup my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. “Because you make magic feel real again.” The admission seemed to cost him something, his voice low and steady. “You saw through every illusion, every perfect performance. You showed me what power should be—when it’s real, not just a trick for the crowd.”

My breath hitched. His eyes—usually veiled behind wit and charm—were wide open now, stripped of every shield. No performance. No illusions. Just Elio.

A jolt went through me. I was still Keane’s… or I had been. Those feelings didn’t just disappear because he was gone. But with Elio looking at me like that—like he actually sawme, not the heir or the half-breed or the problem—it was hard to pretend I wasn’t caught in something dangerous. Something real.

I swallowed hard. “This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about him.”

Elio didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with careful intent. “But that doesn’t mean this—” his gaze held mine, unrelenting, “—isn’t real too. Wanting something else doesn’t erase what came before.”

He didn’t say love. Of course he didn’t. That wasn’t his language. But the steadiness in his voice, the softness in his touch—it was the closest I’d ever seen to Elio Lightford letting himselffeelsomething without artifice.

“You mean that,” I whispered, leaning into his hand.

“I do.” His fingers trailed along the line of my jaw, leaving behind sparks of warm, clean magic that settled low in my spine. Echo’s scales shifted, flaring that impossible violet again—color rippling with intensity. The air between us pulsed, alive with magic and want, like the breath the sky takes just before a lightning strike

“No more illusions,” he promised, but something flickered behind his eyes. Fear. Maybe just a little.

“That’s not easy for you, is it?” I murmured.

His hand traced my jaw, his touch reverent. “No. But I think… I think I want to try. With you.”

“Elio…” I didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea.

He tilted my face up—slowly, so slowly, like he was giving me every chance to pull away.

I almost did. For half a breath, I almost stepped back.

But then his fingers traced my cheek, his thumb catching a stray tear, and I was lost.

“You,” I breathed.

His kiss was feather-light at first, a tease—like he was testing just how badly I wanted this. But the moment our mouths met, the hesitation burned away. He deepened the kiss with startling urgency, his hand sliding into my hair and tugging just enough to draw a gasp from my throat.

I barely had time to breathe before his tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding more. I opened to him, and everything else fell away. There was nothing soft about this. It was heat and hunger, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before he captured it, pulled, sucked, until I was clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed against my lips, his voice raw and husky.

I answered with another kiss, letting my hands wander. Our magic surged around us—light from his illusions and my shadows deepening until the room felt like a star-filled abyss holding only the two of us. It wasn’t just power; it was recognition. Understanding. Two people who had seen through each other’s masks and found something worth holding onto.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice shaking with both need and vulnerability.

“Never,” he promised, his mouth moving to my neck, each touch igniting sparks beneath my skin. His teeth scraped, a teasing bite, before soothing the spot with his tongue. A slow, wicked rhythm designed to make me ache.

His hands slid beneath my shirt, fingers teasing along my bare skin, reveling in the way I shivered beneath his touch. “So sensitive,” he murmured, pleased. “Every reaction… mine.”

A thrill shot through me as he slowly lifted my shirt, deliberately drawing out the moment. He tugged it over my head but left it hanging from my wrists, trapping my arms above me as he surveyed his prize. I was bare before him, having forgotten even a bra in my haste to leave the dorm.

“Mari, look at you.” His eyes darkened, and his illusions flickered.

He bent down, taking one nipple into his mouth, teasing with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue. His hand found the other, rolling it between his fingers, alternating between pleasure and restraint, keeping me on edge.

I arched beneath him, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “Elio, please—”

“Not yet,” he murmured, the wicked grin returning. “I want to savor you.”

---