Page 86 of Lost in Fire

The realization sinks in. “So we wait?”

“We wait.” He studies the dampening field generators built into the ceiling corners. “And when the time comes, we’ll have seconds, not minutes, to break free and move.”

“It might not be soon enough, Hargen.” I swallow hard. “My execution is a day away.”

Silence falls between us as the reality of our situation settles like dust. He’s telling me to hold on old onto the hope of a rescue that probably won’t come in time.

He’s quiet for a long moment, studying the cell, the magic-dampening fields, the impossibility of our situation.

Finally, he looks back at me. “This may be our last night together.”

I nod silently, thinking of all the nights I dreamed of seeing him again, all the conversations I imagined having. None of them were in a Syndicate prison cell.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” I whisper. “After you left with Ember…”

His hands work at the chains, loosening them just enough to give me more movement. Not enough to escape, but enough to close the distance between us.

“I told you I’d find my way back to you.” His thumb brushes across my cheek, tracing a path I remember from a lifetime ago. “I meant what I said then.”

The memory brings a wave of pain.

I’ll find my way back to you.

I just didn’t think he’d do it only to die.

“I’m glad you’re here.” The admission scrapes against my throat, bringing guilt with it. “I shouldn’t be, but I am. I was so afraid of dying without seeing you again.”

He cups my cheek. “I’ve lived a lifetime without you, Vanya. I’d rather die than go through that again.”

“You can’t mean that,” I whisper, pressing my cheek into his palm.

“I was dead inside when you were gone,” he says, his voice rough with something darker than fear. “Maybe for these few hours, we can remember what it felt like to be alive.”

When he kisses me, it’s raw with pain, but there’s hope there too. His mouth closes over mine, urgent and demanding. The years have changed us both, carved new edges where there was once softness, but this—this primal recognition—remains unchanged.

My chains rattle as I reach for him, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. I taste blood—his or mine, I don’t know—as teeth catch on lips, neither of us willing to be gentle. Gentleness is a luxury for people with time. We have only hours.

“I watched you burn,” he rasps against my throat, voice fractured with old grief. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling myhead back to expose my neck to his mouth. “I stood there while they lit the pyre. I couldn’t look away—couldn’t move—”

“I’m here.” I bite at his jaw, needing to ground him in the now. “I’m real. Feel me.”

His grip tightens painfully, a welcome reminder that we’re both still flesh and blood. When he pushes me back against the wall, the cold stone against my spine is a counterpoint to the heat of his body pressing against mine. The chains limit my movement, but I work with what I have, arching into him, seeking friction, contact, proof of life.

“Show me you’re real,” I demand, my voice unrecognizable with need. “Make me feel something besides fear.”

He tears at my clothing—not destroying what I’ll need later, but creating access to skin he’s been denied for too long. When his mouth closes over my breast, it’s not with gentle worship but hungry possession. I cry out, the sound echoing off stone walls, and he covers my mouth with his hand.

“Quiet,” he warns, though his eyes are wild with desire. “Or they’ll separate us.”

I nod against his palm, and when he removes it, I pull him back to me, biting his lower lip in warning and promise. “Then keep me quiet.”

The challenge ignites something darker in his expression. He kisses me again, deeper, consuming, one hand pinning both my wrists against the wall while the other works between us, pushing aside fabric to find the heat between my thighs.

“God, you’re soaked,” he growls against my mouth, fingers finding my core with unerring accuracy. “Some things don’t change.”

I’d laugh if I could breathe, but his touch has robbed me of oxygen. He works my clit with the confidence of someone who once knew every inch of my body, who remembers exactly howto reduce me to trembling need. When his fingers slide inside me, I bite his shoulder to muffle my cry.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this,” he confesses, voice raw as he works me toward the edge. “About having you again. About making you come apart in my hands.”

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