Page 124 of Stolen
Because part of me doesn’t want to know.
Not really.
Not if the truth cuts deep enough to bleed out all the fragile hope I’ve been holding onto.
But the other part—the fierce, stubborn part that has loved him from the moment he roared my name across a burning sky—needs to hear it.
That part needs to know if I was chosen or just convenient. Needs to believe that whatever brought us together wasn’t just fate playing games.
So I sit still, aching and raw, braced for heartbreak, breath held between the lines of what hehasn'tsaid yet.
My heart is a storm.
My soul’s already his.
And when he opens his mouth to speak, I’m terrified.
But I’m also ready. Because if we’re going to burn, then let it be together.
Please.
“Nothing I could have planned would have ever prepared me for the wonderful reality of you, Jules.”
I frown, caught between confusion and the soft, aching pull in my chest. “What are you talking about?”
He exhales, and something raw glimmers in his silver eyes.
“I’m talking aboutyou. Your sass, your fire. The way you challenged me when others cowered. You never bowed. Youneverlet the crown blind you. You sawme—not the monster, not just the Dragon, not the Lord of Illusion with too much blood on his hands—butme. And hell yes, you terrified me.”
His voice breaks for half a second, like the weight of it all might crush him if he doesn’t get it out.
“Because when I claimed you, when I sank into your softness, your strength, your incomparable beauty—the truth is, youclaimedme right back. You didn’t even know it, did you? But youhaveme, Myrrin. Body, heart, and soul of a Dragon. The zareth doesn’t lie. And I will never lie to you, by will or omission ever again. Even my Dragon chooses you. My Zharaya. Dragon Rider.”
“But—”
“Shade told me you know what that means. Don’t deny what we have, I beg you. I swear, from that very first time, our bond settled around me like fire and silk, and it didn’t feel like power or strategy or seduction. It felt likehome.”
My throat burns. My heart’s barely beating right. But I force the question, anyway, needing it like air.
“And the others? Dauphiné said?—”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to look away or sugarcoat the answer.
“If you want to hear about my past—about meaningless nights and cold dalliances made in haste to satisfy a physical need—I’ll tell you. Every single one. If you insist. But those that came before?”
His jaw tightens.
“They were shadows, Jules. Flickers of hunger and nothing more. They never touched what you touch. They never saw what you see.”
I swallow hard. “So they didn’t matter, but I’m supposed to believe that I do.”
It’s not a question. It’s a wound.
And Alaric steps into it like he’s already bleeding too.
He cups my face, reverent and shaking.
“Youarethe only one who has ever mattered. And, for fuck’s sake, Jules, damn me to hell if you must, but I swear, you are the only one who ever will.”
