Page 51 of Stolen
Magic erupts from our joined bodies—silver lightning crashing through the air, blinding and hot.
The bed shakes.
The walls quake.
My wings flare wide, catching the blast of raw power as a bond forms between us.
Unbreakable. Irrefutable.
Real.
I see it, my mark as it sears into her skin in glowing silver.
An ancient symbol.
A tether.
A soul-knot.
This is it. The Zareth.
It shouldn't be possible. Not with a human. Not like this.
But I feel it.
Like a silver tether locked around our hearts and anchored deep into Nightfall’s core.
And suddenly, all my plans—my schemes, my lies, my illusions—mean nothing.
Because this bond doesn’t lie.
This magic does not bend.
And it scares the shit out of me.
I look down at her. She’s panting, glowing, marked with my bite and filled with my seed.
Her eyes—half-lidded and dazed—find mine.
“Wow. W-what was that?” she breathes.
I press my lips to her temple and whisper the only truth that matters now:
“It means you are mine,Myrrin. Myviyella.”
Impossible.
And yetreal.
Her body shivers beneath mine, a tremor of aftershocks rippling through her as her hand lifts to the place where I bit her.
My mark glows faintly, silver and fire beneath her skin.
Claimed. Bound. Mine.
She touches it gently, fingers brushing the bruised flesh, and lifts those dark eyes to mine.
“And are you mine, Alaric?” she asks, teasing, playful—yet there’s something raw in her voice.
