Page 8 of A Realm of Fire and Ash

The steady thump of his heart under my ear soothes me, and mine beats in time with his.

To fae, saving yourself for a mate isn't an unusual thing. Even if it takes thousands of years for you to cross yours, if you're lucky enough to have one, you almost always will know it ahead of time.

I'm the last of our kind to not have a mate at all. But if I can just spend time in his orbit, basking in the bliss that it is to be near him … it might be enough.

Wilder’s fingers trace the shell bracelet around my wrist, a comfortable gesture he does every time he lies next to me. In turn, my fingers find their way under his shirt, resting on the elevated area near his heart. I like being close to the space beneath his ribcage where one of my own feathers was imbedded during a ritual. It now sits inside his skin like a raised tattoo.

Fae feathers can bring people back to life if they’re killed, provided they aren’t children, so mine will keep Wilder safe. A phoenix feather can grant anyone immortality, and I’d given him mine in exchange for the beautiful shell bracelet that sits around my wrist. He’d told me that the gift of a shell from a merfae is the sign of a vow, but he still hasn’t got around to telling me what his promise was.

He rests his chin against the top of my head, his breath heavy and deep, as if every part of him is consumed with worry for me. His warmth radiates through me, and I can feel the intensity of his emotion as he whispers, "You don't have to do this alone anymore. I'll come to you. If I'd known it was like this for you ..."

I laugh softly, but the sound is stifled by the weight of the moment. His grip tightens on my chin as he lifts it up, so that our eyes lock. His gaze burns into me and I can feel the fierce commitment behind his words: "I want to."

"Maybe we can take turns." I smile up at him. "I've spent my whole life below ground. I want to see the rest of the world."

He grins at me, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly. "I'd be happy to show you," he says, his voice low and silky. "But first..." He leans in, his breath hot against my cheek as he brushes his lips against mine.

I melt into the kiss, every fiber of my being surrendering to his touch. His lips are soft and insistent as he deepens the kiss. The warmth emanating from his body intensifies as he pulls me closer to him, molding our bodies together until there is no space between us.

I moan into his mouth, my body responding involuntarily as he runs his hands down my back and over my hips. I feel a hunger building inside of me, an urge to take him deeper, to feel every inch of him inside of me.

For months, he’s been my only friend outside of Castanea. My secret. The one my beast craves to make her own whenever he’s nearby. Our magic intertwines, feeling so right. This.

I want this, forever.

But merfae only sleep with their anchors.

As though the thought reaches him the same time it reaches me, he pulls away, all my senses still alive with the sensation of being his. With a low, throaty purr he utters the words, "I've been waiting an eternity to do that."

"What took you so long?" I grin against him, burrowing further into his chest. Though I already know the reason. I am not his anchor. We must remain content with our friendship.

"I must've been lost in my own kind of wasteland, waiting for you."

* * *

Present Day

A wasteland.That’s what it’s felt like since he’s been gone.

A firm hand strokes my hair, his touch reverent, seeking. "You're hurt," he whispers into my ear before he places his lips there to deliver a lace of heat.

"Wilder ...?" His name is nothing but the faintest of whimpers. "Am I dead? Truly?" It's the only explanation.

His chuckle reverberates against my chest. "No, Little Bird. You're in the basement level of the prison. Someone's beast is on the loose, but you probably already know that. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

I nod, unable to muster any more words. Tears fall in earnest as I wrap my arms around him. He holds me, pressing gentle kisses against my forehead as I sink to my knees, my injuries not even a factor, but my pain soul deep.

"I'd heard about the fierce little warrior they send in to eliminate dangerous targets. You don't know how proud I am of you." Wilder takes a deep, steadying breath. "I thought you still hated me ..."

The quiet admission is tinged with such agony that the balance inside me shifts.

"Never in my life have I hated you." My voice breaks. "They wouldn't let me come see you. I promise, I try every week." Not even my status as Commander of our most elite squadron gained me entrance, and not for a lack of trying. Inmates don't get letters here. And only mates can get a visitor's pass.

"Every week?" he asks, incredulous. "I've been in here nearly two hundred years, Morte."

"I know." Silence stretches between us, an overwhelming sadness decaying inside my chest. It threatens to drain the life out of my soul. Until six months ago, I'd come daily. That was before I'd made the squadron.

Wilder pulls me into his lap, the brush of our magic tangling together, embracing at last.

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