Page 32 of For Her, He Falls

come into focus. Tristan rubs my shoulder, massaging some of the tension as I raise a hand to my chest.

The thing that restarted my heart... was it the Goddess's touch or my mate's? The pain in my sternum from Tristan's chest compressions feels far more solid and plausible than the hazy memory of a woman made of moonlight. Already it's starting to fade from my mind, and trying to picture her is like trying to remember a dream after sleep has worn off.

"Can you check for me?" I ask Tristan with my eyes still closed. I'm too nervous to look.

Tristan's laugh rumbles against me before he replies, his voice still giddy with relief as his other hand lands gently on top of my own, resting reassuringly over my heart.

"You're awake now, my little flower. I think that means your heart is beating again."

"No, not my heart," I shake my head, finally opening my eyes to meet his. "The crescent mark."

The curse... is it still there?

Chapter Twenty

"Iris... darling..."

"What? Is it still there? It is, isn't it?" I ask through gritted teeth. "I really thought this would work. I thought she removed it. I—"

"Iris, stop talking and look," Tristan commands, and I tilt my chin down to stare at my chest.

The mark of the moon is still there, but it's no longer a crescent-shaped scar on my skin. It doesn't glow like it did before with a burning sort of light, but when I prop myself up on my elbows to look at it better, it shimmers softly, as if someone ground up pearls and diamonds and used the powder to paint the mark onto my skin rather than engraved it like a birthmark. Instead of the same old shape, the symbol has shifted to become three different phases of the moon pressed against each other, waxing, full, and waning. The waxing moon is represented by a crescent moon facing right, with the full moon represented by a circle in the center, and the waning moon facing left on the other side.

A symbol of the changing phases and the cycle of life: moon maiden, mother, and crone.

"What does it mean?" Tristan asks, his brows furrowing as he crouches in front of me to run his fingertips over the new mark.

"It means something new," I whisper with a smile. It means that just like the moon itself, the Goddess changes. My fingers brush up against Tristan's as I trace the outline of the mark, feeling a soft warmth spreading beneath, almost like the magic is acknowledging me.

It feels like a promise. It feels like love. No longer the mark of a curse, but a blessing.

"Does that mean...?" Tristan's voice trails off, his eyes flickering up to meet mine, and the hope there makes me giddy.

"It means I'm free. The Goddess gave me her blessing." He laughs in awe, staring at me as though he can't fully believe it. I take his hand and squeeze it tightly and reassure him, "We're free to be together."

He pulls me closer to him, his golden eyes glowing with pride and... something else.

"You did it," he whispers, and the joy in his voice is a mirror of my own. I breathe in his scent of honey and spice and smoke, my body tightening with desire.

"What are you waiting for?" I ask breathlessly, feeling more awake than I have in a long time. The drowsiness has worn off, and though my chest is still sore, the faint discomfort is absolutely inconsequential and quickly forgotten. "Kiss me."

He happily obeys, and his lips press against my own, hard and sensual. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact that we're both still wearing nothing but our undergarments, and then his hands are on my body, and I can't think of anything else.

There is no pain. No ache or shock. There is only his skin against mine and the taste of him on my lips. This time, the tingling heat inside me is intoxicating and utterly divine. I drape my legs over the back of his hips, holding him tightly against me. We finish stripping until there is nothing between us, and every time we pull away, his eyes remain glued on mine, staring into my soul in a way that makes the connection between us feel tangible.

He tastes every intimate part of me, savoring the goosebumps on my skin. I'm left shivering as he toys with my pleasure with nimble hands and hungry lips, my toes curled as he lavishes me with attention. When he shifts again to kiss me, we're both panting softly, and the sweat on his tan skin glistens in the soft light. Outside, the moon shines just for us, and I take a moment to marvel at the man in my bed. His chestnut hair has tussled, muscles shift across his broad shoulders, every inch of his toned and carved out of something that reminds me of cinnamon and sunlight.

When he fills me, I gasp at the sensation, digging my nails into his skin as I cling to him in pleasure. He kisses the spot between my shoulder and my neck as he moves inside me, and when his teeth sink into the sensitive skin there, it does not hurt. It's shocking but far from unpleasant. I feel electric and alive as he marks me, my inner wolf purring in delight as our bond snaps into place.

The telepathy we had before through the mind link is little more than a tin can on a string compared to the channel that now opens up between us. His mind flows into mine, and I see myself through his eyes as he makes love to me. His thoughts open up to me, the spirit of his wolf stirring to meet my own, and I can feel every ounce of affection pouring out of him.

I see it all now.

Every stolen glance in my direction. The reluctant smiles whenever I did something that cracked the walls he'd built up inside himself. How the casual brush of my skin against his made him want to pull me into his arms. Every flower I tended to in the garden of the villa that seemed to bloom brighter under my care. The burst of pride when we trained on the balcony, and I knocked him on his ass. Every scar on my skin that he longed to cover in kisses until the thought of him overrode the memories of those who had hurt me. How relief had flooded him when he saw me again on that bridge. An all-consuming anger at the thought of someone laying a hand on me and harming me. Every broken word I stuttered and how my muttering made him want to bite my lower lip affectionately. The raw admiration and awe when he saw me defeat my enemy on the battlefield. The terror that threatened to consume him and tear him apart when I fell limp in his arms, and my heart stopped beating.

It is one thing to hear someone tell you they love you. It is another thing entirely to be able to feel it for yourself. As I look into those golden eyes that I adore, I can see him thinking the same thing as my own mind spills into his. The mating bond between us solidifies as our pleasure peaks, and I don't know for how long we lie there after, tangled up in each other with racing hearts and ragged breaths.

Eventually, we fall asleep in one another's arms. Despite my exhaustion, I cannot wait to wake up again. For once, I cannot dream of a life better than the one I am already living.

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