Everything is so impossibly perfect. The flowers, pretty little bluebells bursting free from the damp earth, cushioning our steps and dancing in the breeze. The fireflies, too, which seem to be dancing around Rowan as if eager to offer my mate a crown of starlight.
Rowan’s hand is still cradling mine, wrapped around the carved cedar wolf he made for me. His expression is reverent and open, and I know that he’s never dared be so vulnerable with anyone else before. There’s no fear in his eyes, no hesitation. Only hope and love.
I know that’s exactly what this is.
He loves me.
He loves me more than he cares about the prophecy. More than he regrets the potential for ruin that’s always loomed like a shadow over his head.
I pull back just enough to see his face. His pupils are blown wide, his breath uneven. There’s a tremble in the hand still holding mine, like he can’t quite believe this is happening-both of us here in Greenbriar territory, back where it all began.
Honestly, I’m having a hard time maintaining my grip on reality, too.
Even when I hated him, I wanted this.
In my stupidest and wildest fantasies, I used to imagine this. That he’d show up one day, broken and sorry and wild with need, and he’d fall to his knees and beg me to take him back. To repair the bond we never got the chance to savor. To be his, truly and fully. I used to dream of this moment in the dark, in those long and aching nights when I was pregnant and alone and terrified. When I would curl around my growing belly and whisper promises to the child inside me.
Promises that I didn’t think I’d ever be strong enough to keep.
But maybe I am. Maybe I’ve always been stronger than I gave myself credit for. And maybe now, finally, it’s time to stop running.
“I always thought,” I murmur. “That if this ever happened, if you ever came back for me, I’d slam the door in your face. I’d curse you out and tell you that you were too late.”
“You did do that.”
“I tried.”
“I know.” Rowan frowns softly, recalling those rocky first few days between us when our paths unexpectedly crossed again.
“But when you say those words, Rowan, when you sit here and ask me to be your Luna, I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a dream I never let myself have.”
I let out a breath, shaky and raw.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “I’m still scared. Trusting doesn’t come easily to me.”
Rowan kisses my forehead lightly. “I know, baby.”
I reach out, cupping his cheek, running my thumb along the stubble at his jaw. “But love is scary, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that fear is sometimes the clearest sign you’re standing in front of something real.”
He turns his face into my palm, eyes closing, and I feel the warmth of his lips press gently against my skin.
I smile through the rush of tears. “So, of course I’ll be your wife. I’ll be your Luna. I’ll stand by your side, no matter what.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, the bond between us swells so suddenly and violently that I gasp. It feels like what I imagine being struck by lightning is like, but softer and sweeter. A thousand threads of golden light pull tight between us, snapping into place, forging something stronger than fate itself.
He rises to his feet then, pulling me gently up with him. His arms slide around me, one hand splayed against my lower back, the other tangling in the base of my braid.
He kisses me like it’s the first time. Like he’s been waiting a decade to taste me again. I know he has.
I melt into him, letting the bond settle into every aching, hollow space inside me. There’s no more room for doubt, not anymore.
His hands are sure and strong as he lifts me into his arms, carrying me a few feet into the trees until we’re cloaked in dappled shade and pine-scented silence. I try to squeak out a protest, but he grumbles in my ear that he’s perfectly stable enough to haul me around. I bury my face against his neck, breathing in his rain-dampened earth and mountain breeze scent.
He lays me down gently on the mossy forest floor, and I shiver beneath him. Not from cold, but from memory. From how familiar this feels, and from how it all began, right here in the wild one fire-lit night ten years ago.
The forest around us is a cathedral of spring: wild, alive, and sacred.
Twilight has settled in, casting dusky shadows through the canopy of pine boughs and maple leaves. Fireflies float lazily through shafts of bluish evening light like embers set adrift, and the air is rich with the scent of blossoming bluebells, damp soil, and something rich and warmer. Him.
“We don’t have to rush,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick. “We can take our time.”
“No rush,” I breathe softly, pulling him in close and pressing my hand to his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath my palm, and I feel the way it jumps when I lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. “It’s just the two of us.”
His hands are at my waist before I finish speaking, and the look in his eyes is like gravity. It pulls me in, anchoring me to him in a permanent sort of way.
Rowan doesn’t rush to kiss me. Instead, he just stares at me for a while, like he’s savoring the moment, or like he’s trying to memorize every part of me all over again.
Then comes the brush of his thumbs at my hips. The flush rising in my cheeks. The way my breath hitches just from his gaze alone.
When his mouth finds mine again, the kiss is unhurried and deep, the kind of kiss that undoes me piece by piece. He takes his time, tongue tracing the seam of my lips, coaxing me open. I melt into him with a sigh, fingers tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss further. His hands slide up my sides, under my shirt, over bare skin, thumbs circling just beneath my ribs. I arch into him instinctively, and he groans softly at the contact.
“You always do this to me,” he whispers, lips grazing my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. “You make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”
I laugh breathlessly. “Good.”
He growls softly at that and shifts so that he’s settled between my spread thighs. Petals scatter around us in the breeze, catching in my hair, and fireflies drift above us like stars that came down to witness this exact moment. His weight settles over me, warm and solid and so beautifully familiar it aches.
He kisses his way down my body like he’s tracing a map. Neck, collarbone, the curve of my breast. My shirt is peeled away slowly, lovingly, and is soon followed by the swift tug of my leggings down my thighs until the night air kisses my bare skin. I shiver, but not from the chill.
Rowan’s mouth finds every place that makes me tremble. His hands know me well, and yet there’s reverence in every touch like he’s discovering me for the first time all over again. He kisses the inside of my wrist, then my hipbone, then lower, until I’m arching off the ground, gasping his name like a prayer I forgot I knew how to say.
He doesn’t rush. He worships, stroking me with his tongue as if he’s been starving for me. When I cry out his name, it only urges him on, and he holds on to my trembling legs until my eyes are pricking with tears from how overwhelming the climax is.
By the time he comes back up to kiss me again, I’m shaking with insatiable need. I reach for him, tugging at his shirt, his belt. I want to feel all of him, now.
When our bodies finally align, skin to skin, chest to chest, his breath stutters against my lips.
“You feel like home, Alina,” he says, voice raw. “You are my home.”
“And you are mine.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.