The horns grew louder as Alix and Donstram descended the last crumbling steps of the Citadel. The sound rolled across the plain like distant thunder—royal hunters, closing fast. The mist had thickened into a cold, clinging fog that swallowed sound and sight alike. They didn't speak. They simply moved.
Donstram led, his stride long and sure despite the exhaustion bleeding through the bond. Alix followed close enough to feel the heat radiating from his back. The Shadowed Vale lay north and west, a deep rift in the earth said to swallow light and spit out nightmares. If the oracle was right, the next piece of the ritual waited there. If the king's men caught them first, none of it would matter.
They reached the edge of the plateau just as the first drops of rain began to fall—fat, icy, promising worse. Lightning flickered on the horizon. The storm was coming fast.
"Vale's another two hours if we push," Donstram said, voice rough. "We won't make it dry."
Alix glanced at the darkening sky. "We need shelter. Now."
He nodded once. They veered left, following a narrow game trail that snaked down the hillside toward a cluster of jagged rocks. Lightning cracked again, closer. Thunder rolled through their bones.
They found the cave just as the rain turned vicious—a narrow fissure in the cliff face, barely wide enough for two people to pass shoulder-to-shoulder. Donstram ducked inside first, sword drawn, checking for occupants. Empty. Dry enough. He waved her in.
The entrance was low. Alix had to bend nearly double. The moment she straightened, the storm broke fully outside—wind howling, rain lashing the rocks like a living thing trying to claw its way in. She pressed her back to the cool stone wall and let out a shaky breath.
Donstram sheathed his sword and shook water from his cloak. "We're stuck here till it passes."
Alix nodded. The cave was small—maybe ten feet deep, six wide. No room to keep real distance. The bond thrummed louder in the confined space, echoing every heartbeat, every shift of breath. She felt him too clearly: the adrenaline still singing in his veins, the low burn of pain from old scars, the sharp edge of awareness he had of her—every movement, every inhale.
She turned away, pretending to inspect the back wall. Her dress clung to her skin, soaked through. The fabric was thin in places; she could feel the cold seeping into her bones. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide the way her nipples had hardened against the wet cloth.
Donstram noticed. Of course he did.
He shrugged out of his cloak—still damp, but heavier, warmer—and draped it over her shoulders without asking. The weight settled around her like an embrace. It smelled of him: smoke, leather, steel, and something darker, earthier, that made her stomach tighten.
"Thank you," she murmured.
He grunted. "Don't get used to it."
But he didn't move away.
They stood there in silence while the storm raged outside. Lightning flashed, illuminating the cave in stark white bursts. Each time it did, she caught glimpses of him: the hard line of his jaw, the scar that ran from temple to cheekbone, the way water dripped from his dark hair and traced slow paths down the column of his throat.
The bond pulsed. Heat bloomed low in her belly—hers, his, it didn't matter anymore. The line between them had blurred too far.
Donstram spoke first, voice low. "You're shaking."
"It's cold."
He stepped closer. Not touching. Not yet. "You're a terrible liar."
She lifted her chin. "And you're avoiding the obvious."
His gaze dropped to her mouth. "What's obvious?"
"That we're both thinking about it."
Lightning flashed again. Thunder followed almost instantly. The cave seemed to shrink.
Donstram exhaled roughly. "We're enemies."
"Were."
"Are." But his voice lacked conviction.
Alix took one step. Then another. Until the space between them was nothing at all. She could feel the heat radiating from his chest. The bond sang—hot, insistent, demanding.
"I don't hate you," she whispered.
His hand lifted slowly, as if giving her every chance to pull away. His knuckles brushed her cheek, rough and calloused. "I should hate you."
"But you don't."
"No." His thumb traced the edge of her lower lip. "I don't."
The next flash of lightning caught them mid-motion.
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was hunger—years of rage and loneliness and denial crashing together in one bruising collision. His mouth claimed hers like he'd been starving for it. Alix's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, deeper. She bit his lower lip; he growled against her mouth, the sound vibrating through her entire body.
He backed her against the cave wall. Stone was cold against her spine; his body was fire everywhere else. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. She arched into him, needing more, needing everything.
The bond exploded with sensation—his arousal, thick and heavy; her own slick heat; the sharp sting of nails digging into skin. They fed it back and forth until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Donstram broke the kiss long enough to drag his mouth down her throat. He found the place where her pulse hammered and bit down—not hard enough to break skin, just enough to make her gasp. Her fingers tangled in his wet hair, holding him there.
"Tell me to stop," he rasped against her skin.
"Don't you dare."
He groaned—low, broken—and lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. The hard length of him pressed against her core through their clothes, and she rocked against him without shame, chasing friction.
His hands shoved her skirt up, bunching the wet fabric around her waist. Fingers found bare skin, traced the line of her thigh, higher. When he cupped her through the thin undergarment, he cursed under his breath.
"You're soaked."
"For you," she breathed. "Always for you."
Something in him snapped.
He tore the cloth aside. Two fingers plunged into her without warning. Alix cried out, head falling back against stone. He pumped slowly, deliberately, watching her face like a man memorizing every flicker of pleasure.
"More," she demanded.
He added a third finger, stretching her. His thumb circled her clit in tight, ruthless strokes. The bond amplified everything—each thrust, each brush, echoed back twice as strong.
She came hard and fast, clenching around his fingers, crying his name into the storm.
He didn't stop. He worked her through it, drawing out every aftershock until she was trembling, boneless.
Then he lowered her to the cave floor, spreading his cloak beneath her like a makeshift bed. He stripped his shirt with rough movements, revealing the map of scars across his chest and abdomen—old battles, older betrayals. Beautiful in their brutality.
Alix reached for him. He caught her wrists, pinned them above her head with one hand. The other worked his belt open, shoved his trousers down just enough.
His cock sprang free—thick, hard, flushed dark. Alix's mouth watered.
He settled between her thighs, the blunt head nudging her entrance. He looked down at her, eyes nearly black with want.
"Last chance," he growled.
She lifted her hips. "I want to feel you break inside me."
He thrust.
Deep. Hard. All the way.
They both groaned—raw, animal sounds. He stilled for a heartbeat, letting her adjust, letting the bond sear them together until there was no separation left.
Then he moved.
Slow at first—long, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. Then faster. Harder. The slap of skin against skin echoed louder than the thunder outside.
Alix wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper. Her nails raked down his back. He hissed, hips snapping forward with punishing force.
The bond burned white-hot. Every sensation doubled, tripled. She felt his pleasure as her own—the tight coil in his balls, the ache to bury himself so deep she'd never forget him. He felt hers—the fluttering clench around him, the desperate need to be filled, claimed, ruined.
He fucked her like a man possessed.
She came again—screaming this time, body bowing off the cloak. He followed seconds later, burying his face in her throat as he spilled inside her, hot and endless.
They stayed locked together, breathing ragged, hearts hammering in perfect sync.
After a long moment, Donstram lifted his head. His eyes were soft now—almost tender.
He brushed damp hair from her forehead. "We're not enemies anymore."
Alix smiled, lazy and sated. "We never really were."
Outside, the storm began to ease.
Unique insight drifted through the haze of pleasure: Intimacy was the ultimate rebellion against a curse built on isolation. To touch, to take, to give—that was the truest breaking of chains.
And they had only just begun.