Nine was still breathless beneath me, his pale cheeks flushed, the corner of his mouth caught on the edge of a smile. His hair was sticking up in every direction. I liked him like this—alive, laughing, untamed.
"Mercy?" I asked, smugly victorious.
He gave the smallest nod, still catching his breath.
I rolled off him and landed beside him with a huff, both of us sprawled out on the bed like we'd survived a war. Silence settled again, warm and easy.
After a long moment, he reached for me. Just his fingers—brushing along mine, not grabbing, not pulling. An invitation, not a request.
So I laced mine with his.
And then, without a word, I brought his hand to my lips.
I kissed the tip of each finger, slow and reverent.
He stilled. Breath hitched.
I didn't look at him.
I kissed the back of his knuckles next. Then lower—right into his palm. Like it was holy. Like I could rewrite everything he'd ever touched with something softer.
When I looked up, he was staring at me, eyes wide and glassy.
"I do think about it," he whispered, voice raw with something too fragile to name. "Leaving."
I didn't speak. Just nodded.
"I want that," he said, more certain this time. "A house. You. A garden. Quiet. No one touching me without my permission. No one telling me what I was made for."
The last part made something in my chest twist.
"But…" he hesitated. "How can you leave the others?"
That was the question, wasn't it?
How could I walk away when there were still hybrids locked in their rooms, still creatures in cages pretending not to dream?
I didn't have an answer.
I turned my face, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist.
Then his forearm.
Then—gently, without rush—I rolled over him and leaned down.
My lips found the hollow just beneath his jaw. The place where his pulse fluttered.
And finally, slowly, I pressed my mouth to the mark I'd left on his neck—his mating mark.
He trembled beneath me.
Not in fear.
Not anymore.
I didn't pull away. I kissed it again, firmer this time, open-mouthed. Letting him feel the heat in it.
His breath hitched sharply, fingers curling into the sheets.
We'll figure out the rest later, Nyx murmured, voice a slow, satisfied hum. But tonight? He's ours.
I brushed his hair back, kissed his temple. "Whatever we do next," I whispered, "we do together. You and me."
Nine didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
The way he arched beneath me said enough.
The way he let his hands trail up my back and pull me closer—closer than close—said even more.
I kissed down the side of his neck, chasing the heat. Letting him feel it.
And when I pressed my body fully to his and he gasped softly into my ear—
That was the moment I knew.
We'd find a way out.
But for tonight?
I was going to worship him.
And he was going to let me.