I kissed him like I was starving. Like if I stopped for even a breath, the hunger in me would rot. His mouth was fire against mine, his hands everywhere, grounding and claiming all at once. There was no performance left in me, just need. Just him. And gods, it felt good. Messy, urgent, real. For the first time in ever, I wasn't thinking about how to move, how to sound, how to fake what someone else wanted. I was just… here. Wanting him.
I pulled his shirt off without even breaking the kiss. My hands explored the sharp lines of him, the shifting tattoos, the perfection he probably didn't even know he carried. Every sound he made, low, guttural, desperate, unraveled me more. When his hands slid under my dress, tugging it away piece by piece, I didn't stop him. For once, I didn't want to. I wanted this. Him. Us. Then his hands found them. The runes. His runes. The ones etched into my ribs, carved with his name before I ever knew his voice.
His touch faltered. Stilled. And then his lips followed, tracing every swirl, every mark, reverent, worshipful. My breath caught. For a heartbeat, I wanted to believe it was about me. That he was worshipping me. But no, the panic was faster. Sharper. Of course. Of course this was why.
Not me. Never me. It was the runes. His runes. His mark. He wasn't kissing me. He was kissing what had been stolen and carved into me long before this night. My chest went tight, a sour heat crawling up my throat. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the roar in my skull. I tore away from him, arms crossing over my body as if I could somehow shield myself. Guard myself. The warmth of his touch vanished instantly. The intimacy, the closeness, all shattered in a blink.
"I—" My voice cracked. I didn't even know what I was trying to say.
His eyes were still on me, on the runes, and it made my skin burn like a brand. I stumbled back, lips swollen, breath uneven, curling inward like I could fold myself into nothing. Because it didn't matter how good it had felt. Didn't matter how much I wanted him. In the end, he hadn't wanted me. He'd wanted the curse carved into my skin.
I shook my head so hard it almost hurt, eyes darting away from him, anywhere but those molten eyes."I don't want you to want me because you're pulled to me," I blurted, the words jagged, uneven. "To my runes."
The air thickened between us. I hated how small my voice sounded. How pathetic. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep from unraveling. "Annie," he huffed. "I don't give a damn about your runes. I care about you."
Oh. Oh hells. He said it. Not dressed in charm or smirking innuendo. Not wrapped in chaos. Just, out. Like it was the simplest truth in the world. I froze. Every muscle in my body locked tight, like if I moved, the moment would shatter. Then softer, "Annie... I care about you."
My head snapped back toward him, eyes narrowing, searching his face for the trick. For the illusion. For the game. But his gaze didn't waver.
"Annie, look at me," he said, impossibly soft this time.
Gods above, help me, I did. Slowly. Hesitantly. Like I was walking into a storm without cover. That's when it happened. Betrayal of the highest order. Tears. Hot and uninvited, stinging my eyes before I could stop them. My chest clenched, throat closing, because I didn't cry. I didn't. Not anymore. I hadn't cried since I was a child. But here I was, unraveling under him.
His face shifted. Something broke in him."Annie…" he whispered, voice frayed and trembling in ways I didn't think him capable of. "I care about you."
The words landed heavy, too heavy. They pressed into every scar, every wall I had bricked around myself. I just stared. Not detached. Not smirking. No mask to hide behind. Just me. Raw. Bare. Too much. And he looked… unsettled. Like somehow my tears, my honesty, were more dangerous than blades, more terrifying than battle. The God of Chaos, undone by a single woman seeing him without his armor. I couldn't decide if it was salvation. Or the cruelest trick of all.
"Annie, please say something."
I blinked, like I'd just remembered how to be a person again. My mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Useless.
"I—"
Oh gods, this was going to be painful. My hands fidgeted in my lap. My weight shifted like I was standing on unstable ground. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this unsure of myself. Probably never.
"I… okay, listen, I don't… this is… ugh." I pressed the heel of my palm to my forehead, groaning at myself.
Malvor just stood there. Watching me. Waiting. Not smirking. Not mocking. Which only made it worse.
"It's just…" I let out a shaky breath. "I don't really… know how to… this isn't. Damn it!" My words stumbled all over themselves, clumsy and broken. "You just—" I gestured at him like he was the problem. "You just say things! Like they're easy! But it's not easy! It's not easy, Malvor! I don't, I don't know how to just… be."
The air left my lungs in a rush. My hand slid through my hair, and I stared at anything but him. "I don't know how to explain it. I don't even know what it is. I just—" My voice softened. "I just know it's… different." That was all I had. That was everything. It didn't feel like enough. But then his fingers tilted my chin up. Gentle. Firm. Forcing my eyes to meet his.
"Annie," he murmured, low, certain. "That is enough. You are enough." The words hit like a breaking point. And I broke. Not a pretty tear down the cheek. Not silent sorrow. Ugly, body-wracking sobs. Breath stolen from my lungs. Shoulders shaking. Everything spilling out like I'd held it too long.
Malvor didn't hesitate. He caught me. His arms wrapped around me, holding me together as I fell apart.
"Shhh, Annie, it's alright," he whispered into my hair. Rocking me gently, his hands steady on my back, his touch grounding.
"I've got you, beautiful. You're okay. I've got you."
All the gods help me, he meant it. I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered. Maybe he was. Because something shifted. Something inside me finally settled. I wasn't just Anastasia anymore. Not the shrine girl. Not the carved vessel. Not the role. I was Annie. Not a title given. Not a role forced. Mine. My name. My self. Annie. Worst of all… it didn't scare me that he called me that. That he made me feel like it belonged to me. Here, with him, I was free. Free to feel. Free to cry. Free to start healing.
⟡༶⚜︎༶⟡
Malvor held me like I was precious. Like I wouldn't shatter in his arms. His warmth was steady, safe, terrifying.
"It's alright, Annie," he murmured. "You don't have to hold it all in anymore." I believed him. Gods, I believed him. "Thank you, Malvor. Thank you for everything."
He froze. I felt it. Not because I'd thanked him. He'd heard me thank him for small things before. But because this was different. Because I meant it. Because I was grateful.
"Thank you for everything." Something warm pressed between us. Dangerous. Unnamed.
"Oh, Annie," he said finally, lazy grin plastered over whatever that warmth was, "keep talking like that and I might just think you like me."
A watery laugh escaped me. Real. "I don't know about that, Malvor… but I think… I don't hate you."
His hand threaded through my hair, still holding me close. "I'll take it, Annie Love."
We broke apart eventually. But not far. Something lingered between us. Raw. Quiet. Alive. Neither of us said it. Neither of us dared. Instead, Malvor did what Malvor always did. He shattered the moment with nonsense. "Let's build a sandcastle, Annie."
I blinked. Then again. "What?"
He stood, hands on hips, grin wide and ridiculous. "A sandcastle, my beautiful Annie. My emotionally devastating Annie. My—"
I lifted a hand. "One more nickname, Malvor, and I will drown you."
His grin widened. "Oh, Annie, I'd like to see you try."
Just like that, the weight eased. We didn't bother dressing. Didn't care about messy hair or flushed skin. We sank into the sand side by side and started building. Ridiculous at first. Chaotic. Sand flying everywhere. Malvor gasping dramatically when I smacked him. But then… it became more.
Our hands moved together. Towers rose. Walls smoothed. Arches shaped. Until Malvor, being Malvor, snapped his fingers and transformed the whole thing into a masterpiece. A castle fit for kings and queens. I laughed. Full. Free. And Malvor, Malvor looked at me like it was the most beautiful sound in the world. We sat there as the sun sank low. His arm around me. My head leaning into him. Silent. Just… together. For the first time in my life, I wasn't surviving. I was simply living.