That night, the bond snapped taut between them.
The fire in the den burned low, shadows dancing across the stone walls. The wolves slept, their breathing steady, but Kael did not. He sat near the flames, his green eyes watching her as though she were the only thing that existed.
Aradia could not bear it. She crossed the room, her bare feet silent against the furs, until she stood before him.
"You stare as if I'll disappear," she whispered.
"I fear you might," he admitted, his voice low, rough with honesty. "I fear I will wake and find your fire gone, stolen by shadow."
Her chest ached, her hand lifting to brush his cheek. "I am here."
His hand caught hers, his lips pressing to her palm, his eyes burning. "Then let me prove you are mine."
Their mouths met in a kiss that was not desperate this time, but slow, reverent. His hands traced her body, rough calloused palms that worshiped every curve, every scar. She trembled beneath his touch, her fire rising to meet him, flames flickering along the walls in rhythm with their passion.
When he laid her down among the furs, the world fell away.
It was not just desire. It was a vow carved into skin, into soul. Every touch, every kiss, every breath was a promise: I will never leave you. I will burn with you. Always.
And when she cried his name into the night, she knew with certainty—her fire was not cursed. It was his.