That night, Kael did not leave her side.
They stayed in the den, away from the whispers of wolves who questioned, away from eyes that judged. Only the fire burned, casting golden light over his tan skin, his broad shoulders, the scars that told stories of battles fought and survived.
She sat beside him, her head resting against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. It was a sound she could lose herself in, a sound that steadied her when the memories threatened to drown her.
"You are too quiet," Kael murmured, brushing a dreadlock from his face.
"I am thinking," she whispered.
"Of what?"
"Of the past. Of the shadow. Of what I might become." Her voice broke. "What if I am more curse than salvation?"
His hand caught her wrist, guiding it to his chest, pressing it over his heart. "Do you feel that?"
Her fingers trembled against his warm skin.
"This beats for you," Kael said, his voice low, unyielding. "Not for prophecy. Not for fate. For you."
Her breath caught, tears stinging her eyes. And when his lips found hers, she melted.
This time, their lovemaking was not frantic, not born of battle's aftermath. It was slow, reverent, a worship of every scar and secret, every breath and touch. He kissed away her fear, traced fire down her skin, held her as though she were both fragile and indestructible.
When he whispered her name against her throat, she knew this was not just desire. This was forever.