The chapel still burned with echoes of thunder. Shattered glass glittered like stars across the floor, the scent of smoke and blood hanging heavy in the air. Yet Kira felt none of it.
All she felt was Sajah.
His hand gripped her wrist as though he feared she might vanish into the storm itself. His body was solid, burning, his presence shielding her as chaos raged just beyond the stone walls.
He pulled her through the hidden corridor behind the altar, steps heavy, every breath he took leaving a smear of blood on the stone. She staggered with him, silk and lace dragging across the floor, her bridal gown now a battlefield's ruin—stained, torn, alive with shadows.
Only when they reached the shadows of the chamber did Sajah slow, pressing her against the wall, his body a wall of heat and danger. His arm braced above her head, his chest heaving against hers, the wound on his shoulder bleeding darkly through his shirt.
Kira's hands flew to the wound, panic rising. "You're hurt—"
He caught her wrist midair, his grip firm, his gaze fierce. "I've bled before," he said, voice low, steady as stone. "But you—" his eyes swept over her, raw and consuming— "you must not break. Not tonight."
Her heart lurched. "You speak as if I'm fragile."
His lips curved, a shadow of a smile, cruel and tender all at once. "No. Fragile things shatter. You, Kira—" his thumb brushed her jaw, tilting her face up to his— "you burn."
Her pulse stuttered. The storm outside howled as if it heard him, rattling the walls, yet inside this chamber, all she could feel was the fire in him.
The world quaked. A thunderclap shook the stones beneath their feet. Dust rained down from the ceiling. She flinched, but Sajah did not. His gaze never wavered. He pressed closer, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, his breath warm against her cheek.
"You swore yourself to me before gods and storms," he whispered, his voice brushing against her ear like fire's edge. "Say it again. Not as a bride bound in silk… but as a woman who chooses ruin. Say it, Kira."
Her throat tightened. Fear clawed her chest, but beneath it—something deeper stirred. She looked at him, into the abyss of his eyes, and spoke:
"I am yours. Not because the priest demanded it. Not because the storm chose it. Because I did."
For a moment, silence. The storm itself seemed to pause, as if listening.
Then Sajah's expression broke—fierce and raw and desperate all at once. He cupped her face in both bloodstained hands, his touch trembling with restraint.
"And I am yours," he vowed, voice hoarse, every word pulled from fire and blood. "Even if I fall. Even if I burn. Even if the storm tears me apart."
Her lips parted to speak, but the words never came—because his mouth claimed hers.
The kiss was not tender. It was not sweet. It was ruin—hot, hungry, unrelenting. His blood smeared her cheek, his hand fisted in her hair, pulling her closer as though he might fuse her into him and never let go.
She gasped against him, but he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, tasting her like she was salvation and damnation all at once. Her hands clutched his shirt, fingers curling in the fabric, desperate, needy. His body pressed harder into hers, pinning her to the cold stone, his heat igniting every nerve in her skin.
Her gown tangled around her legs, the jeweled bodice pressing painfully into her ribs, but she didn't care. Not when Sajah kissed her like a storm unchained.
When at last he broke away, both of them were breathless, lips swollen, hearts racing. His forehead rested against hers, his voice a vow etched in thunder:
"This marriage is not the end, Kira. It is the beginning. From this moment—you are not just my bride. You are my equal. My storm."
Her chest rose and fell, trembling, but she held his gaze with fire of her own. And for the first time, despite the blood, despite the shadows, despite the vow written in ruin—
Kira believed him.
The hidden chamber pulsed with silence, broken only by the storm clawing at the walls. Shadows danced like living things across the stone, but Sajah's presence was the only force Kira could feel—the heat of him pressing close, the fire in his gaze burning brighter than the lightning outside.
His body caged hers against the wall, his arm braced above her, his chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm. Blood seeped through the torn fabric of his shirt, but he ignored it, every ounce of focus fixed on her.
"Kira," he murmured, his voice raw, almost reverent, "you cannot tremble now. Not when the storm itself kneels at your feet."
Her breath shuddered out of her, and she lifted trembling hands to his wound. Her fingertips brushed the torn flesh, and he flinched—yet instead of pushing her away, his hand closed over hers, pinning it to his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath her palm, hot, unyielding, alive.
"You bleed because of me," she whispered.
His lips curved, but the smile was sharp, dangerous. "I bleed because the world itself dares to stand between us."
Before she could speak, he bent his head lower, his lips grazing her temple, trailing down to her cheek. Heat scorched her skin wherever he touched. His breath fanned against her neck, and her pulse thundered so hard she feared he would hear it.
The storm rattled the chamber, a chandelier above swinging wildly, but all she felt was Sajah's lips ghosting lower, hovering just at the hollow of her throat.
"Say it," he growled softly, his voice vibrating against her skin. "Say you are mine—not as a princess, not as a pawn, but as a woman who chooses ruin with me."
Her knees weakened, her breath catching, but she forced the words past trembling lips:
"I am yours, Sajah. Not because the storm demands it. Because I do."
The storm stilled. For one terrifying, beautiful heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then Sajah's restraint shattered. His mouth crashed against hers, fierce, claiming, his kiss a storm set loose. His hands framed her face, then slid lower, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.
Kira gasped, but he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until her body melted against his. His tongue brushed hers, demanding, devouring, as though he would consume every last breath she had. She clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, ignoring the blood, the torn fabric, the danger.
Her back arched against the cold stone, his body pinning hers, heat and muscle pressing her into the wall until she could not tell where she ended and he began. His hand left her hair, sliding down the curve of her spine, pressing her closer, harder, until she felt every sharp edge of him.
Her gown tangled around her thighs, heavy with jewels and torn lace, but his hand found the edge of the fabric, curling possessively against it, teasing the barrier as though testing her resolve. His lips broke from hers only to trail lower, along her jaw, down her throat, searing every inch with fire.
Kira shivered, her hands trembling as they roamed up his chest, feeling the rapid drum of his heart. "Sajah…" she whispered, breathless.
He lifted his head, his lips inches from hers, his eyes blazing. "Do you regret it already?" he asked, his tone both cruel and pleading.
Her gaze locked with his, defiant even through the haze of desire. "Never. If ruin is my choice, then let it be beautiful."
A low growl rumbled from his chest, and he kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, each movement deliberate, savoring. His thumb brushed her lips before parting them again, his tongue claiming her with possessive tenderness. Every touch, every press of his body, carried both vow and warning: she belonged to him, as he to her.
When at last he tore his mouth from hers, both of them gasping, his forehead pressed to hers. His voice was hoarse, trembling with something rawer than fire:
"This is no marriage of kingdoms, Kira. This is no crown. From this night forward—you are not just my bride. You are my equal. My storm. My undoing."
Her body shook, her lips still burning, her heart a wild thunder in her chest. And though the storm raged outside, she knew with devastating certainty—
She had already surrendered.