“I’m going to touch every part of you.” The words rumbled through his chest into her spine. “I’m going to know you well enough to find you in the dark, in the snow, in a crowd of a thousand scents. Do you understand?”
Her mouth went dry. “Yes.”
His paws started moving.
He washed her hair first—working oil through the strands with surprising dexterity for someone with claws. His fingers massaged her scalp until tension she hadn’t known she was carrying melted away. Then lower, across her shoulders, down her arms, lifting each hand to clean between her fingers like every inch of her mattered.
Her back came next. He traced her spine with reverent attention, found knots in muscles she’d been clenching since the crash and worked them loose with patient pressure. Her ribs. Her stomach. The soft undersides of her breasts, touched with a gentleness that made her ache.
Not seduction. Not exactly. Something deeper. He was mapping her, learning her, imprinting her onto his senses in a way that felt permanent.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured against her temple, “I won’t be able to hold back. The blood moon strips away control. Sharpens instinct until there’s nothing left but the hunt.” His hands slid lower, tracing her hips, her thighs, the tender skin behind her knees. “I need to know you now. While I can still be gentle.”
“Are you afraid you’ll hurt me?”
“I’m afraid of nothing.” The lie vibrated through the bond, obvious and immediate. He sighed, a sound that seemed too soft for such a dangerous creature. “I’m terrified of everything. Of you. Of what happens if something goes wrong. Of the court watching, waiting for me to fail.”
The admission cracked something open in her chest.
She turned in his arms, water sloshing against the pool’s edge, and faced him properly. Cyan eyes met hers, and for once, he wasn’t hiding. The Alpha King, the predator, the male who ruled through violence and will—he looked almost young in the Lux Tear light. Almost vulnerable.
“What scares you most?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His claws found her waist again, steadying her against the current of the water, against the current of his own uncertainty.
“That you’ll realize what I am.” His voice dropped to something raw. “That the moon will show you the beast under the king, and you’ll finally understand that you’re bound to a monster.”
Elsa reached up, cupping his face between her palms. The fur was soft against her skin, the bones beneath sharp and alien and somehow exactly what she wanted to hold.
“I’ve seen the monster.” She held his gaze. “I watched you tear through Vask’s guards. I felt your fury through the bond when you thought I was in danger. I know exactly what you’re capable of.” Her thumbs traced the ridge of his cheekbones. “And I’m still here.”
Something shifted behind his eyes. Something hungry and hopeful and desperately careful.
“Still here,” he repeated, like the words were a foreign language he was learning to speak.
“Still here.” She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his—soft, brief, a promise rather than a demand. “Now finish washing me. I believe you mentioned something about knowing me well enough to find me in the dark.”
The sound he made was half growl, half laugh.
He finished with the same methodical attention he’d started with—every inch of skin, every hidden place, every part of her body that had been her own and was now somehow his as well.By the time he lifted her from the water, wrapped her in warmed furs, and carried her to his bed, she felt known in a way that should have been terrifying.
It wasn’t. It was anchor and harbor and the first true safety she’d felt since her ship fell out of the sky.
The fire had burned low by the time they settled into the furs.
Sylas had built it up when they returned from the bath, feeding logs into the hearth until flames crackled high and warmth pushed back the winter cold seeping through stone walls. Now they lay tangled together—his body curved around hers, protective and possessive, her back pressed to his chest while firelight painted shadows across the room.
Neither of them spoke. The bond hummed between them, full of things too complicated for words. Elsa watched sparks spiral up toward the ceiling and let her mind drift.
“What do you miss?”
His voice came quiet, almost hesitant. Like the question had been building for a while and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
She thought about lying. Thought about giving him something simple and harmless—sunlight, maybe, or the taste of coffee. But the firelight and his warmth and the weight of tomorrow made honesty feel necessary.
“Stars that make sense.” The words came out hoarse. “I spent my whole life learning to read the sky. Finding patterns, charting courses, knowing exactly where I was in relation to everything else in the universe.” She paused. “Here, I look up and nothing is familiar. The constellations are wrong. The moon is wrong. Every instinct I developed tells me I’m lost.”
His arm tightened around her waist.