Page 48 of The Bound Blood
I take a step forward—and Kael’s there. But not dressed in black or wrapped in armor.
He’s barefoot. His shirt loose at the collar. His wings folded behind him, glowing faintly with some kind of quiet power. His eyes find me as though he’s been waiting, like he always knows where I am.
“You’re dreaming,” he says, but his voice is softer here. Almost reverent.
“So are you,” I murmur.
He moves closer. I don’t step back.
The space between us hums, charged like lightning just before the strike. I think I should say something—should ask why we’re here, why this doesn’t feel like a normal dream—but I can’t find the words.
Because he lifts his hand. Brushes a strand of hair from my face. And I swear, I feel it. Not like a dream. Like a memory.
Real. Raw. Tangled in something ancient and unspoken.
“I thought I could stay away,” he whispers. “But I can’t. I don’t want to.”
My heart stumbles.
He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away. I don’t. His lips brush mine—soft at first, a question, almost seeking permission.
And then he deepens it.
The kiss blooms through me, warm and aching, the same as fire licking through every inch of my soul. My fingers find his shirt again, holding on as his wings arc around me once more, shielding us from everything else.
Here, in this space that belongs to neither world, we’re just two people.
No prophecies. No Veil. No impossible fate.
Just Kael. Just me. And I never want to wake up. So I kiss him back and lean into his touch.
When I finally blink awake, my breath catches. Because I’m still curled against him, our legs tangled beneath the blanket, his arm wrapped securely around me even in sleep and my lips tingling from a kiss I’m not quite sure was real.
And his brow is furrowed like he’s dreaming something intense. Something familiar. My fingers brush his chest then lightly over his jawline.
And I wonder—was it just me? Or did he feel it too?
TWENTY-ONE
LINDSAY
The second timeI wake up to warmth.
Not the kind that comes from blankets or firelight—but the kind that wraps around you and makes you feel cozy and safe. Kael’s arms are around me, one curved beneath my shoulders, the other tucked low at my waist. His wings—those dark, massive things—are folded around us like we’re something precious. Like I’m something precious.
For a moment, I just breathe.
The scent of him—smoke and something ancient—settles in my chest like a calming spell. His magic brushes mine in soft pulses, less sharp than last night but still alive beneath my skin. I let myself lean into it. Into him.
But then memory creeps in.
The council. The Veil. The way my magic nearly tore through everyone around me.
I shift carefully, trying to detangle myself without waking him. My hand presses against his chest, light as a whisper. I move an inch—then another—but the second I start to slide from the circle of his hold, his wings snap tighter.
I freeze.
His grip tightens too, like some unconscious instinct is refusing to let go. I can barely move. And I can feel all of him beneath me, every hard inch. I swallow and inhale slowly as I attempt to settle against him, because I’m obviously not going anywhere until he wakes up. His breath catches, and his eyes flutter open—his normally light blue eyes have a light gray threaded through them this close, and are soft with sleep, still hazy.
