Page 157 of Haunted Crowns
She exhaled sharply, the truth of it sinking into her bones: No, she wouldn’t. Because Kareon was wild and relentless. He was the one who never let her hide, who reminded her who she was. He was the fire that kept her from turning to stone.
Her fingers curled into his cloak, gripping tightly. Then tighter still. The moment stretched, breath caught between them, suspended in silence. She didn’t let go.
He searched her face, and found it—the truth in her grip. In how she held on without saying a word. His smirk softened. His hands didn’t.
“You’re not getting rid of me, Eris.” He leaned in, voice low. “Just came to remind you.”
Her smile bent with something fragile hiding beneath it. “Don’t you dare prove me wrong.”
Kareon’s gaze drifted lower, catching a glint of silver. He reached for the Lycan charm at her neck, the one he had given her. His fingers brushed it.
“Still wearing it.” His smirk deepened, but his voice was soft, relieved.
Eris covered his hand with hers, holding it there. “Always.”
The word left her in a whisper, so quiet and absolute, it nearly undid him.
For a moment, he did nothing. He just breathed her in, eyes dark with hunger barely held at bay. “Eris.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Kareon,” she whispered, eyes searching his, full of longing and desire.
The space between them thrummed with the unbearable ache of everything they couldn’t say. Then his gaze dropped to her parted lips, trembling, flushed. Begging. That was all it took.
“Fuck it,” he growled, voice guttural, and then he was on her.
His mouth slammed against hers in a bruising kiss, feral and consuming, like he needed her to stay sane. His hands tangled in her hair, yanking her closer, crushing the breath between them.
There was no caution. No time. No war. Only heat, teeth, and the taste of everything they’d denied.
She gasped against him and he swallowed it like a drug. Her nails raked down his back. He groaned—a sound of surrender and need, primal and raw.
It was chaos. It was reckless. And gods, it was too easy to fall. Too easy to forget the rules and the ruin waiting for them. It felt like the end of the world, like two stars colliding in a ruinous crush of need and memory.
She was falling too fast, too deep, and she didn’t know if she would ever surface. But as the war ignited beneath her skin, something faltered. One moment she clung to him like he was the only steady thing left; the next, her grip loosened, the first thread of doubt slipping through.
Her pulse staggered, because this wasn’t just a kiss. It was an unravelling, a boundary shattering.
And she wasn’t ready to face what came next.
A tremor ran through her fingers as she took in a sharp breath. Then she pulled away. Not quickly, not harshly, but just enough. Just enough for him to feel it—the shift, the absence, the ache of what he’d nearly had and just lost.
His breath caught. For a heartbeat, he froze, the hunger still roaring through his blood. Then he exhaled—sharp at first, then steadier. She wasn’t ready yet. When he looked at her again, he forced a soft, knowing smile. His thumb traced her lips slowly, carrying the weight of both reassurance and warning. He would wait for her, but not forever, and not silently. His eyes searched hers, grounding her, holding her there. And moon above, she was beautiful. The way she trembled, breathless and undone. The way she pulled back, so fragile, so pure, so unguarded.
Stars help him. It undid him.
He would not die today, because this war wasn’t just about thrones or crowns. It was about her. He needed to survive to crack her open, to draw her to him, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left to run. Until she chose him, not in fear, or hesitation, but in certainty.
That was his vow.
But vows didn’t quiet the ache. And stars, it burned that someone else had claimed a moment before war without bleeding for it like he had. Without fighting for every kiss, every breath, every inch of her trust.
His golden eyes burned into hers, resolute. Then came the smirk—sharper now, honed like a blade. The ache in his chest twisted, craving retribution masked as control.
His voice dropped, steady—too steady.
"AndyourDragov king? Ready to rewrite history?"
Eris held his gaze, unflinching. "He is."
