Page 112 of Elemental Becoming

“Thank you.”

Relief slips quietly into his voice.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight . . . ” His hand tightens slightly at my back. “I just want this.”

He pulls me tighter against him, if that’s even possible.

A thought occurs to me. I never had a chance to ask Thane about what I felt when looking at the portrait of his family.

I hesitate before murmuring, “Was that you? Yesterday?” I pull back, searching his face. “I think I felt you through the bond.”

His thumb brushes a gentle circle against my back.

“Yes,” Thane answers with a quiet certainty. “I felt sadness in the middle of my meeting. And it wasn’t mine.” Silence settles briefly between us. “Then I knew it was you.”

“I felt loss in that sadness,” he murmurs, his voice meant only for me.

His hand tightens slightly at my waist, keeping me close.

“And I wanted you to know that I felt you.” His thumb traces another relaxed circle against my skin. “That you’re not alone.”

I stare up at him, stunned by the tenderness in his gesture.

“I felt that,” I whisper. “It was like I was in your arms.”

Thane smiles softly, but concern still lingers beneath it. His fingers curl more securely around mine.

“Why were you sad?” he asks carefully, like he’s handling something fragile.

“I saw a painting of your family—from when you were young. All that you lost.”

My gaze drifts briefly across the ballroom.

“And it made me think of my parents. My home.”

A lump rises in my throat, the familiar ache of loss pressing in. I blink, looking past him, beyond the dance floor, as if I might somehow see my parents waiting for me. But of course, there’s only the glow of chandeliers, the low murmur of voices, the music swelling around us.

Thane doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He simply holds me, one hand secure against my back, the other still tangled with mine.

“You miss them.”

It’s not a question.

“It doesn’t fade,” Thane murmurs softly. “But neither doeslove.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “If they could see me now . . . ” My voice falters slightly. “I wish they could have known you.”

“I wish that too,” he says, brushing his knuckles gently against my cheek.

I smile despite the sting in my eyes. I blink quickly, willing the tears away.

I won’t let them fall. Not now. Not when Elira spent ages perfecting the kohl around my eyes, tracing each stroke with the precision of an artist. Something I know, without question, I could never recreate myself.

The ballroom glows around us, golden and endless. I should be paying attention to the dance, to the guests watching us, to the careful placement of each step.

Instead, all I can think about is him.

Cedar. Leather. And something that is unmistakably Thane.