NYX's POV
The bond flared between us, responding to the truth in his words.
"Then stop fighting it," I whispered.
For one more heartbeat, he hesitated. I felt the war inside him—responsibility versus desire, logic versus feeling.
Then something in him surrendered.
His mouth came down on mine, and the world caught fire.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was weeks of suppressed tension, of careful distance, of pretending not to notice every touch and look and charged moment during training. It was hunger and desperation and finally giving in to what the bond had been demanding since the moment it formed.
I gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss. His hands found my waist, pulling me flush against him, and the contact sent electricity through the bond.
Oh.
Kissing him before—months ago in the old mill—had been sweet and tentative and full of promise.
This was something else entirely.
