Chapter Seven: Something Like Surrender

Lyra

The fire was low, throwing gold light across the stone walls. It was too quiet. She could hear her heartbeat. Could feel the way the air thickened between them like fog before a storm.

Ronan stood at the hearth, shirtless, lean muscle haloed in shadow, and still as stone. And gods, she hated him for how calm he looked.

Because she was coming apart.

The bond between them thrummed with a new kind of hunger. Not just physical—emotional. Magic. A pull beneath her skin that begged her to close the distance. To touch. To take.

She didn’t trust herself anymore. Not around him.

“I thought you’d left,” she said.

His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “I thought about it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t.”

Her breath caught. She rose from the bed slowly, wrapping the blanket around her, bare feet pressing to cold stone.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she admitted.

Ronan’s gaze flicked to the blanket clutched around her. Then to her face.

“You don’t have to be.”

She crossed the room. The bond sang louder with every step. When she stopped in front of him, her fingers hovered near his chest.

He didn’t move.

“Everything in me says this is dangerous,” she whispered.

“And everything in me,” he murmured, stepping closer, “wants you anyway.”

Then her hand touched his chest—and everything ignited.

⸻

Ronan

Her touch was light. Shy. But it burned like a brand.

He hadn’t expected her to come to him. Not tonight. But now that she had, there was no going back.

He reached up slowly, cupping her jaw. “Say stop, and I will.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she leaned into him—her lips brushing his with tentative, searching heat.

And that was all it took.

His control snapped like a dry branch.

He kissed her deep—hands pulling her flush against him, swallowing the breath she gave him like it was air he’d needed for years. Her mouth was soft and hot, tasting like fire and desperation.

The blanket slipped from her shoulders. She let it fall.

And he saw her.

Bare, glowing in the firelight. Gorgeous. Wild. Vulnerable in the most sacred way.

“Lyra,” he breathed, fingers brushing down her spine.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, dragging her nails lightly over his chest. “Not unless I say so.”

His mouth claimed hers again, and this time there was no hesitation.

⸻

Lyra

She was already gone.

His hands were everywhere—rough palms trailing down her sides, up her thighs. When he lifted her effortlessly, she wrapped her legs around his waist, heat pooling deep in her belly.

He walked them to the bed, laying her down with a reverence that unraveled her. His eyes stayed on hers as he leaned over her, slowly kissing his way from her throat to the hollow between her breasts, making her breath catch on every drag of his tongue.

The bond pulsed harder now, electric between their bodies. Her magic responded to it, rising under her skin like a tide.

When he took one nipple into his mouth, her back arched with a cry. The sharp flick of his tongue, followed by the soft scrape of teeth, had her hips grinding up into him instinctively.

He growled—low and deep—and settled between her thighs, dragging his lips down her stomach.

“Ronan—” Her voice broke on his name.

“I want to taste you,” he said, voice husky. “Let me.”

She nodded, already trembling.

And when his mouth found her—hot, slow, thorough—she shattered.

⸻

Ronan

She came apart beneath him like lightning—legs trembling, fingers in his hair, voice breaking with every pulse of pleasure.

He didn’t stop. Not until he felt the magic shift—her power rising with her climax, pouring into the bond and soaking into his bones.

She was radiant. Terrifying. His.

He crawled up her body, kissing every inch of flushed skin, until he was above her again, their foreheads pressed together.

“You’re not done,” she whispered, reaching between them to cup him.

“No,” he groaned. “But this—this needs to be yours too.”

“It is,” she said. “It’s both of ours.”

Her legs parted for him, and he guided himself to her entrance, pausing.

“Last chance,” he rasped, voice ragged. “Tell me if this is too much.”

She kissed him.

He pressed inside.

⸻

Lyra

He filled her slowly—inch by inch, stretching her, grounding her. She gasped into his mouth, legs tightening around his hips as he sank deeper.

It hurt. Just enough to feel real.

But the pleasure was devastating. She felt him in every nerve ending, every heartbeat.

And the bond—gods, the bond exploded.

She cried out as he began to move, deep and slow, like he was memorizing the feel of her. The connection between them flared white-hot. She could feel his desire, his restraint, the way he held himself back just for her.

It made her wild.

She dug her nails into his back, urged him deeper, faster.

And when he gave in—thrusting harder, claiming her with each deep stroke—she shattered again, sobbing his name into the hollow of his throat.

⸻

Ronan

Her walls clenched around him, tight and hot and soaked in magic. Her pleasure rolled through him like a wave, dragging him under.

He couldn’t hold back much longer.

Not with her looking up at him like that—eyes glazed, lips swollen, whispering his name like a prayer and a curse.

“I need—” he groaned, barely holding on.

“Come with me,” she gasped. “I want all of it.”

And gods, he gave it to her.

Their final climax ripped through them in perfect sync, magic and ecstasy and raw emotion crashing like a storm. The bond fused tighter, a permanent thread snapping into place beneath their skin.

He collapsed beside her, breathless, pulling her into his arms.

They lay tangled in sweat and silence, hearts pounding in the same rhythm.

And for the first time in years, he felt whole.

⸻

Lyra

She’d never felt anything like it.

Not just the pleasure. The connection.

She could still feel his magic brushing against hers. Not intrusive. Just… there. A quiet promise.

She curled into his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

His arms tightened around her. “I know.”

She closed her eyes.

But she didn’t run.