[redith].
A few monts later, the drums changed the rhythm, deepening it, the beat stretching longer between strikes, as if the fire itself had taken a breath.
The dancers’ movents followed, becoming slower and more fluid. Now, there was less laughter and more intent.
Before I could decide whether to stay seated, a hand reached for mine. I looked up.
A woman stood before , her dark hair braided with thin strips of cloth, her smile warm and inviting rather than demanding. She held her palm open, waiting.
I hesitated only for a heartbeat, then placed my hand in hers.
The earth was warm beneath my bare feet when I stood. The circle welcod easily, bodies shifting to make space.
I let the rhythm guide , copying the sway of hips, the rise and fall of arms. It felt natural and familiar in a way that settled deep in my bones.
Then, I beca aware of Draven imdiately. I sensed his gaze like heat on my skin.
I didn’t look at him at first. Instead, I let the firelight kiss my arms, let the music loosen .
When I finally did glance his way, he was still seated where I had left him with one knee bent, and his forearm resting casually against it.
His eyes, however, were anything but casual. They followed every movent. Every shift of my body. Every slow turn.
Sothing tight and electric coiled low in my stomach.
The dancers drew closer to one another, their movents brushing, skirts swaying dangerously near.
I felt too bold when I turned fully toward Draven and let the rhythm roll through , slower and more deliberate now.
I was having a conversation with him through my body.
Draven’s jaw flexed, and that was when he stood.
The space around him seed to respond as he stepped into the circle, tall and unmistakable even among strangers. Neither the music nor the dancers stopped. But they all adjusted.
Draven stopped in front of , but he didn’t touch yet.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked quietly, his voice ant only for .
I lifted my chin, eting his gaze. "Very much."
The answer earned a slow, dangerous smile. Then he reached for my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles twice, and imdiately, I felt the world narrow.
I beca acutely aware of how close we were. Of the heat radiating from his body. Of the way his scent wrapped around —woodsmoke and night and sothing unmistakably him.
"This," he said quietly, leaning just enough that only I could hear, "is dangerous."
I swallowed. "You followed anyway."
"Always."
The word sank into , anchoring sothing fragile and hopeful all at once.
Next, he guided out of the circle, slipping beyond the brightest firelight. The shadows quietly and calmly welcod us. The music dulled to a heartbeat behind us.
Here, his hand slid from mine to my waist.
I felt it everywhere. His palm was firm, possessive without being rough, grounding as if he needed the contact as much as I did.
On the other hand, my fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, not pulling him closer but just making sure he didn’t step away.
He looked down at , really looked, and the intensity there stole my breath.
"I thought I was angry," he admitted softly. "I thought I was hurt."
"And now?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
His thumb traced the curve of my waist, slow and intentional. "Now I’m struggling to rember why I ever thought I could walk away from you."
My heart thudded painfully.
I leaned into him before doubt could take hold, resting my forehead against his chest. His other arm ca around instantly, strong and certain, caging in warmth and safety.
His lips brushed my hair. Though it was more like a promise held by sheer will, rather than a normal kiss.
"Stay with tonight," he murmured.
The mont he spoke those words, the bond snapped, but more tightly with a force so sudden my breath caught in my throat.
Heat rushed through , sharp and undeniable, curling low in my belly and spreading outward like wildfire. My knees nearly buckled.
Draven felt it as well. He tightened at my waist, his fingers digging in just enough to steady as his breath stuttered against my hair.
The air between us grew thick, heavy, charged in a way that made the distant laughter and music feel unreal—like we had slipped into a space that existed only for us.
"redith," he murmured, my na a warning this ti.
I lifted my head, already knowing what I would see in his eyes. Hunger.
It was deep, restrained need—held back by discipline that was thinning by the second.
The bond pulsed again. I gasped softly, my fingers clutching his tunic. "Draven... we need to—"
"Go," he finished for , his voice low and rough. "Now."
He didn’t wait for agreent. He didn’t need to.
His arm slid around , firm and possessive, guiding away from everyone and into the darker path leading back to the house.
Each step felt stolen, dangerous. My senses were too sharp, my awareness stretched thin—every brush of his body against mine sent sparks racing through .
By the ti the house ca into view, my skin felt too tight for my body.
The door barely closed behind us before the bond surged again—harder this ti. I stumbled, my back pressing against the wood as Draven braced his hands on either side of , caging in.
His breathing was uneven. "So this," he said quietly, dangerously, "is what happens when we stop pretending."
My pulse thundered. "I think," I whispered, my voice betraying , "this is what happens when we value each other."
His gaze dropped to my lips. The kiss was inevitable. When it ca, it wasn’t gentle.
Draven’s mouth claid mine with restrained ferocity, as if he had been holding himself back for days—weeks—and finally snapped.
His lips were warm, insistent, his kiss deep and unyielding. I lted into it, every doubt, every fear dissolving beneath the sheer certainty of him.
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