The Fire We Feed

Taryn stood there, breathing hard, feeling the aftermath of everything they'd endured settle deep into her bones. The fight was over. The beast was dead. And yet, as the dust settled and the silence stretched between them, the tension still buzzed in the air—different now, but no lighter.

Lucien hovered a step away, watching her with the same steady gaze that had followed her through every battle. He looked just as wrecked as she felt—blood streaked across his skin, exhaustion dragging at the corners of his eyes. And beneath it all, she could feel his emotions through the bond, raw and unfiltered: fear, guilt, relief… and hope.

She didn't know what to say. Every thought knotted together, too tangled to unravel into words.

"We made it," Lucien said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion. He shifted on his feet, as if unsure whether to step closer or give her space. "We're still standing."

Taryn let out a breath that tasted like ash and iron. "Barely."

The corner of his mouth twitched—an attempt at a smile that didn't quite make it. "Barely counts."

She huffed a dry, humorless laugh, and for a moment, it was almost enough to cut through the weight between them. But then silence stretched out again, thick and uncomfortable, and Taryn felt herself sinking beneath it.

She could feel him through the bond—too clearly. The way his emotions pulsed just beneath the surface: the guilt that lingered in the set of his jaw, the way he braced himself as if waiting for her to shove him away.

Taryn wanted to. She should shove him away. She should yell at him, demand answers, make sense of everything that had happened between them. But she couldn't find the words.

Instead, all she could feel was the way her body ached—not just from the fight, but from the weight of everything they'd been through together. Every step, every argument, every glance that had brought them to this moment.

Lucien shifted again, running a hand through his blood-matted hair, as if giving her time to speak. His expression was guarded, hesitant—as though he expected her to lash out at any second. And maybe she wanted to. But the anger felt distant now, drowned beneath exhaustion and something far more complicated.

She knew it would be easier to shove him away, to leave things unresolved. Easier, but not what she wanted. Not anymore. And she couldn't push him away, even if she wanted to. Not when the bond hummed between them, steady and constant, anchoring them both to a truth she wasn't quite ready to face.

Lucien exhaled slowly, his hand brushing against his side where his wound had already started to heal. His silver eyes found hers, hesitant but unwavering. "I—"

Whatever he was about to say, Taryn didn't let him finish.

Before she could stop herself—before she could think—she reached for him, fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him down toward her.

She kissed him.

It wasn't careful or gentle. It was desperate, unpracticed—a collision more than a kiss, born out of confusion, exhaustion, and everything she didn't know how to say. Her hands clung to him, grounding herself against the chaos still spinning in her mind.

Lucien froze for half a second, startled—but then he kissed her back. Slowly, tentatively, as though afraid she might change her mind and shove him away.

But Taryn didn't pull back. She couldn't.

The kiss deepened, and the world fell away—just for a moment. There was no beast, no chain, no lingering betrayal between them. Just the steady press of his mouth against hers, the warmth of his hands sliding to her waist. Her teeth grazed his bottom lip, not quite gentle, but Lucien didn't seem to care—if anything, it made him pull her closer, his breath ragged against her mouth.

It wasn't perfect. It was messy and raw, a mix of exhaustion and unspoken promises. But it was real.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to catch their breath.

Taryn kept her hands fisted in his shirt, her heart pounding against her ribs. She still didn't have the words to explain what the kiss meant—whether it was a question, an apology, or something closer to surrender. But she didn't care.

Lucien's hand lingered at her waist, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of her shirt in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. "Taryn…" he murmured, his voice rough, as if unsure what to say next.

"I know," she whispered before he could say anything more. And she did—she knew, even if she didn't fully understand it yet.

Whatever was between them, it wasn't going away. It was there, steady as the bond thrumming beneath her skin. A constant presence she could either fight or accept. Part of her still wanted to resist—to guard the walls she'd kept up for so long. But the bond thrummed steadily beneath her skin, and for the first time, it didn't feel like a weight. It felt like a choice.

Lucien's breath was warm against her skin, his forehead still pressed against hers. "This… changes things," he whispered.

Taryn let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah," she whispered, the weight of it settling between them. "It does."

The silence between them stretched again, but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was quiet. Steady.

And Taryn realized, with a strange sense of certainty, that she wasn't standing on the edge of a cliff anymore. She wasn't falling, wasn't drowning beneath the weight of everything she couldn't control.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

She didn't know what the future would bring—whether the bond would end up being a curse or a gift, whether they'd survive whatever waited for them beyond this moment. But right now, with Lucien's hands on her waist and the bond humming between them, it didn't matter.

They were here. Together. And for now, that was enough. The bond thrummed steadily beneath their skin, warm now, not heavy—a quiet rhythm she could lean into if she let herself.

Lucien's hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers light, as if grounding both of them at once. "I've got you," he whispered, and she let herself believe it—just this once, just for now.

Taryn closed her eyes, letting herself lean into him—just for a moment.

Whatever came next, they would face it together.

There was no going back.

And Taryn found she didn't want to.