Private Tales Echoes of the Elderglen

Asher blinked, watching her storm away, her golden eyes ablaze with something dark and dangerous. He felt it. Felt her rage, her hurt, her insecurity through the bond that pulsed between them. And fuck—it both hurt and ignited something deep inside him.

She was jealous. Over him.

It was fucking hot.

His fingers twitched. He hadn't planned on stopping her, but before he could think better of it, his body moved on instinct.

"Hey."

He reached, catching her wrist and pulling her back against his bare chest, his arm curled around her waist, holding her there. Close. Close enough that she’d feel every sharp line of his body, every ragged breath he exhaled. His green eyes burned as they locked onto hers.

"While jealousy might suit you," he murmured, voice low, "you have absolutely nothing to be jealous of."

His fingers trailed up, gentle despite the roughness in his tone, until he tilted her chin up. His thumb brushed the sharp angle of her jaw, tracing over her skin with a reverence that contradicted the tension in his grip.

"I don’t care how long this takes," he said, voice like gravel, "but know that I will never look at another female in that way again." He leaned in, their breaths tangling. "It’s you, Vess. Just you."

And then he did what he shouldn’t have. What he’d been holding himself back from.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was raw, claiming, meant to sear the truth into her bones. His hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into her damp hair as he deepened it. As if he could chase away every ounce of doubt with the way his lips moved against hers, the way he drank her in like she was the only thing that existed in this fucked up world.

The bathhouse went silent.

He didn’t care.

He kissed her like she was his. Because she was.

A hand wrapped around Vespera’s wrist and she flinched. She hadn’t expected Ash to stop her. Hadn’t expected him to pull her back with such a force that she stumbled right into his chest. Still bare. Still warm. Solid.

She should have pushed him away, torn her wrist from his grip and spun on her heel, leaving him to stand there in the middle of the bathhouse, dripping wet and alone. Let the girls stare and whisper at that sight.

But she didn’t do that.

Because the moment he forced his green eyes to lock onto her golden, her traitorous body forgot how to move. She was nothing but a thundering pulse, breath hitching, and that horrible, ugly thing that had taken root inside her- the jealous possessiveness- coiled tighter, drinking in every word he murmured.

Just you, Vess.

She wanted to believe him, gods she wanted that so badly. But she didn’t. That hurt part of her, the part that had spent ninety-four years being compared, judged, dismissed, called less, sneered at by females like them, whispered otherwise.

You’re nothing like them. The voice in her head snapped. They’re better. Prettier. Wanted.

The bond roared in response, a visceral and desperate thing that screamed mine over and over again. So when his lips came crashing into hers, she let them. Let the fire consume her. Let the tension melt into something reckless, uncontrollable, and fucking dangerous.

The kiss wasn’t soft nor was it tentative. It was starved and consuming. A kiss meant to claim as fingers tangled into her hair, fisting it and pulling her closer like Ash could erase the very space between them entirely. And maybe he could, because a line was beginning to blur where he ended and she began.

She groaned softly into his mouth, losing herself completely, allowing her hands to roam with a will of their own- one trailing up the hard planes of his chest and the other..lower.

The felt the fabric beneath her fingers.

The towel.

One single tug, and he would be-

Her mind froze and she tore herself away, breathless, panting her heart slamming against her ribs. The silence of the bathhouse had startled her. She could feel every single pair of eyes on them, watching. Voices whispering.

Her face burned. And then she moved.

Her palm connected with his face, sharp and resounding. Impact sent a fresh shockwave through their invested audience, gasps rippling across the bathhouse. She was almost certain one of the females would offer to take care of whatever she had just done.

Her chest was heaving. “What the fuck was that?” She hissed, golden eyes wild, burning. A mix of anger, humiliation and something too raw and familiar flooding through her body.

She didn’t wait for an answer either. She shoed him back with both hands and stormed towards the exit, her own towel barely clinging to her frame.

If she stayed even a second longer, she wasn’t sure if she was going to kiss him again or kill him.

Asher barely had time to process the sting before the sharp sound of the slap had fully registered. His head snapped to the side, his jaw aching from the force of it. Gasps echoed through the bathhouse, but he didn't care.

Because fuck, she had kissed him back.

Not just kissed him—she had melted into it, groaned against his mouth, touched him with a desperation that set his entire body ablaze. He could still feel the ghost of her fingers trailing down his chest, pausing just at the towel.

He exhaled hard, rolling his jaw as he watched her storm off, golden eyes wild, towel barely hanging onto her frame. His body was still thrumming, every nerve ending screaming at him to go after her.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing over his cheek where she'd struck him. It fucking burned. But gods, so did everything else.

He let out a low, rough laugh. "Yeah, I deserved that," he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

The fae females in the pool were still watching—some with wide eyes, others with barely concealed amusement. One of them, a particularly bold one, started to rise, lips parting like she was about to offer something.

Asher shot her a look so sharp, so full of unfiltered possession that she froze mid-motion and quickly sank back into the water.

Then, without another glance, he strode (at a safe distance) after Vespera.

The room was silent, empty except for the two of them. Asher let out a heavy breath and sank into a chair, raking a hand through his damp hair as he watched Vespera disappear behind the vanity screen.

He exhaled sharply, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted, his voice low, rough with regret. “I was just… trying to make a point.” A humourless huff left him as he dragged a hand down his face. “And I did it very badly.”

"I'm sorry, Vess. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

As soon as she stormed into the changing room, she yanked her towel off and threw it over the top of the divider at Ash, as if the towel had personally offended her. She didn't even know what she was more pissed off about- the fact that Ash had kissed her in public like she was some conquest to be flaunted, or the fact that she had kissed him back with no intent on stopping, like she was desperate and eager to be claimed.

Gods.

Her fingers worked too fast, too rough, fumbling with her clothing with angry, choppy and horribly uncoordinated movements.

The jealousy, ugly irrational, suffocating jealousy, still burned like acid inside her chest.

Those females. They knew his name. Why?

The rational part of her mind whispered that it wasn't her place to care. Of course they knew him. Ash was older, experienced, and had probably had plenty of females in his bed. Had probably loved plenty of women before he'd been forced to share a bond with her. But that did not matter to her.

She had seen the way they looked at him. Unashamed. Expectant. And even though her sense of smell was nowhere near as strong as the full-blooded fae, she realized with a sickening clarity now, that she could tell. There had been others in his bed. Maybe even quite recently, though she didn't notice any scent except Ash and the earth at his little shelter.

It should not have bothered her. They weren't even... What exactly were they? She didn't know. But it did bother her.

Vespera inhaled sharply, trying to force the racing thoughts from her mind as she snatched one of her new outfits from the tailor and shoved herself into it. It was strangely soft in color- a dusty rose and ivory. Far different from the practical browns and deep leafy greens she wore to blend into the Elderglen. Feminine. That was how it looked to her. It had her hesitating for a moment before pulling it on, adjusting the way the fabric settled on her frame.

Her hair was damp, falling in loose waves over her shoulders, and without thinking, she brushed some over her left ear, forcing the strands to hide the jagged and marred ear.

By the time Ash next spoke, low and regretful, almost sheepishly, she was already tying the last ribbon.

I shouldn't have done that. I was just trying to make a point...And I did it very badly.

Yeah, no shit. She rolled her eyes and stepped out from behind the screen.

I'm sorry, Vess. I didn't mean to embarrass you.

Her golden eyes flicked over him- hair still damp, muscles tense, bruises still present and not miraculously healed by sticking his cock in some perfect dark-haired female. For the first time since the kiss, she met his gaze fully, unwavering as she responded.

"Well," She said flatly, folding her arms over her chest. "You've made your point perfectly." Her head tilted slightly, voice still deceptively calm. "I have absolutely no control over the bond." She knew he wasn't referring to that, but she had to admit it. And she hated knowing that she spoke the truth. She had wanted to stop, she should have stopped.

Speaking more to herself than anything as she swiped at the hair covering her ear again, "If we hadn't been in public...If I hadn't remembered where we were..." Her fingers twitched. "I don't think I would have." She shook her head and forced the thoughts from her mind.

"You said drinks." She turned away, pulling on her boots. "Lets get drinks."

Maybe if she got drunk enough, she wouldn't still feel the sickening burn of jealousy sitting like a boulder in her stomach.

Asher sat still, his head bowed as she spoke, accepting her anger without protest. He deserved it. Every word. But when she admitted that she had no control over the bond, something inside him twisted, sharp and aching. His gaze lifted to hers, sorrowful, just for a moment, before he dropped it again, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

Pain lanced through him.

He knew what she meant. Knew that if they hadn’t been in public, if she hadn’t pulled away—fuck, he wouldn’t have stopped either. He wasn’t sure he even could have. And that terrified him. Not because he didn’t want her - he did, very much. But because he didn’t want to take away her choice, didn’t want to be another force in her life that stripped her of control.

Didn’t want to be something she regretted.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice low, raw. He couldn’t look at her. “I won’t do anything like that again…” His brow furrowed, fingers curling. Even if I want to. Even if it kills me. He exhaled, slow and steady, forcing the weight in his chest to settle.

“Drinks,” he echoed distantly.

Maybe if he drank enough, he wouldn’t still feel the phantom warmth of her against him, wouldn’t still taste the kiss they had both lost themselves in.

"I'll meet you outside." he rumbled quietly, suddenly quite aware that he was still in a towel.

She didn't respond to his apology, not out loud at least. But something in his words pained her because part of her knew the truth that she was not ready to admit, not to him, maybe not even to herself. She did want him to do it again. Just not there. Not in a crowded bathhouse with a herd of onlookers. And not yet.

Her golden eyes flickered over him one last time, his fingers curled into fists, brow furrowed, eyes avoiding her like he couldn't bear to meet them. Something ached in her chest, but she swallowed it down, giving him only a short, sharp nod before she turned on her heel and left him to dress. She remained outside, arms crossed tightly over her chest, evening air cooling the fire in her blood. The town had shifted since the day. It was alive in its own way- music spilling from nearby taverns, laughter echoing in the streets, the smell of honeyed ale thick in the air. It was a far cry from the Elderglen. She didn't hate it.

She could still feel his tough, though. Could still feel his fingers on her jaw and the burning in his eyes before he kissed her. Vespera exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if she could shake away the feeling entirely. By the time Ash had emerged, clad in dark, simple clothing that somehow made him look even more unfairly attractive, she had mostly composed herself. Mostly.

---

A shifty little tavern was only a short walk from where Ash had planned to rent a room or two. It was so lively. Dimly lit, filled with the scent of cheap alcohol, sweat and the telltale smoke of something far stronger than pipe tobacco curling in the air. It was perfect.

But jealousy still ate at her, festering like an open wound. Ugly, irrational and incredibly stupid. But she didn't care. If he could have females calling his name like sirens drawing a sailor to their demise, then she could make him suffer a little, too.

Not to mention, it was much more cost effective.

She straightened slightly as she sat at the bar, shifting just enough to catch the attention of the male sitting a few seats down. Dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and clearly enjoying his fourth or fifth drink of the night. His gaze flickered to hers, interest sparking immediately. Perfect. She offered him a slow, easy smile, and within seconds the bartender was setting a drink down in front of her- courtesy of the male at the end of the bar.

She lifted her glass, tilting her head just enough for him to see the glimmer in her eyes. "Very kind of you." She said, taking a sip. The stranger grinned, clearly emboldened. But before she could set the glass down, a second drink appeared. A second male this time. Reddish-haired, sharp eyed, leaning against a pillar a few feet away. Watching her with much less of a casual interest.

"Two in a row." She mused to Ash, who had been sitting beside her. "I must be lucky tonight." Two drinks for free, but certainly not the first nor second she had already tossed back for courage.

Asher sat beside her, pressing two coins onto the bar with the quiet ease of habit. But before he could order, a drink was already set in front of her. His brows pulled together in brief, oblivious confusion—until he caught the way she smiled, the slow, easy kind she rarely gave. And then he followed her gaze.

Dark-haired, broad-shouldered. Staring at her with open interest.

Something cold and sharp slammed into his ribs.

Another drink appeared. Another male.

White-hot rage lanced through him, tangling with the ache in his chest. He hadn't meant to make her jealous. He hadn’t been toying with her. This, though—this was cruel. But hey, he was used to cruelty, he should have learned by now to expect it.

His lips curled into something humourless as he exhaled a quiet, bitter laugh under his breath. “Lucky,” he murmured, nodding once.

He turned to look at her for the first time since she’d been dressed, and it nearly knocked the air from his lungs. The colours suited her. He hated how easily that thought slipped into his mind, how effortlessly she stole his breath, no matter what she did.

His jaw tensed, his chest burned, but still, his voice was quiet when he said, “Well. I can’t say I blame them.” His eyes flickered over her one last time, softer now, edged in something he didn’t dare name. “You do look really beautiful tonight.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond. "Enjoy your night, Vess."

The words rumbled from his chest, raw and tired, pain overriding the anger. If this was what she wanted—to bask in the attention of other males, to remind him that she had the power to hurt him—he wouldn’t stop her. He wouldn't take her choices from her, even if it killed him.

His jaw locked, his eyes burned, but still, he forced a smile before he turned to leave.

Vespera watched him go, her own smile forced and barely holding against the icy cold creeping into her chest. She had wanted a reaction, wanted to see him snap the way she had when those females called out to him, had wanted him, had known him in a way more intimate than she had ever known him. But this? This coldness?

It felt so much worse.

She swallowed hard, hand gripping the glass tight. Something in him had shifted before he left. Something dark and burning. Had that been the same feeling that twisted in side her at the bathhouse? Gods, she hoped so.

But he hadn't stayed and suffered, letting her ride out whatever grudge she was holding. He left her there, sitting between two males who suddenly felt insufferable. Their eyes on her now made her skin crawl. Their attention, their laughter, the way the leaned in just enough made her realize that this wasn't fun anymore.

But Vespera was nothing if not stubborn. She had started this. She would see it through.

And so, she drank.

And drank.

And drank.

The warmth of the tavern blurred around her, voices fading into a dull hum. Firelight flickered, shifting in and out of focus as drinks kept coming, as the floor beneath her chair began to sway. Everything felt too heavy and too light all at once. She had never been a drinker and this was why.

By the time she had managed to stumble out of the tavern a few hours later, the cool air hit her like a punch to the stomach. She barely made it a few steps before she had to grip onto a nearby post, head swimming and knees weak beneath her.

"Shit."

Everything felt so slow. Her movements, her thoughts, even the way the cobblestone tilted beneath her feet. But she had been fine, had been laughing, her head warm and light above it all. But a shadow moved beside her. "Leaving so soon?" The voice was smooth and casual. Vespera turned her head- or at least, she thought she might have- but the world blurred and spun, and she nearly toppled sideways. A strong hand caught her elbow before she could fall. The male from inside.

Vespera blinked hard, trying to focus on him, trying to see through the haze of alcohol.

"You sure you don't want another drink? Or maybe..somewhere quieter?" There was a heavy suggestion to his words, one that made her stomach twist. Vespera shook her head, or had tried to. The motion blurred the ground beneath her feet and before she could stop herself, before a steady hand could catch her, her foot caught on the uneven stone. She lurched forward, hands flying out to catch herself.

Pain. Sharp and stinging in her knee. Vespera hissed, wincing as she looked down where blood welled against her skin. Thankfully it had only been a shallow cut from the jagged street.

She took a breath and lifted her gaze to respond, but the male was gone. Completely gone. As if he'd never been there at all. Her drunken mind scrambled to process what had happened. One moment he'd been right there, and the next- nothing. Just an empty street, a flickering lantern and the distant murmur of laughter in the tavern.

A strange cold sensation trickled down her spine, her hair standing at its ends. She didn't linger. Somehow, she had made it to the inn, her body moving on instinct, feet dragging against the stone as she reached the door. It was a fucking miracle that she'd made it. Even more of a miracle that the door was unlocked.

Thank the gods. She pushed it open. Too hard. Fuck.

The floor rose up to meet her, cool wood pressing against her burning skin as she sprawled out across it, staring up into the ceiling of the dark room. Her limbs felt leaden. Her knee stung. The world was still spinning. But she had made it.

Ash hadn’t planned to stay. He had told himself he wouldn’t, that he would leave her to the game she was playing and let her reap the consequences. But his feet never moved. His back pressed against the rough bark of a low-hanging tree just outside the tavern, arms folded tightly across his chest as though the pressure might somehow hold him together. As though it might stop the feeling that had cracked him open from swallowing him whole.

It didn’t.

The longer he sat there, the worse it became. His mind was a battlefield, a storm raging with no outlet, tearing through every restraint he tried his best to build over the years. He had spent so long practicing control, tempering his emotions until they were nothing more than embers burning low beneath his ribs. But this—this was different. This was wildfire, untamed and all-consuming, licking up his spine and filling his lungs with smoke.

He tried to focus on the mental walls he had been taught to build, the ones meant to keep the shadow at bay, but tonight he used them for something else. He used them to shut her out. To keep the pain from spilling over, to lock it away where she couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it. As though he weren't weak enough in her eyes. In everyone's eyes.

But the silence in his head did nothing to stop the images that tormented him. He could still see her, laughing, leaning too close to the males beside her, their hands brushing against her skin, their voices low and laced with intent.

He wanted to destroy something. To shatter the glass in her hand, to flay the flesh from their bones and set the whole fucking tavern ablaze and reduce it to nothing but ashes and ruin.

But he didn’t move.

Not until she did.

The sound of her laughter, light and careless, was the first thing that reached him as she stepped outside, and fuck if it didn't cut him like a blade. His focus shifted the moment he saw him—the male who followed too closely, who reached for her with a familiarity that sent a wave of fury crashing through him.

It was not the kind of anger he could rationalise or contain. It was something far older, something primal and unforgiving. His mind yanked him back to the Elderglen, to the scent of burning flesh, to the way the shadows had twisted and writhed in time with his rage as he tore through the males who had dared to hurt her.

And now, this one was reaching for her again. But before his hand could land on her, before he could steady her for a second time, Ash let the darkness slip free.

It moved fast—too fast for the bastard to react. A coil of shadow lashed out, snaring around his wrist, then another winding tight around his throat. In a single motion, he was lifted clean off his feet and slammed into the side of the tavern with enough force to splinter the wood. He crumpled to the ground a moment later, unconscious before he even had a chance to register what had happened.

It still wasn’t enough.

The rage still clawed at him, still whispered to him to do more, to take all the pain and anger festering inside him and unleash it on something, on him. But Vespa was already stumbling away, barely upright as she wandered down the street, her steps uneven and unfocused.

Ash exhaled sharply, forcing his fists to unclench as he moved to follow her at a distance.

Somehow, she made it to the inn. Somehow, she found the right door. Ash winced as she crashed unceremoniously through the door. With a sigh, he stepped inside and lowered himself onto one knee beside her, his hands sliding beneath her with a care that felt at odds with the war still raging inside him.

“All right,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’ve got you.”

The scent of alcohol clung to her, thick and overwhelming, but he ignored it as he settled her onto the bed.

For a moment, he only watched her, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way she had all but melted into the mattress. Then, with a quiet exhale, he rose and crossed the room, retrieving a basin of water and a cloth before kneeling at her side once more. He didn’t speak as he dipped the cloth into the cool water, wrung it out, and carefully began to clean the wound on her knee, just as he had done with her ear.

Golden eyes, wide and unfocused, hazy with confusion stared up at Ash. She hadn't seen him in the room before she tumbled towards the floor. She hadn't heard him behind her if he had been following.

One second, she was sprawled out on the cold floor, staring up at the ceiling and trying to convince herself that she could still stand. And then, he was just...there. Kneeling beside her, scooping her up into his arms like she weighed nothing. Which couldn't have been true. She felt like she weighed more than one of the beastly bears that roamed in the Elderglen.

Her brows pulled together as he stood, eyes opening and closing sluggishly. "How did you-" She hiccupped. "I didn't hic see you." Her head lolled against his chest as he carried her, his scent so comforting as it wrapped around her, grounding her against the sickening tilt of the world. He moved too gently. Too quietly. She didn't deserve his care.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled, slurred and broken as he set her on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She tried to sit up, but that only sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her. She wanted to see him as he stood and grabbed something from across the room. Hadn't noticed the damp cloth until "Ah-!" A sharp sting through her knee.

She flinched hard, hissing between her teeth. The scrape had already started crusting over with blood, but Ash still sat there, cleaning it as if he was doing anything to avoid speaking to her.

Vespera sucked in a breath, watching him as he worked. His features seemed carved from stone, sharp and unreadable. The glow of the moonlight cast a deep shadow beneath his emerald eyes. Gods. He was beautiful.

Another stab of pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, whispering "I'm sorry." Again. But he said nothing, as if he'd never heard her. He just kept working, methodical and unbothered, as if he were used to patching people up and tending to her was just another thing he had to do. The thought made her ache.

She fisted the sheets beneath her and frustration bubbled up through the thick, alcohol soaked fog in her mind. "You left." She mumbled, "I didn't...I didn't want you to leave." Her chest burned.

"I wanted-hic- I wanted you to feel it too." She spoke faster now, rambling. A desperate flood she couldn't stop. "I wanted you to feel- hic- the way I felt when those females called for you like they knew you. Which I suppose- hic- they did 'cause they knew your name." She sucked in a breath. "Like you were very familiar with them. Like you'd had them-" She hiccupped again and frowned.

"I knew what I was doing, Ash." She admitted, her voice a little quieter, but gods she couldn't stop talking. Couldn't shut her gods damned trap for one single moment. Shame flushed across her face. "I wanted you to feel it, too. Hic. A little jealousy. A little territorial- just like I did. But you left. You just left. And I thought-"

She looked up back towards the ceiling. "I don't know why it hurt. I mean, why would you have waited all these years. For me? You never expected to find a mate, right? It's not exactly common anymore if any of the myths are true. And there is no fucking way" She hiccupped into a sigh, her throat tight. "I mean you weren't celibate all this time, hoping and waiting one day for some pretty female to waltz right in and a bond to snap into place."

Her breath was fast and uneven, her body trembled slightly and she hoped he assumed it was from that ceaseless stinging in her knee. But she still refused to let him speak until she had finished. She had to get it all out.

"But I-" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know. I hated the feeling...and I guess I wanted to make you feel it too." She clenched the sheets tighter. "No one warned me I was going to become some jealous monster the moment a whore even looked in your direction."

For a long moment, Asher said nothing, his jaw tight as he focused on cleaning the wound with slow, deliberate motions. Her words clawed at something deep inside him, something raw and unguarded, and he exhaled through his nose, trying to steady the storm that raged beneath his ribs.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to let the frustration take hold, to snap at her for playing this reckless, foolish game, for deliberately twisting the knife in both their hearts just to make a point. But how could he, when she was sprawled out in front of him, voice unsteady, eyes glassy with unshed emotion? When she had just confessed the same torment that had been eating him alive?

He resisted the urge to push a stray lock of hair from her face, to offer even the smallest comfort when he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch her at all. Instead, he simply sighed and shifted, his fingers flexing as if that might help him find the right words.

“I know what you wanted me to feel, Vess. I felt it, and more.”he murmured at last, his voice quieter than before, rough with something he couldn’t quite swallow down.. “I left because I think you know well enough what I would have done in that tavern if I had witnessed anyone touch you.”

His eyes flickered to hers then, sharp and burning, letting her see the truth in them. The truth that terrified him.

“I left,” he continued, forcing himself to look away, “because I’ve spent enough of my life being tortured… and I can’t take it from you too. I’m trying to—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as his fingers curled into a fist against his knee. “I’m trying to find control. And you…” He cut himself off and swallowed, his throat tight, his gaze shifting to the window..

Silence stretched between them, thick and unyielding.

“I would never intentionally hurt you, Vess.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of something far heavier, something that had been festering inside him for longer than he cared to admit. “I am terrified of causing you pain, of making you feel… chained to me.”

He forced himself to look at her again, taking in the tremble in her hands, the way she tried to mask it, the way she squeezed the sheets as though grounding herself.

“Yes, I’ve had females in my bed, just as I’m sure you’ve had males.” he admitted, his voice hollow. “But never more than a single night. Never any that have meant anything to me. I’ve never meant anything to any of them.” His lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled sharply. “I’ve never cared, or been cared for.”

He hesitated, his jaw clenching, before finally saying what had been lingering between them for far too long.

“I care about you, Vess.”

His voice was low, unguarded, pained.

“So much so that I would let pain and madness consume me whole if being with another male is what would make you happy.”

Another long silence.

Then, as if sensing he had already said too much, he pushed to his feet, stepping away from her before he did something reckless. Before he made a mistake he couldn’t take back.

“Get some rest.” His sigh was quiet, weary, but final.

Vespera didn't look at him. She couldn't. Not when she knew exactly what he would have done had he stayed. Not when she recalled the charred bodies that lay lifelessly in the burning Elderglen after he tore through Fionn's friends like a storm, leaving nothing but death in his wake. All because of a single word carved into her flesh.

Tainted.

Her fingers curled into the blanket, breaths uneven as she tried to force her expression to remain neutral, tried not to let that thought sink its claws too dep into her. But the weight of it pressed down on her ribs, settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach. And then what he said next broke her.

I've spent enough of my life being tortured... and I can't take it from you too.

"Oh.." The word slipped from her lips before she could stop it, barely louder than a breath. But it carried the full weight of her guilt, her shame, the sickening realization that she had hurt him that badly. She had done that. She wanted to take it back. Gods, she wanted to take it all back.

Her throat tightened and her vision blurred with unshed tears. She swallowed hard against the lump forming, forcing herself to hold still and let him speak. And for once, maybe, she listened. Listened as he admitted his fear. As he had confessed to the things he had done, the things he never let himself have. As he told her, with no hesitation, that he had never mattered to anyone.

Her knuckles had gone white with how hard she gripped the blanket.

She didn't interrupt him. Not when his voice wavered, raw and unguarded in a way he'd never spoken to her like before. Not when his words settled deep into her chest, curling around something fragile that ached for him and the life he'd been forced to endure.

But then- Yes, I've had females in my bed, just as I'm sure you've had males.

Her head snapped up. Only one, her mind supplied bitterly. And even then, she was sure she never had him.

"Fionn." The name left her lips before she could stop herself, slurred with exhaustion and alcohol, but laced with something sharp. Her golden eyes met his for the first time since he started speaking. "It was just Fionn." Her breath shuddered and she forced herself to continue, voice quiet and brittle. She probably should have shut up when she had the chance.

"And it wasn't even my bed. It was only a few times actually. And he-" She swallowed hard, desperately wishing she could stop her mouth from moving. "He never cared for me. I was just there. An easy target, I've come to realize." And then she fell silent again, let him speak. Let him tell her in that broken, aching voice that he cared about her.

That he cared so much that he would let himself be consumed by pain and madness if she wanted any other male.

The air in the room shifted. His words embedded themselves in her chest, left her breathless, left her reeling.

And then he stepped away. Put distance between them like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Get some rest.

Her lips parted, her mind racing like the room around her, her heart screaming at her to stop him. She barely heard herself when she whispered, "I don't want another male." She glanced away from him, afraid to see his face when he rejected her. And then, softer this time, in a voice barely m ore than a plea, "I just want you to kiss me. Again."

Asher felt the weight of her guilt pressing into the space between them, thick and suffocating. He didn’t want to hurt her—gods, he didn’t—but some dark, twisted part of him found reassurance in it. At least she felt it too. At least she knew what she had done to him.

And then she said his name.

Fionn.

His breath caught, the name slicing through him like a blade. His brother. His fucking brother.

“My brother?” His voice was far too calm, too measured for the fury building inside him, for the hurt unraveling in his chest like a wound torn open.

His mind reeled, clawing at every smug word Fionn had ever said about her.

Gods, his brother would love this. He could hear his taunts now. The runt of the litter, the one no one ever wanted, bound to Fionn’s leftovers.

A bitter laugh nearly escaped him. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, pacing like an animal caged in his own rage. He didn’t want this information—didn’t want the images now seared into his mind, didn’t want the thought of her with him.

Then, her voice, quiet and trembling—“I don’t want another male.”

His gaze snapped to her.

“Good.” His voice was sharp, edged with something raw and unsteady. “Then don’t ever do anything like that to me again.”

It came out harsher than he intended, but the pain was outweighed by anger now.

He turned away before he could take it back, before she could see whatever ruin was written across his face.

“Rest.” His voice was tight, unyielding. He didn’t give her a chance to argue before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Vespera stared at the door. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the sound of her own heart hammering against her ribs, the ringing in her ears as the weight of her colossal fuck up settled into her chest. He was gone.

The room was too quiet without him. Too cold. Too empty. And gods, she regretted ever uttering that name to him. Fionn.

Her fingers curled into the blankets, trying to anchor herself and steady the slow, spinning world around her. But it wasn't just the alcohol making her feel like this. It wasn't just the exhaustion pulling at her bones and urging her to collapse. It was him.

The way his voice had sharpened. The way his green eyes had burned with something close to betrayal when she said his brother's name.

She wanted to rip the word from her tongue, to go back and never let it leave her lips in the first place. Because the knew Asher. She knew how he reacted when that name was spoken. She had seen it before and the result of that name- when he had come back and she was first to find him, blood-soaked and breathing like a dying animal, standing in the middle of carnage. She had seen what happened when the fury inside had been given a target.

And this time, she couldn't stop him before he left. This time, she let him go.

A broken sound tore from her mouth as she rolled over and buried her face in a pillow, her body curling in on itself to keep from shattering entirely.

Vespera hated herself for telling him what she had- for putting that image in her mate's mind. For hurting him in a way much worse than she had been hurt. She hadn't wanted this. She hadn't wanted to make him think she had meant anything to Fionn. Because in the end, she hadn't.

It had just been a circumstance of time and place. And a girl desperate to be acknowledged. A girl who didn't want to be lonely for her entire life.

And now, Ash was gone, storming off into the night, alone with his thoughts- alone with the way h e was undoubtedly twisting everything she had said into something worse. That thought made her stomach churn. The jealousy, the anger, the stupid and territorial bond that had driven her to this meant nothing. Not when she was lying here, in the dark, her throat raw with unshed tears, whispering apologies to the walls that would never reach him.

Not when she was alone.

So horribly alone like she deserved to be.

She hadn't wanted this. She had only wanted him.

And now, she wasn't sure if she had just lost him entirely with that one, stupid name.

Asher stormed out of the inn, shadows licking at his heels as his fury carried him down the steps and onto the main street. The air was thick with the acrid scent of ale and damp earth, the distant hum of conversation barely registering over the pounding in his skull.

A few males outside the tavern were hauling their friend off the ground, groaning but still breathing. Lucky bastard.

Ash barely spared them a glance. He needed to burn this feeling out of him.

The streets narrowed as he walked, the polished veneer of the town giving way to something grittier. The flickering glow of lanterns illuminated the shadier taverns, the dimly lit bordellos, the smokehouses that reeked of herbs and opiates. But Ash kept moving, searching for something—anything—to quiet the storm in his chest.

He found it in a gambling den, its doors yawning open like a hungry beast. Inside, the air was thick with sweat and tension, the clatter of dice and the low murmur of bets filling the room.

He drank. Alcohol seared down his throat, hot and biting, settling like fire in his gut. It did nothing to dull his anger. So he played.

The dice tumbled, the coins stacked higher, and soon enough, he was winning. Too much.

“You cheat!” A burly male snarled, standing, challenging him. “Let’s settle this like males.” He grunted.

Asher only grinned, sharp and reckless. Perfect.

“Gladly.” He stood, rolling his shoulders.

“The pit,” the male spat.

“Even better,” Ash said. He drained the last of his drink, slammed the empty cup on the table, and tossed his coin purse to the bookkeeper. “All of it on me to win.”

The crowd stirred, excitement buzzing through the air as they followed them to the pit—a sunken ring of dirt and bloodstains. The last fighter was being dragged out, his face mulched.

Ash barely felt a flicker of concern. This was exactly what he needed.

---

The first hit came fast.

Ash barely had time to raise his guard before a fist like stone drove into his ribs. Pain splintered through him, stealing his breath for half a second before he retaliated—quick, brutal. His fist cracked against the male’s jaw, sending him staggering back.

The crowd roared.

His opponent spat blood and grinned, then lunged.

Ash ducked, pivoting just in time to dodge a wild swing, but the male fought dirty. A knee slammed into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp. Then a crushing blow—his skull snapped back, stars bursting behind his eyes as he hit the dirt.

His vision blurred. The scent of blood filled his nose, metallic and hot.

Get up.

The world spun as he forced himself onto his hands and knees, spitting red into the dirt. He could hear laughter, jeering, the clink of coin as bets were placed against him.

The male loomed over him, gloating. Big mistake.

Ash’s anger flared, white-hot and searing, drowning out the ache in his ribs, the pounding in his skull.

Fionn.. Fionn.. Fionn..

He surged up with a snarl, every ounce of fury and pain behind his fist as he drove it straight into the male’s face.

Bone crunched.

The force of the hit sent his opponent airborne, his body twisting before he crashed onto his back with a sickening thud.

Unmoving.

The pit fell silent for a beat—then erupted in cheers.

Ash barely heard it. He wiped the blood from his mouth, breathing hard, his knuckles aching.

It wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

“Who the fuck is next?!”

Her cries went silent as the room faded. The warmth of her blanket, the rough linen pillow beneath her cheek, it all dissolved into the nothingness of sleep, pulling her down into the depth of exhaustion that let her mind unravel, let her fears twist into something far worse than reality.

The world was burning.

Air was thick with the scent of charred wood, of blood and smoke, something wrong. Shadows stretched over the ruined ground, flickering in the firelight that devoured everything around them. Flames crackled, filling the silence, deafening and suffocating.

Vespera couldn't move.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs were limp, her breaths weak. She lay in the dirt as her vision blurred and faded at the edges. She couldn't barely feel something pooling beneath her- blood. She could barely feel anything at all. But she felt him then. Asher.

He was holding her, arms tight around her, shaking, his own body pressed close like he could somehow will her to stay there. She glanced down. His hands, gods...his hands, were covered in blood. Her blood.

She tried to speak, but her lips barely parted. She tried to lift a hand and reach for him, but it wouldn't move. Her golden eyes found his- green, always green and wild. They were full of something raw and broken, something she hadn't seen in them before. He was crying.

Tears streamed down his face, leaving trails through soot and ash. His breaths came in ragged, his entire body trembling as he held her too close. Too tight. And then, he had pulled her up, forehead pressed against hers, fingers tightening like he could hold her together and stop what was happening.

"I'm sorry." He whispered over and over. His voice was wrecked, shaking, almost unrecognizable. "Gods, I'm so sorry."

Vespera wanted to ask why. Why was he sorry? Why was he looking at her like she was slipping away?

Why did it feel like her heart wasn't beating?

But he sobbed. A real sob, raw and painful, tearing from his throat like he was being ripped apart. His fingers grazed over her cheek, his breath hitching as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her temple, her lips- soft, desperate, and horrifyingly final.

"I love you."

His words were whispered, spoken only to her like a prayer...like a curse...like something that had been buried inside him for far too long.

"I love you, Vess."

It was the only thing he said. Over and over. The only thing she could hear past the rushing in her ears, past the way her body felt like it was drifting, like she was losing her grip on everything.

And then she saw it. A dagger. His dagger. Still slick with her blood. He had killed her.

Even as the darkness swallowed her, as the fire burned hotter and his voice- his pleas- grew distant, she forgave him.

Because she loved him too.

But then, there was nothing. Just the burning cold and the deafening silence.

Blood dripped from his knuckles, mingling with the sweat slicking his skin. He was bruising like a ripe peach, his lip and cheek burst open and bleeding, but Asher barely felt it. The rush of the fights—the agony of every punch, every cut—had been swallowed by something worse.

A feeling.

Not his own.

Vespera.

It was like a knife had been driven through his chest, twisting deep into his ribs. A hollow, wrenching agony that made the air in his lungs turn to ice. He staggered, his vision tunneling, the heat of the pit suddenly suffocating. The taste of iron filled his mouth, but it wasn't from the blood on his tongue.

It was hers.

The world blurred. He barely registered the coins being shoved into his hands, the cheers, the offers for another round. He turned, shouldering past the bodies pressing too close. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he pushed out of the gambling den, abandoning everything but his breeches.

He ran.

Bare feet pounded against stone and dirt, up winding streets and twisting alleyways, faster—faster—until the cliffside loomed before him. The stairs carved into it stretched high above, steep and unforgiving. His muscles screamed, every wound burning, but he kept going.

“Vess.” His voice was barely more than a breathless whisper at first. Then louder. “Hold on, Vess!”

His legs burned. His ribs ached. He didn’t stop. The inn came into view at the top of the cliff, and he crashed through the door like a storm. The room was dark, and she was curled beneath the blankets, pale and still. Too still.

“Vess.” His voice cracked.

Asher was on her in an instant, hands searching—please—for warmth, for breath, for the steady pulse beneath her skin. His fingers brushed her cheek, her throat—there. There.

A pulse. A breath.

She was alive.

His entire body trembled, shaking so violently that his legs gave out beneath him. He sank to the floor at her bedside, his head falling back onto the mattress, hands fisting in his hair.

“Fuck.” The word came out broken, raw. A shuddering exhale left him as the weight of it all crashed down—his fear, his relief, the ache still lingering in his chest from something deeper than pain.

She was alive.

The darkness had not yet faded though the dream had long since dissolved into nothingness- no fire, no pain, no whisper of his voice in her ears. Just emptiness. Heavy, crushing emptiness.

But something had shifted. A presence. Warm hands on her skin, pressing against her throat, her cheek. A voice-his voice, cracked and desperate tried to break through the haze that had settled over her mind. She wasn't sure what woke her first. It may have been the weight of him beside her or the tremor in his hands. Or maybe the way the room suddenly felt different, like a storm had passed through.

She shifted, sniffling. The air smelled like him. Like rain and fire and blood.

Vespera's lashes fluttered, eyes cracking open to a world blurred by tears still silently slipping down her face. She was met with nothing but the dark ceiling, the cool press of sheets against her skin. But her body ached like she had just lived through a life that wasn't quite a dream, but something far worse. Something real.

Her fingers twitched against the bed and she turned her head slightly, the motion slow and sluggish, as if she'd forgotten how to move. Her eyes- golden, wide, dazed- found him.

On his knees beside the bed, Ash's forehead rested against the mattress with his fingers speared through his hair. He was trembling. She'd never seen him so...broken. Not when he had seen that word on her back. Not even when she found him in the burning Elderglen.

She swallowed, her throat dry and chest tight. Her lips parted, but no sound came right away. She wasn't sure what to say. Wasn't sure if she could speak past the lump wedged in her throat. Or if he even wanted her to speak after what she'd done to him earlier in the night. Her heart thudded unevenly under her skin. What was she meant to do?

"...Ash?" Her voice was hoarse and barely a whisper. Another fresh tear slipped down her cheek. She hated that she was crying, hated more that she had no idea why. It had only been a dream.

But something had settled inside her, a lead weight she couldn't shake. An ache she couldn't place.

She forced her arm to move, to reach out toward him and comfort him, but she hesitated.

He looked wrecked.

He looked as though something inside him had cracked wide open. Like he had just lived through a life that wasn't quite a dream, but something far worse.

"You..." her voice was weak, breaking on the word. She swallowed again, trying to steady herself. "You're shaking." Her fingers twitched again, hovering in that space between them before she finally let them fall onto the mess of sweat-damp, white hair. A touch that was tentative and uncertain. "You're scaring me. Are you alright?" The confession was barely audible, but it was there between them. Raw and unguarded, slipping past her lips before she could think better of it. Because he did look frightened and that terrified her more than anything else.

Asher forced himself to breathe. Slow, deep, steady—but it didn’t help. The terror still clung to him, winding through his ribs, squeezing the air from his lungs. She's alive. She's safe. She's here. He whispered the words over and over in his mind, trying to anchor himself, but the phantom of that feeling still haunted him.

Then—her touch. Fingers threading through his hair, tentative, warm, pulling him back from the edge of that suffocating abyss. His own hand twitched before he grasped hers, holding on too tightly, his beaten knuckles aching with the force of it. He didn’t care. He needed to feel her, needed the proof that she was real, solid, alive beneath his touch.

His breath hitched. "I felt your heart stop." The words were rough, broken, dragged from the raw wound inside his chest. He swallowed hard, his throat burning. "I thought—" He cut off, shaking his head, unable to give shape to the nightmare that had already swallowed him whole.

He lifted his gaze to hers. Moonlight caught the silent tears streaking through the blood on his face, his expression laid bare—wrecked, raw, lost. He had to see her, had to watch the rise and fall of her breath, the flutter of her lashes, the faint tremor in her lips. He needed to drown in the proof that she was still here, still his.

His voice cracked as he whispered, "I can't live without you, Vess."

The confession fell from his lips like an oath, like a plea, like an undeniable truth. And gods, he had never felt so broken.

Her breaths shuddered as she blinked at Ash, still dazed, her golden eyes glassy with her own lingering tears. The weight of his words settled over her, suffocating and unrelenting, tightening something deep in her chest. "I.." Her voice faltered. She could barely think past the lingering remnants of her nightmare, still clinging to her. Could barely think past the rawness in his voice and the way he looked at her like he was afraid he had truly lost her.

Her trembling fingers found his and gripped tightly before she guided his hand up to her chest, pressing his palm firmly over her frantically beating heart. "It's still there." She whispered, her voice shaking as she met his gaze. "I'm still here."

Her other hand trailed down from his tangled, sweaty hair, soft and slowly until her fingertips brushed against his cheek. The warmth of his skin was a sharp contrast to the blood drying along his face. Tears left fresh tracks through the blood clinging to his face. The sight had made her stomach twist.

"What happened?" She murmured, her thumb swiping gently over the mess of blood and salt, wiping at the remnants of whatever hell he had gone through before crashing into their room like he'd barely made it back alive. But maybe he hadn't. Maybe something had unraveled in him, just like her when she had heard those females calling his name. The pain she felt, clawing through her ribs couldn't have been worse than when she chose to flirt with males in front of him.

She knew that, because even though she was pissed, she wasn't truly fleeing like he had. And maybe, maybe, she was starting to realize how much of herself she had already given to him without meaning to.

I can't live without you, Vess.

It hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over what remained of her drunken haze, drowning out the bitterness she had clung to. "You can." She whispered, stroking his face gently. Her gaze was half-absent. Still lost between dream and reality. "You have before." Though she knew as she said the words, they weren't true- not really. Not after the way he had stormed into their room, looking like he'd already been to hell and back just for her. Not after the way he was looking at her now.

Her fingers curled at his jaw, moving against the scratchy stubble. "But I don't want you to." Her voice was softer now, quieter, like a secret too fragile to be spoken of any louder. Like she was afraid to admit that she felt the same way.

His fingers curled instinctively around hers where they pressed his palm to her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart beneath his touch. Proof. It was still there. She was still here.

His throat worked around the lump lodged there as she stroked his face, her words like a blade slipping between his ribs. You can. You have before.

But he hadn’t. Not really. He’d been surviving, moving forward in some semblance of a life, but without her, it hadn’t been living. He wanted to tell her that. Wanted to shake his head, make her understand that nothing before her had ever mattered like this.

His jaw clenched, and his head shaking slightly as she asked what had happened. His fingers tightened just the barest fraction around hers. "It doesn’t matter," he murmured, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. His free hand reached for the blankets, tugging them up over her with quiet insistence. "Get some rest. I’ll stay here."

He wasn’t leaving. Not now. Not ever. If she dreamed again, if she woke with shadows in her eyes and terror in her lungs, he would be here. His gaze softened as he studied her, the lingering traces of fear still etched into her features. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow, grounding.

'You can.. You have before..'

Asher exhaled shakily, his pulse still thundering in his ears. No, he couldn’t. Not now. Not after this. The moment he’d accepted the bond between them, there had been no turning back. Their lives were entwined, tangled so deeply that the thought of a world without her—without this—was unbearable.

'But I don't want you to...'

He leaned into her hand, capturing it with his and turning his head to press a kiss to her palm, a shaky smile on his lips as he looked back at her.

"Sleep.." he rumbled, finally calm enough to take an easy breath.

Vespera blinked up at Ash, her golden eyes hazy with sleep, still swimming between her nightmare and the warmth of his presence beside her. She knew he was avoiding the questions. Knew that whatever happened that left him bloodied and bruised wasn't something he wanted to tell her right now. So she would ask again in the morning.

For now, all she could focus on was the way his lips brushed over her skin, the way his thumb smoothed over her knuckles, the way his voice, gravelly and exhausted, rumbled through her like a lullaby. She smiled at him, drowsy and slow, fingers twitching where his held onto hers.

Get some rest. I'll stay right here. Sleep..

"Not until you lay down with me," She mumbled, stubborn even through the drunken, tired slur of her words. She could already see an argument forming in his sharp, green eyes. "Ash, please." Right now, the only thing she wanted was for him to stay. She didn't care if she sounded ridiculous. Didn't care if the bond had pulled at her, making her need his presence more than she should.

The voice speaking was all hers. The bed felt too empty, too cold, and she wasn't going back to sleep unless she knew he was right beside her.

She shifted slightly, her movement slow and uncoordinated as she reached for him, fingers curling loosely around his wrist. "Please." She whispered barely more than a breath. When she finally got him to move, when she finally felt the mattress dip beneath his weight, she exhaled and sunk into the sheets. She turned towards him instinctively, pressing into his warmth with her head nestled against his shoulder, his battered chest.

"Mmmmgood..." She murmured sleepily, sighing in contentment as her body relaxed into his. One arm lodged between his arm and his side, pulling him closer and lingering to trace slow, lazy circles against his back.

The scent of blood and embers clung to him, but beneath it was something that had become familiar. Something that made her feel safe in a way she had never felt before. The ache in her chest softened, and for the first time that night, her breathing steadied. Her heart evened out, slowing and no longer frantic. "Don't go anywhere." She slurred slightly as sleep began to pull her under once again. She nuzzled closer, fingers stilling against his spine as her eyes slipped shut.

"I like you right here."

He hated that he was soaked in blood, sweat, and dirt—hated that she had to curl against him like this when he felt so damn unworthy of it. But he couldn’t deny her. Not when she whispered his name like that. Not when she reached for him, sleepy and stubborn, clinging to him like he was something worth holding onto.

So he let her.

He tucked her beneath the blankets, but stayed above them, unwilling to dirty the sheets or risk pressing too much of his battered self against her. His hand found her cheek, his thumb brushing soft, absent strokes along her skin as her breathing began to slow. The tension in her frame melted away, replaced by something softer—something that made his throat tighten and his heart clench painfully in his chest.

I like you right here.

A sharp ache lanced through him at those words, at the simple, sleepy truth in them. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to breathe through the sudden weight pressing against his ribs.

She had no idea what she was doing to him.

Asher stared down at her, drinking in every detail—the way her soft lashes fluttered faintly against her cheeks, the way she nuzzled closer, completely at ease despite everything. Trusting him, wanting him here.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, exhaling slowly through his nose before leaning down, pressing the barest whisper of a kiss against her hair. “I’m right here, Vess,” he murmured, so quietly it was barely a sound at all.

And he would be. Always.

She had returned to the quiet. Peaceful. A deep, endless void of blackness where nothing hurt, nothing burned, and nothing called out to her anymore. It should have been terrifying, that absence of everything. But after the nightmare she had before- after feeling her own life slip away in Ash’s arms, this emptiness was a mercy.

She didn’t dream, she simply was nothing.

And yet, in reality, her body moved on its own accord.

Ash had tried to separate them, placing a sheet between his filthy blood and dirt-streaked body and her own. He had shifted slightly, keeping some distance while ensuring she didn’t wake up, tangled in a mess. But Vespera, even in sleep, refused to be parted from him tonight.

Blindly, she shifted closer and closed that distance. The blanket between them had only been an inconvenience at best, and she made quick work of hit, sighing softly as she nuzzled into his chest, slipping a leg out of the blanket and hooking it over his hip.

Her breath fanned against his chest as she settled once more, holding him tight, uncaring of the filth or whatever reasoning had made him try to push her away in the first place. She barely stirred for the rest of the night, wrapped around him in her quiet, dreamless sleep.

---

She was first to sleep, first to wake.

The room was dim with morning light barely seeping through the curtains. The inn was still silent, save for the faint creaking of shifting floorboards somewhere in the distance. For the first time since leaving the Elderglen- maybe since living there, even- Vespera didn’t feel the immediate need to move.

Ash was still sleeping, his breathing slow and even. His chest rose and fell steadily against her cheek, his heartbeat a calm and grounding rhythm against her ear. His arm cocooned her in his warmth, a steady weight draped loosely over her with that quiet promise that he was still here, still with her.

Unlike before, she didn’t move to tease him, didn’t shift to stir him awake. She just laid there, listening to him breathe and feeling that steady drumming of his heart.

It was..nice.

Too nice.

Her fingers twitched where they rested against his ribs. She wanted to drag her fingers, trace along the runes that had been etched permanently into his skin, wanted to commit every part of him to memory, but she didn’t dare to wake him just yet.

So instead, she let herself have this much. Just for a little longer.

Asher slept deeper than he had in weeks, exhaustion finally pulling him under in the warmth of Vespera’s embrace. He barely stirred when she moved in the night, curling tighter against him, nuzzling into his chest like she belonged there. Even in sleep, she was stubborn—undoing the careful space he had tried to put between them, clinging to him like she could hold him together. And maybe she did.

He woke slowly, the weight of sleep still thick in his limbs, his mind sluggish and hazy. She was still there. Tucked against him, soft and steady, her breath a warm brush against his chest, her fingers barely twitching where they rested against his ribs. She hadn’t moved to wake him. Hadn’t tried to slip away.

He could have stayed like this forever.

A slow exhale left him as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, his arm tightening instinctively around her, his fingers curling against the small of her back. His other hand, rough and battered, moved without thought, threading into her hair, combing through the strands in slow, absent strokes.

She felt small like this. Small and warm and his.

Something in his chest twisted painfully at that thought, and he swallowed against it, forcing himself to focus on the now—on the steady rhythm of her breathing, on the way she had melted against him in sleep, uncaring of the state he was in.

His hand stilled in her hair, fingers barely tangled in the strands as he finally found his voice—low and rough from sleep.

“Good morning.” he rumbled. His fingers trailed lightly along her spine, committing every inch of it to memory. And for a moment—just one—he let himself have this, too.