Her breath hitched at the whisper of his lips, so close yet hesitant—as if he was giving her the choice to move, to run, to say no.
But Lyra didn't move.
She couldn't.
Her heart was no longer hers—it beat to the rhythm of the storm in his eyes, to the tenderness in his touch. And when Casian leaned in that final inch and pressed his mouth to hers, the world around them dissolved.
It wasn't a claiming kiss. It wasn't rushed or possessive.
It was slow. Reverent. Like a vow sealed in silence.
His lips moved against hers with a gentleness that stole her breath, tasting of apology and longing all at once. It wasn't just heat—it was emotion, heavy and consuming, pulling her under.
Lyra's fingers twitched at her side, then rose hesitantly, moving over his bare chest and then to his shoulders. She clung to him like he was the only real thing left in her world.
