The infirmary doors hissed shut behind me.
Damien lay on the narrow bed, chest rising and falling too fast, skin still gray at the edges from the suppressant. The healers had flushed most of the poison, but the bond was still thin — a frayed thread sparking between us. I could feel it in my own chest: raw, aching, desperate to be whole again.
I dropped the borrowed robe. It pooled at my feet. Naked, still trembling from the shift and the escape, I crossed the room in three steps and climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips.
His eyes snapped open. Gold. Wild. Alive.
“Everly,” he rasped, hands already sliding up my thighs like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment. “The healers said—”
“I don’t care what they said.” I leaned down, bracing my palms on either side of his
