No second guessing. No going back. His mate in every way that mattered.
Drawing his hands from her, he took a step back. Magic flared, prickling over his palms as he conjured the first stone. Oval in shape with smooth, round edges, the heavy weight settled in his palm. His gaze on hers, he placed it on the floor, then called forth another. And then another. Until eleven identical multicolored gemstones formed a perfect circle around his female. With a murmur, he opened a channel to the Meridian and evoked the spell, imbuing each of the eleven with the source that fed all living things.
Energy snapped, humming in the air like electricity.
Summoning a length of yellow ribbon, Wick pushed to his feet. “Ready?”
Naked, standing unashamed in bright light, Jamison didn’t answer. She held out her hand instead. Releasing a long breath, Wick reached out and slid his palm into hers. She tugged. He accepted her invitation, moving toward fate instead of away as he joined her inside the sacred circle. He stopped in front of her and raised his right hand. Lifting her own, she pressed her palm to his. Within seconds he looped the ribbon up and over, threading the length of satin between their fingers, completing a necessary part of the ceremony, tying them together in a ritual older than time.
“I remember the words from Tania’s wedding,” she said, reverence in her quiet tone. “I’ll go first.”
“Jamison?”
“Yes?”
“Never forget that I love you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. One fell, tipping over her bottom lashes. He brushed it away, and she smiled. Not a lot, just enough to reassure him as she inhaled soft, exhaled smooth and began the rite that would tie them together for all time. “Fate of my fate. Light of my light. Kindred of spirit without shadow or slight. You are mine. And I am yours. Two hearts intertwined forevermore.”
Her vows finished, he began his own, speaking to her in Dragonese, the language of his kind. Gaze steady on hers, his voice rose and fell over rolling r’s and long-drawn s’s. Her breath hitched. Another tear escaped to flow down her cheek. The gemstones started to glow. White light writhed from their centers, dancing in a decadent swirl around their feet. Awe rushed through his veins, making his heart stall as the binding spell took hold, marrying his life force with his female’s, and hers with his.
Pain seared the back of his hand.
The yellow ribbon caught magical flame. Satin turned to cinder as the mating mark burned over his knuckles. Beautiful in design, silver lines drew matching tattoos on their skin. Emotion tightened his throat. Jamison started to cry, and as she laced their fingers, he reeled her in. The warmth of her skin met his. Wick hummed and, holding her close, kissed each tear away. She’d given him a gift beyond measure. His female. His mate. His equal in all things. And as she tucked her head beneath his chin and whispered that she loved him, Wick vowed to protect her always, cherish her forever, and love her until the end of time.
26
Moving slow and steady, Wick slipped from between the sheets and out of bed. As his feet touched the cold floor, Jamison grumbled, protesting the loss of his body heat. His mouth curved as he watched her curl onto her side in the dark. Night vision pinpoint sharp, he saw everything. Every strand of her hair. Each one of her thick eyelashes. The beautiful lines of the mating mark on the back of her hand, telling him plainer than words she was all his.
He flexed his fist and stared at his knuckles, examining his own tattoo.
A mix of emotions tumbled through him. Pride. Thankfulness. But most of all, an overwhelming sense of contentment. So light. So bright. His heart had never been so full before… or so vulnerable. But hell. He couldn’t stop the slippery slide into happiness. Didn’t want to either. Jamison made him feel good: valued, honorable, and needed too.
All things he’d craved, but never believed possible. Until now.
Still, the switch-up startled him a little, tossing the usual red flags, raising his internal alarm system. Old habits died hard. Wick shoved them aside anyway. Locked down doubt, let the tension go, and accepted that things had changed. He didn’t need to be on his guard with her. Jamison would never hurt or betray him. His secrets were safe with her, and so was his heart.
Unable to resist, he pressed his hands into the coverlet on either side of her. As he leaned in and touched his mouth to her temple, she reached out. Her palm slid across his pillow. A frown marring her brow, she murmured his name.
He kissed her softly again. “Sleep, vanzäla. I’ll be back soon.”
The moment she settled, he pushed away from the mattress and, conjuring his clothes, rounded the end of the bed. Worn jeans and a faded T-shirt brushed his skin. He didn’t bother with boots. He wouldn’t be that long. Would slip right back into the bed next to his female the second he finished his errand.
Which… shit… wasn’t going to be pleasant.
To be expected. Apologizing, no matter the circumstances, sucked.
Bare feet silent against the hospital-grade floor, Wick crossed the recovery room. His choice of beds furthered his goals. Had been purely strategic, for a number of reasons. First, he hadn’t been able to wait to make love to Jamison again after the mating ceremony, and—fuck him, but his own bedroom had seemed too far away at the time. And second? Forge. Laid out one room over, the male was passed out, recovering from brutal injury and sleeping like the dead.
Or had been until a few minutes ago.
Dragon senses keen, he heard the voices. Uh-huh. No doubt. The wonder twins were up and at ’em. Not surprising, considering the lateness of the hour. Walking past a round table with a pair of chairs, Wick glanced at the clock above the bank of stainless steel cabinets. Each ticktock sounded loud in the quiet, skinny hands walking around its wide face, speeding time along. 2:43 P.M. Mid-afternoon, prime wake-up time for the Nightfury warriors. So no time like the present. He needed to get a move on and the conversation over before B and the others rolled in to check on Forge.
Unleashing magic, Wick flicked the handle and shoved. The connecting door swung wide. Strides even and sure, he crossed over the threshold and—
“Bloody hell.” Propped up in bed, looking like a thundercloud, Forge scowled at his apprentice. A deck of cards between them, amethyst gaze narrowed, he studied his cards as Mac tossed his hand down on the mattress. The Scot cursed under his breath. “You wanker.”
“You wanna win?” Seated in a chair next to the bed, Mac reached for the pot. Colorful poker chips rattled as he raked them in. “Beat me fair and square.”
“Fucking Irish,” Forge grumbled, tossing his own cards. Spades and diamonds slid against the bedspread, triple sixes bumping into a pair of jacks. A sliver of pleasure thrummed through Wick. Straight Up Texas Hold ’Em, his favorite game. “Bone-headed brats, every last one of you.”
With a snort, Mac flipped his buddy the bird, then gathered up the deck and started shuffling.
Standing just inside the room, Wick closed the door behind him. The soft click joined the quiet buzz of halogens. Two pairs of eyes swung his way. Only one, though, concerned him. He met Forge’s gaze. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I want tae beat the shite out of Mac.”
Their resident water dragon rolled his eyes.
Wick’s lips twitched. “Better then.”
“Aye.”
The male’s low tone drew Wick further into the room. He stopped at the end of bed and, planting his forearms on the lip of the footboard, leaned in. He frowned at the individual stitches dotting the top of the handmade quilt, then cleared his throat. Jesus. How to start? What to say? Where to begin? He didn’t know. Remorse never entered his equation, but as he looked up and saw the thick bandage crisscrossing Forge’s chest, regret hit him hard. God, he’d almost killed one of his brothers.