Page 49 of The Bound Blood
For a second, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at me, like he’s trying to figure out if this is real.
Then he blinks, awareness growing slowly.
And he blushes.
A real blush, faint but there, blooming along the tops of his cheekbones and dusting the tips of his ears. I feel it more than see it—his body goes stiff, his magic stutters, and he immediately starts to unwind his wings.
“I—apologies.” His voice is rough, quiet. “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to hold you like that.”
“You were asleep,” I say, watching him with a strange sort of awe. “Your wings wouldn’t let me go.”
He winces. “That’s… not typical.”
I raise a brow. “You don’t usually cuddle? Tell me it isn’t so, the cryptic demon prince would totally cuddle,” I tease him as a smile pulls at my lips.
Kael groans under his breath, a sound I didn’t know he was capable of making. “Apparently, my body has no shame.”
“You’re blushing,” I murmur. “Kael, you actually—blush. I’m learning a lot about you. You bleed, you cuddle, youblush.”
His gaze cuts away from mine, clearly mortified. “It won’t happen again.”
A laugh slips from me before I can stop it. Not because I want to embarrass him more—but because this version of him, raw and unguarded, is kind of beautiful.
“I didn’t mind,” I whisper. “I think I slept deeply for the first time in days.”
Kael exhales, visibly relieved. “Good. You needed it.”
I let my head fall back against his chest, just for a moment. “So did you.”
He doesn’t answer—but his arms stay around me.
And for once, we don’t need words.
I stay where I am, my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart.
It’s quiet.
Calm.
But beneath it, something’s shifted. Not just in the bond we don’t dare name—but in the way his body reacts to mine. He’s still holding me, not quite as tightly as before, but enough that I feel every inch of him—every breath, every twitch of muscle, every subtle change.
And there is a change. A growing one, between his legs.
His heartbeat stutters slightly when I shift to get more comfortable. Just a small adjustment, but the second my hips move against his, his hands flex at my waist.
Then still. Tension ripples through him like a pulled wire.
I freeze. But it’s too late.
A low, strangled sound escapes him—more groan than word—and one arm tightens, keeping me pinned on top of him. “Don’t,” he mutters, voice rough and strained against the shell of my ear. “Not unless you’re ready for what happens next.”
My breath catches somewhere between mortification and something far more dangerous.
His hand tightens at my hip—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold me still against the unmistakable heat of his reaction. I don’t dare look at him. Not with how intimately I can feel just how not-unaffected he is.
I swallow hard and nod, barely moving. He exhales against me, the weight of it brushing the side of my neck.
“It’s not the time,” he says, a little more softly now. “Not yet.”
