Page 161 of Claimed

Morrighan’s gaze shifts to my mate. ‘Your mortal will fail.’

Eira lifts Widow’s Fang, still glowing with our blood. ‘My immortal mate just helped kill your new recruit.’

‘My sons will come back to me. One by one.’

‘No,’ I say.

The bond between Eira and me burns brighter. The mark at my throat answers, no longer black, no longer red, but dark silver threaded with living light. ‘We are coming for you.’

Morrighan laughs, though hatred warps the sound. ‘Then come, beautiful king.’

The plain fractures beneath our feet as Netheris begins to collapse around us.

I yank Eira into my arms, growl when her body becomes light, breath, blood-song. ‘Do not leave me here,’ I say.

Her hand touches my cheek. ‘Then follow me home.’

The underworld tears open above us. I hold her as the realm shatters, as Morrighan’s scream follows us upward and Selphine’s promise of eternal enmity brands itself into the dark.

Eira’s mouth finds mine just before the Tower’s pulse reaches us.

Hot. Alive. Mine.

The bond flares once, impossibly bright.

Then we fall upward into breath.

27

EIRA

I wake with Valentin’s mouth on mine.

And it’s, hands down, the most excellent way to return from the underworld.

Admittedly, my lungs disagree at first, because my body hasn’t unlearned its necessity yet.

Air punches into me like a fist. I gasp against his lips, back arching, fingers clawing at whatever I can reach. His shoulders. His hair. His beautiful, ridiculous face when he tears his mouth from mine and looks down at me like I’m both miracle and vengeance.

The Vault roars with power around us. Every candle in the cathedral of flames surges high, gold and red and silver, then steadies into white fire. The wards carved into the floor glow beneath me but the salt circles have blackened at the edges. Blood shines on the stone, mine and his, threaded together in lines that no longer look spilled. They look written.

Valentin is above me, naked, bloody, eyes bright silver, his mouth shaking against restraint he has no chance of hiding from me now.

Because I feel him.

Fully.

There’s no veil between us. No gag. No witchwork dulling the edges. The bond is a living thing in my chest, fierce and immense, stretching from my ribs into his until I know the exact shape of his terror before he speaks.

‘Eira.’ His voice breaks. I blink up at him.

‘Lyra,’ he says, as if he needs both names to anchor himself.

My lips twitch. ‘You look awful.’

A laugh tears out of him.

It sounds close to a sob, but I am charitable enough not to point that out while he’s still holding me like the universe tried to mug him and steal his favourite person.