Mira's strength returned in small pieces. She woke each morning with less pain in her legs, more steadiness in her step. The twins grew quickly, warm and bright in her arms. She walked farther each day. Trained again with wooden blades in the clearing, her breath puffing in the cold.
Thorne watched without comment. He stood by the treeline or by the cabin door, arms crossed. Silent, always. But present. When she stumbled, he didn’t rush to catch her. But she knew he would if she truly fell.
“You’re off-balance,” he said one morning, his tone flat.
“I just gave birth,” she replied, panting.
“Doesn’t mean you can go soft.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And you don’t know how to give a compliment.”
Thorne smirked. “That was one.”
At night, they fell into rhythm. Thorne chopped wood. Mira stirred stew. The twins babbled between them, one gurgling, the other grabbing for her spoon. And when they cried, Thorne moved first. Always.
He held them like glass, careful and sure. Mira had caught him whispering to them once, his voice low and warm. She hadn't asked what he said. It felt too private. Too sacred.
Then came the heat.
It hit hard, sudden and deep, blooming under her skin like wildfire. Mira couldn’t breathe through it. Her thighs clenched without meaning to. Her chest felt tight. Her skin was too sensitive, her clothes unbearable. The first day, she gritted her teeth and said nothing. But by the second, every glance at Thorne was a spark she couldn’t control.
She wanted him. Badly. Desperately. Shame curled around the want, but it didn’t douse it. It made it worse.
She couldn’t sleep. Her body throbbed at night, restless and flushed, damp with sweat. Every time she heard him shift beside the hearth, something in her stomach tightened. She imagined his hands. His mouth. His weight.
She tried to hide it. But Thorne wasn’t stupid.
By the third day, he barely looked at her. His jaw was clenched more often than not. When she brushed past him, his breath hitched—and then he jerked away like she’d burned him.
That evening, he stood by the door, face hard, voice flat.
“I’ll sleep outside,” he said.
Mira grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”
He didn’t speak.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said, her voice barely above a breath.
His jaw flexed. “It’s not safe.”
She stepped into his space, defiance burning in her eyes. “I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be.” His voice cracked—low, rough, haunted.
“Then stop me.” Her words were silk over steel. “Tell me this isn’t what you want. Lie to me.”
His eyes locked with hers. The air between them went razor-sharp—charged, pulsing. One heartbeat. Two. And then—
She kissed him.
No hesitation. No mercy.
He caught her like a man starved, like he’d been holding back for far too long. The kiss was brutal, beautiful—his hands threading into her hair, her fingers clawing at his shirt. Clothes became irrelevant. Sanity burned at the edges. His mouth left trails of fire down her neck, his breath heavy against her skin.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice rough, broken. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“Good,” she whispered, her breath hot against his mouth. “Ruin me back.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands were everywhere—on her hips, her waist, her ass—squeezing, kneading, pulling her flush against him until she could feel the hard length of him pressing into her stomach. She gasped, her body arching into his, and he took advantage, his mouth trailing down her neck, teeth scraping over her pulse point. She shuddered, her hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan.
“You like that?” he murmured against her skin, his voice dark, dangerous.
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “More.”
He obliged, his lips moving lower, down the curve of her shoulder, across her collarbone, until he reached the swell of her breast. His tongue flicked over her nipple, and she cried out, her back arching off the wall. He chuckled, low and wicked, before taking her into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make her knees buckle. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Thorne,” she moaned, her voice a plea, a demand.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark with hunger. “What do you want?”
“You,” she said, her voice shaking. “All of you.”
He didn’t hesitate. His hands slid down her thighs, gripping the backs of her knees and lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place, and he pressed her against the wall, the hard planes of his body pinning her there. She could feel him, hot and heavy against her core, and she rocked her hips, desperate for friction.
“Fuck,” he growled, his forehead dropping to hers. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Then die happy,” she whispered, her lips brushing his.
He kissed her again, deep and filthy, his tongue tangling with hers as he ground against her. She moaned into his mouth, her hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles flex and shift under her touch. He was everywhere—his hands, his mouth, his body—and she was drowning in him, in the heat and the need and the sheer fucking intensity of it all.
“I need you,” he rasped, his voice raw. “Now.”
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “Please.”
He didn’t make her wait. One hand slid between them, fingers slipping under the edge of her panties, and she gasped as he found her wet and ready. He groaned, his forehead dropping to hers as he stroked her, slow and deliberate, until she was trembling in his arms.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You want this?”
“Yes,” she moaned, her hips rocking against his hand. “God, yes.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, yanking them down her legs and tossing them aside. She was bare now, exposed, and he took a moment to just look at her, his eyes dark with hunger.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he said, his voice rough.
She didn’t have time to respond before he was on her again, his mouth crashing into hers as he fumbled with his belt. She heard the clink of metal, the rustle of fabric, and then he was there, hard and hot against her. She gasped as he pressed into her, inch by torturous inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. “You feel so good.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—all she could do was feel. He moved slowly at first, each thrust deep and deliberate, but it wasn’t long before the pace quickened, became frantic. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back as he pounded into her, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
“Thorne,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “I’m close.”
“Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough. “Let me feel you.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. Her body tightened around him, waves of pleasure crashing over her as she came, her cries muffled against his shoulder. He followed her over the edge with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her.
They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Finally, he pulled back, his forehead resting against hers.
“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Then die happy.”
He chuckled, low and dark, before capturing her lips in another kiss. And just like that, they were lost in each other again.
Later—after the storm had passed and the room was thick with silence—she lay there, tangled in sheets. Thorne stood with his back to her, shirt clutched in one hand, the other fisted at his side.
“Say something,” she whispered, her voice a fragile thread.
He shook his head once. “I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?” Her words hit like a slap, sharp and wounded.
“I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
“Don’t do that,” she snapped, sitting up, chest rising fast. “Don’t make it ugly. It wasn’t ugly.”
“It isn’t you.” His voice was hollow, gutted. “It’s me.”
“Then tell me why,” she said, eyes burning. “Make me understand.”
He turned slowly, pain carved into every line of his face. “Because everything I’ve ever touched, everything I’ve ever loved—I’ve buried. And if I let myself love you…”
His voice broke.
“I’ll have to bury you too.”