The mate bond hums, a quiet, steady tether binding us together.
It’s over, Kade projects, his mental voice soft, intimate. The political war. The biological war. The magical war. It’s over.
It’s over, I agree, leaning my head against his shoulder. We won.
He turns to face me fully. He reaches up with his right hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from my temple.
You are the foundation, he projects, his mental voice fierce, unyielding. They are the gardeners, but you are the soil. Without you, they have nothing to grow in. You don’t have to keep up with them, Isla. You just have to hold them.
He leans down and kisses me. It is not a kiss of cosmic resonance or magical merging. It is a kiss of flesh and breath and human desire. It tastes of tea and promise. It grounds me more deep
