Page 138 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

“Complete the Aethermark and remove the darkness, girl.” With that, he slams his staff to the tiled floor, and the aether opens.

“Wait!” I yell. “I have one question.”

The aether seals momentarily, his hooded face turning back toward us. I stand on wobbly legs, glancing down at myself. I don’t dare look at Ryker, not yet. I already know what I will find. My senses are more alive in this new body.

“Why?” I ask. “Why didn’t I—? Why am I not—” Tears flood my eyes, but I squeeze my hands into fists, the little crescents nearly drawing blood. With this new strength of mine, it would be so easy. The flash of pain drives away the tears.

The emissary tilts his head as if studying me, but before I can say anything more, he says, “You were created by the Primordials themselves. They do not make mistakes. You were made perfect in every way, and there was no need for change.”

Before I can ask more, he steps through the rip and disappears. It seals immediately behind him. I should be thankful—I am in a way. I was expecting the awakening to change me. I was scared I wouldn’t recognize myself.

But the changes are mostly internal. On the surface, my ears taper to points now, and my skin…it’s luminous in a way it wasn’t before. But I don’t need a mirror to know that little else has changed.

The words made perfect feel like a joke I'm not in on. The Fae and Elven are statues of grace and height, yet here I am—the same five feet of flesh and bone I’ve always been. The emissary sees a masterwork of the Primordials. I see a runt standing in the shadow of our people, a small girl playing at being a savior. But as the gold light pulses beneath my skin, the truth settles into my marrow. I am not a mistake—I am a concentration of power. A supernova doesn't need to be tall to be blinding.

I finally force myself to look at him, and the breath hitches in my throat. This isn’t my Ryker. This is the Stormborne heir, fully realized. He stands with a new, terrifying grace—languid and loose-limbed, like a predator that knows no one is fast enough to touch him. The bored and lethal mask he used to wear at school is no longer a performance. It's settled into his very bones.

His jaw is sharper, his sapphire eyes swirling with a silver frost that looks like a promise of violence to anyone who isn't me. He looks like a king who has finally found his throne and is already bored with the weight of it. Yet, when his gaze catches mine, the ice shatters. The lethality remains, but the boredom vanishes, replaced by a hunger that makes my blood sing.

I run my hand along his left arm where the Okenen octopus tattoo stretches from wrist to shoulder. I trace the tentacles, feeling his warmth beneath my palm.

Goosebumps erupt over his arms. My hands move to his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart. When I meet his gaze again, I offer him a wobbly smile. It’s hard to explain what I feel. I don’t feel like I’m enough. My mate became a Fae male, strong and beautiful, and there will be no doubt that even more females will probably throw themselves at him.

Ryker tilts my chin up, those sapphire pools so deep and beautiful. “I don’t want anyone but you, Aenai.”

I reach out for that familiar, stubborn wall that has always kept my thoughts private—and find only air. The barrier hasn't been lowered—it’s been incinerated. The bridge between us is wide, clear, and pulsing with a frequency I finally understand. “I’m surprised it took you this long.” His voice echoes in my head, not as a whisper, but as a physical presence that settles deep in my marrow. A smirk spreads across his lips, his dimple pulling my attention.

He breathes out, a dark, rich laugh that vibrates through the bridge between our minds. Then he smiles, and I suck in a sharp breath. His canines are elongated—sharp, ivory points that look capable of tearing through steel, let alone flesh.

He sees my gaze linger, and his smirk grows. “Scared, Aenai?” His voice purrs in my mind, the mental link so clear it feels like he’s whispering against my ear.

I don’t back away. Instead, I step into the heat of him, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Never,” I whisper. Because while he looks like a nightmare to the rest of the world, to me, he’s the only dream I’ve ever wanted to keep.

He falls to his knees before me, the perfect height for me to trace the tops of his ears, sloped, and then run my fingers through his hair. I still can’t get over how heightened my senses are. That will take some getting used to.

“What is Aenai?” I ask softly, touching him like he might disappear.

When he looks up at me, I fall into the depths of the ocean in his eyes. I feel the truth of his words before he even speaks them. “You are the very breath of my soul, Soraea.” The meaning settles within me, burying itself deep into my very bones. Words fail me, but he doesn’t need them. Instead, I send every ounce of my love, the truth of what he means to me, down our Bond.

Ry’s head presses against my chest as we breathe together. Neither of us says a word for long minutes. We coexist, allowing ourselves some time to come to terms with this new reality.

It wouldn’t have mattered if I had known from birth. I wasn’t prepared. I’m not sure that anything could have prepared me. The foundation of the last twenty-two years hasn't cracked—it’s vanished. I am a woman built out of starlight and prophecy, living in a body that feels like a stranger’s skin. The memory of my mother’s garden feels like a story told to someone else.

I never wanted to live in ignorance, but all of this. It’s happened so fast.

Ryker, who’s still on his knees before me, says, “I know exactly who you are, Soraea. Right now you may not feel it, but soon you’ll find your footing. And when all of this gets to be too much, let me take it from you for a while. I can carry this with you, love. I can carry you. So let me.”

His voice, deep and raspy, resonates through me like a balm on my frayed nerves. I squeeze tighter when his hands begin making soothing strokes up the back of my legs. Neither of us moves. We don’t speak. He waits until I’m ready, until the panic clawing at my throat subsides.

When my stomach growls, Ryker snorts. He looks up, and that smirk I love so very much appears. “Hungry?”

I attempt to hide my smile, rolling my eyes. “What are you offering, Prince?”

A wicked grin spreads across his face. I realize a moment too late how that sounded. I slap his shoulder, attempting to pull myself free of his grasp. His strong hands have wrapped around the backs of my thighs.

“Are you going to lick me again, Soraea? I wouldn’t mind.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I look up, muttering that now is not the time. Ryker has the audacity to tell me he’s very hungry too. I cover my mouth, gasping, when he presses his face to the apex of my thighs and inhales. Gods.