Page 122 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

"So—" I looked at her, heart beating fast, "does this mean you're willing to give me another chance?"

She tilted her head, as if seriously considering the question. Then she reached out, poking my chest with her finger—right where that scar was.

"This scar," she said, "you got it shielding me from that falling rock in the cave."

"I remember."

"Do you remember what you shouted at me then?"

I froze. That memory from the cave was somewhat blurred—I'd lost too much blood then, my consciousness wasn't very clear. I tried hard to recall, but could only remember fragmentary images. The sound of falling rocks, her scream, my instinctive reaction to throw myself over... and then—

Then I seemed to say something.

"I—" I hesitated, "I think I said something like..."

"'This time I won't let go,'" she said, completing the sentence for me.

I froze.

She looked at me, moonlight flickering in her eyes. "You said that, then passed out. But you grabbed my hand and never let go. When the medic came to save you, it took three people to pry your fingers open."

I opened my mouth to say something but found my throat blocked by something.

"So," she said, voice light but every word clear, "I think a man who can hold onto me that tightly even while unconscious is probably worth me taking another risk on."

I looked at her, feeling my eyes burn.

"Mia—"

"But," she held up a finger, pressed it against my lips, stopping me from continuing, "if you screw up again, I won't just run to another kingdom. I'll run to another dimension. Where you can't even find me."

I grasped the hand pressed against my lips, placed it on my chest—over my heart.

"If I screw up," I said, "you don't need to run to another dimension. You just need to stop loving me. That would be the cruelest punishment for me."

She looked at me, silent for several seconds. Then she smiled—not that sarcastic, defensive smile, but a real, warm smile, like ice finally cracking.

"You know what's most infuriating about you?" she said.

"What?"

"You always manage to say the right thing at the last second."

"That's because," I said, lowering my head, forehead against hers, "I spent five years practicing every day how to win you back."

Her eyelashes trembled. We were close enough that I could feel her breath on my lips, warm and quick.

"How's that practice working out?" she whispered.

"So far," I said, voice hoarse, "pretty well."

Then I kissed her.

The kiss was light, like a test, like confirming this wasn't an illusion. Her lips were soft and warm, with the slight astringency of red wine and some sweetness that belonged only to her. She didn't push me away or dodge—she tilted her head slightly and kissed me back.

In that moment, I felt five years of time recede like a tide. All the pain, regret, loneliness and despair dissolved in this kiss, dissipated, like salt dissolving in water, like snow melting in spring.

When we parted, her eyes were bright, like moonlight falling into a lake.