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“I know.”

“No.” His eyes search mine. “If anything feels wrong...”

“I tell you.”

“And we stop.”

“Yes.”

“Even if stopping destroys everything.”

My heart twists. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“We stop.”

Only then does he breathe.

Malakai's hand settles against my back.

Rhett's against my thigh.

Not taking. Waiting.

I look at them. All three. “Yes.”

The word leaves me then The Communion begins and the field exhales.

Malakai's hand moves first. He reaches into the flowers erupting around the altar, and pulls something from the vines—red rope, thick and rough, the kind used to bind sheaves. He wraps it around my wrists without asking, the fibers scratching, and I let him.

I want him to.

"On your knees." His voice is the Earth itself, deep and immovable.

I sink into the black soil, flowers crushing beneath my shins, the rope pulling tight as he loops it through a root protruding from the altar.

I'm bound.

Arms above me, stretched, my torn tank top barely covering my breasts, my skirt riding up my thighs.

Exposed.

Offered.

Rhett makes a sound like he's dying. "Fuck, look at her."

"Don't look." Ezra's voice is rough. "Take."

They move at once.

Rhett drops to his knees behind me, his bare chest pressing against my back, jeans still on but his cock is hard against my spine. He grabs my hips, yanks me back, and I feel the size of him through denim—fuck, he's mouth-watering, the Reaper built to split me open again.

Malakai steps in front of me, whatever remained of his clothes are already discarded somewhere behind us. Scars cut across his bare skin, old marks carved into a body that has remained unchanged for more than two centuries.

Eternal.

Beautiful.