Chapter One Hundred - The Quiet Before
The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting golden light across the tangled sheets of Caius and Cass’s bed. The world outside still slumbered, but inside their room, the air was thick with warmth and the scent of skin-on-skin.
Cass lay curled into Caius’s side, her leg slung over his hips, her head tucked beneath his chin. One of his arms wrapped protectively around her, while the other rested gently on her stomach.
He spoke softly, his voice laced with affection as his hand traced slow circles over the curve of her belly. "Morning, little one," he murmured to the growing life inside her. "Your mother is the most stubborn, fiery woman I’ve ever known. You’re going to have your hands full."
Cass chuckled against his chest, her voice laced with fondness and mischief. "Says the man who burned bridges, broke laws, and threatened half the council just to bring me home. You’re not exactly a pillar of restraint, Caius."
He smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. "Exactly. You balance me. When I lose control, you’re the one who brings me back. You’re the only thing that ever has."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, wrapped in each other, until Cass finally broke it.
"You felt it too, didn’t you?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it aloud might summon the storm they both sensed coming. She traced a fingertip along his chest, her expression tight with knowing. "It was like the air snapped when she walked in the room. Like something ancient woke up between them."
Caius nodded without hesitation, his expression unreadable but his voice steady. "Kalen and Eira. It’s undeniable now. The second their eyes met, something shifted. The room felt different. Like the bond was forcing itself into existence, no matter how hard she tries to resist it."
Cass rolled onto her back, pulling the sheet to her chest. "The bond’s there, even if she’s fighting it. He feels it."
"And she’s terrified of it," Caius said. "Of what it means. Of what she’ll have to give up."
Cass reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his. "Let’s just hope they figure it out before it’s too late."
And beneath her palm, their unborn child kicked for the first time.
Cass froze, eyes going wide. "Caius," she whispered, grabbing his hand and guiding it to the same spot.
A moment passed—then another soft thump.
Caius stilled, awe washing over his face as the flutter met his palm. His eyes burned, voice catching. "I felt that..."
He looked down at her, then at her stomach, overwhelmed. "That was—gods, that was them. That was our pup."
Cass smiled up at him, tears brimming. "They heard you."
He cupped her face and kissed her, slow and reverent. "They’re already a fighter. Just like their mother."
Cass began to shift beneath the sheets, making a soft sound as she moved to sit up. "We should start the day," she murmured.
But Caius caught her wrist, eyes still glowing with something softer—something hungrier. "No," he said, voice husky. "Stay."
He leaned in, kissing her again—this time deeper, slower, his hand sliding down her spine and pulling her back into him. "Let me worship you first."
Cass let out a shaky breath as he pressed her back into the pillows, the sheet slipping lower, baring her slowly to the warm morning light. His mouth followed with unhurried devotion, trailing down her throat in soft, open-mouthed kisses that left goosebumps in their wake. He paused to linger between the swells of her breasts, sucking gently at sensitive skin, his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles that made her breath hitch.
His hands roamed greedily now—fingertips dragging along her hips, her thighs, dipping beneath the sheet to cup the softest parts of her with both reverence and hunger. The contrast of his tenderness and heat made her pulse race, her back arching instinctively into his touch, wanting more. Every stroke of his hands said one thing: mine.
When he moved lower—kissing, tasting, savoring every inch—she arched into him with a breathy moan. He slid between her thighs like he belonged there, spreading her open with slow, steady hands.
"You’re so fucking beautiful like this," he whispered, voice thick with need before he finally put his mouth on her.
The first stroke of his tongue made her hips jolt, a gasp tearing from her throat as pleasure sparked like lightning across her skin. It was slow and sinful, the way he licked and sucked—each movement deliberate, meant to tease and worship all at once. Her thighs tensed around his shoulders, but he just gripped her tighter, spreading her wider, grounding her in his hunger. The groan that rumbled from his chest vibrated through her core, and she whimpered, already trembling, already so close it was maddening. He devoured her like she was a prayer he hadn’t dared whisper in years—and now, he meant to taste every answer.
He worked her slowly, sensually, with patience only someone starved could muster. Every flick of his tongue, every deep stroke of his mouth was deliberate, meant to push her closer—then hold her there, trembling on the brink. Her hands fisted in his hair, anchoring herself to him as waves of pleasure rolled over her, her thighs quaking around his head. She was undone, unraveling in his mouth, her moans ragged, head tipped back as she rode every sinful second he gave her. He devoured her like he needed it to breathe—and in that moment, he did.
The world outside could wait.
This was their morning.