The House of Wind was quiet, save for the whispering wind that curled around its ancient stones. The sun had long dipped beneath the Sidra, Velaris glowing far below like a dream you could almost reach. You padded silently through the House’s corridors, your leathers soft against your skin, sword at your back from your earlier training session. It still felt surreal being here—being a Valkyrie in training, living under this legendary roof. But tonight, your blood thrummed with anticipation for something else entirely.

Or rather, someone.

Nyx.

You reached the library, the towering doors already slightly ajar. He’d left them open for you.

It was a sacred place—where silence reigned and knowledge hummed like magic in the air. Shelves stretched endlessly above and below, and lanterns floated midair, casting golden light over spines older than the courts themselves.

You stepped inside, heart thudding, and the door gently closed behind you on its own. The House knew. The House always knew.

“I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” came that voice—smooth, playful, laced with the shadows of his father and the sharp intellect of his mother.

Nyx emerged from between the shelves, hands tucked into his dark tunic, hair tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times while waiting. His violet eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, and you caught the subtle flare of his nostrils as he scented you—his mate.

Your bond pulsed softly between you, like a quiet string tugging your souls together.

“You said you liked the chase,” you whispered, stepping closer, your lips twitching.

He caught your wrist as you passed him, spinning you lightly and pulling you back against his chest. “I do. Especially when I win.”

You rolled your eyes, but your body melted into his, warmth meeting warmth. You tilted your head back to look at him, your noses nearly brushing.

“If someone catches us—”

“They won’t,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “And if they do… I’ll just tell them the truth.”

Your heart jumped. You turned in his arms, palms flat against his chest, the faint shimmer of starlight visible under his skin. “Are you sure?”

“I want you,” he said, firm but low. “In the open. Not just in stolen hours and shadowed corners.”