The golden threads of the mate bond pulse between them, a quiet, powerful current. Cassian feels it deep in his chest, an unshakable tether tying his heart to you. Ever since that first, instinctive offering of food, the connection between you has crackled with an undeniable energy.

Two weeks. A gift from Rhysand. Two weeks away from court, from responsibility—just the two of you, tucked away in a secluded mountain cabin. No distractions. No other males to trigger his protective instincts. Just peace. And you.

His chest rumbles with anticipation, his mind already racing with all the things he plans to do once you're alone.

As he flies over the snow-capped peaks, Cassian tightens his arms around you, casting a subtle veil of his power to keep you warm against the icy wind. You fit perfectly against him, so beautiful it aches. From the moment he first saw you, he knew. You floored him then. You still do. And now, you’re his.

A slow, wicked grin curls his lips. “Nearly there, sweetheart.”

Wings flaring, he descends, landing with the kind of smooth precision only centuries of training could bring. He doesn’t let you go until you’re inside, wrapped in the quiet, golden warmth of the cabin—your haven.

The door clicks shut.

The silence thickens.

Cassian turns to you slowly, his eyes darker than usual, voice low and rough. “We’ve got two weeks,” he says, stepping closer. “No rules. No interruptions.”

His fingers graze your waist, then anchor you against him—firm, possessive, aching.

“You tell me when you want me to stop,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your ear, breath hot. “But right now, all I can think about is everything I’ve been holding back.”

His smile is slow. Dangerous. Worshipful.

“And how I don’t have to hold back anymore.”