The Primordial Flame

Sneaking in.

The quiet of my quarters is an absolute balm after the stifling tension of the mess hall. I slip out of my fitted trousers and stiff leather, washing the dust from my face before pulling on a soft, oversized cotton tunic that falls nearly to my mid-thigh, swimming loosely around my shoulders.

I curl up sideways against the thick feather pillows, pulling the furs over my legs. The faint, honeyed scent of a single beeswax candle flickers softly on the nightstand, casting long, amber shadows across the timber walls while I idly turn the yellowed pages of a battered history ledger.

The safe house has descended into absolute silence. Bram, Jax, and the night crew have long since ridden out toward the lower-tier settlement, their departure leaving the lodge shrouded in heavy, snow-dampened quiet.

A faint tick against the frozen glass is the only warning.

Before I can even look up from the page, the iron latch of the casement window lifts without a whisper of sound. The frosted sash glides inward, letting in a single crisp draft of pine-scented mountain air, immediately swallowed by the room's cozy warmth.

A dark, lithe silhouette flows effortlessly over the sill.

Vane drops to the wooden floorboards with the supernatural, weightless grace of a phantom, not a single timber groaning beneath his boots. He immediately twists, sliding the window shut and throwing the heavy brass bolt before turning around.

He is stripped of his armour and daggers, dressed only in loose dark trousers and an unlaced linen shirt that exposes the scarred expanse of his collarbones. His dark hair is wind-tossed from the roof, a dusting of frost clinging to his lashes, but his eyes are burning with pure, unrepentant heat.

"You are an absolute menace, Amelisse," he whispers, his low, gravelly voice washing over the quiet room like a dark velvet blanket.

He leans back against the locked frame, crossing his arms and shaking his head, a wicked, crooked smirk playing across his lips as his gaze slowly roves from the bare curve of my thighs up to the oversized collar of my tunic.

"Sitting there like a saint with your book," he murmurs, pushing off the wall and prowling toward the edge of my bed with lazy, predatory intent. "After nearly letting Bram drag me down to a tavern just to watch me sweat. Do you have any idea how close you came to making me break cover right in front of the entire guild?"

I close the leather-bound ledger with a slow, deliberate snap, letting it rest on the edge of the nightstand beside the flickering beeswax candle. Shifting against the soft heap of furs, I tilt my chin up, drawing one bare knee toward my chest so the oversized hem of the tunic rides just an inch higher.

"Are you really complaining about having to sneak into my room, Vane?" I purr, letting a lazy, sultry smile curl the corners of my mouth.

My voice hangs in the quiet air, soft and low enough that only the shadows and the man crossing the floor can catch it.

Vane pauses at the foot of the bed, his storm-gray eyes darkening instantly as his gaze tracks the movement, drinking in the amber glow washing over my bare skin. A low, ragged sigh rumbles deep in his chest, part surrender, part pure, simmering hunger.

"Complain?" he murmurs, stepping right up to the edge of the mattress.

He places one knee onto the edge of the featherbed, the ropes groaning faintly under his weight as he leans in, looming over me like a shadow that has finally found where it belongs. His cool, calloused fingers slide under my chin, his thumb brushing the sensitive hollow beneath my jaw to tilt my face higher.

"I’d scale the fortress walls of the capital barefoot in a blizzard just to be anywhere near this bed, scout," he whispers, his breath hot against my lips, chasing away the cold of the mountain wind clinging to his skin. "I’m not complaining. I’m just figuring out how to punish you for making me sweat out there under Bram’s nose."

The wicked, crooked edge of his smirk softens, his fingers tangling into the coppery curls at the back of my neck as he pulls me just an inch closer.

"Though looking at you right now, in that tunic, looking like you’ve been waiting for me." His thumb traces the curve of my bottom lip, parting it with lazy, intoxicating familiarity. "I think you’ve already won the night, Ame."

The playful lilt in my voice lingers, but beneath it sits a flicker of genuine curiosity, searching his face in the soft candlelight.

"Did you want to go to the tavern?" I ask, my gaze steady on his.

Vane freezes for a fraction of a second, his eyes softening as the teasing arrogance drains completely from his expression. The crooked smirk fades, replaced by a quiet, earnest gravity that makes my breath hitch.

He climbs fully onto the mattress, shifting his weight until he’s kneeling over me, bracketing my hips with his hands flat against the furs.

He leans down until his forehead rests against mine, his gaze searching mine with an intensity that burns right through the playful banter we’ve thrown around all night.

"To a tavern?" he murmurs, his gravelly voice dropping so low it barely carries past the candlelight. "To sit on a sticky wooden bench, drinking watered-down swill with a dozen rowdy scouts while Bram talks Guild politics?"

His cool, calloused hand slips from my jaw down to the side of my throat, his fingers splaying wide, thumb gently tracing the steady beat of my pulse.

"I spent half that ride back from the spring terrified you were going to change your mind and ride out anyway," he admits softly, the raw honesty in his tone stripping away every shadow of the guild assassin. "Tavern’s are where I almost lost you, Amelisse. The last thing I want on this earth is cheap ale and loud crowds when I can be right here."

He dips his head, pressing a slow, aching kiss just beneath the hinge of my jaw, making a soft shiver ripple down my spine.

"There is nowhere else in this realm I'd rather be," he whispers against my skin, his breath hot and intoxicating. "Just you. Behind a locked door. No masks. No Guild."

"Good answer," I murmur against his jaw.

My fingers tangle into the thick, dark curls at the nape of his neck, and with a gentle, decisive tug, I pull his lips down to meet mine.

The kiss is soft at first, a slow, melting surrender that chases the lingering chill of the night completely from his skin. The taste of mint, cedar, and the sweet spice of our shared cider lingers between us, but as his hand slides from my throat down into the tangle of my hair, the kiss deepens, hungry, possessive, and thick with all the words we had to swallow beneath the hall's rafter beams.

When I finally pull back, just enough to catch a shallow breath of the warm amber air, my chest rises and falls against his broad frame. My eyes flutter open, locking onto the depths of his, utterly defenceless.

"I missed you," I whisper, my fingers brushing a stray lock of dark hair back from his forehead, tracing the high arch of his cheekbone. "I know we were sitting right opposite each other, but I still missed you."

A low, tender groan vibrates deep in Vane’s chest. The fierce, untouchable assassin completely melts away, his features softening into something unguarded and wholly devoted.

He leans back down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of my mouth, then to the sensitive curve of my cheek, before resting his forehead against mine once more.

His arms wrap securely around my waist, lifting me effortlessly into him until there is no space left between us, the loose cotton of my tunic bunching against his linen shirt.

"Sitting across from you like that was absolute torture, Ame," he whispers, his low rasp vibrating straight against my collarbone.

"Watching you smile, hearing you laugh, and not being able to reach across the wood and pull you into my lap... gods, it nearly drove me mad. Every second of it."

He tilts his chin down, his thumb gently tracing the flush riding high on my cheek, his eyes glowing with dark, breathless devotion in the candlelight.

"You don't have to miss me anymore, scout," he murmurs, his lips brushing mine with slow, deliberate promise. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere tonight."