Moonlit Vows Of Vengeance

Chapter 110: The Shape Of Us

I turned to him fully, watching the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled at his sides like he was still fighting something. Not enemies. Not nobles. But something inside himself.

"I didn’t ask you to do that," I said, softer now.

He met my gaze. "I know. But someone had to. They forget too quickly, Athena. They don’t even know what it cost you."

My breath hitched. "I don’t need them to know. I need them to trust me."

"They won’t," he said. "Not all of them. Not until you make them."

There was a pause — heavy, intimate, electric. The air between us thrummed with warmth. There was no magic. Not war. Just the ache of two people carrying too much.

I stepped closer, just enough that I could hear his breathing shift. "Why do you keep standing beside me, Kieran?"

"Because I remember," he said, eyes locked on mine. "I remember the girl who faced down death for a world that didn’t know her. I remember the goddess who bled to protect people who worshipped her. I remember you."

My throat tightened.

Something splintered in me. Not pain — not quite. Something else. Something warmer, more terrifying. Hope, maybe.

I reached up and touched his face — lightly, like I was afraid he’d vanish. But he didn’t flinch. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed, like that single touch anchored him.

"You shouldn’t say things like that," I whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because I can’t afford to believe them right now."

He opened his eyes. "Then let me believe them for you."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full — of longing, of restraint, of a hundred words we hadn’t said. We stood there, inches apart, the rest of the world forgotten. noveldrama

Then — slowly, cautiously — he reached for my hand. I didn’t pull away.

And when he spoke again, it was almost a promise.

"I’ll stand here, Athena. Even if the gods fall. Even if you never get your power back. I’ll stand here — with you."

I don’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was everything between us finally snapping under the weight of silence and unsaid things.

But when our mouths met, it wasn’t fire — not at first.

It was breath.

Warm. Hesitant. Fragile.

Like he was asking for permission.

And I gave it — not with words, but with the way I gripped the front of his tunic and pulled him closer. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheekbones like he was trying to memorize the feel of me.

"I’ve wanted to do this again," he whispered against my lips, "for longer than I should’ve."

"Then stop waiting," I murmured.

This time, when he kissed me, it wasn’t soft.

It was hungry.

His mouth claimed mine, and I kissed him back with every ounce of pain, frustration, and need I’d buried for too long. His hands slid into my hair, fingers tightening as he pulled me even closer, like the distance between us was unbearable now that it had finally broken.

We stumbled back, mouths still locked, until my spine hit the wall.

I gasped as his lips left mine to trail down my jaw, to the hollow of my throat.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," he said against my skin. "Not strong. Not unshaken. Not divine."

I closed my eyes.

No one had ever said that to me. No one had ever made me feel like I could be anything less than untouchable — and still be wanted.

"I’m not pretending now," I whispered.

I felt his smile before I saw it. Then he was lifting me — gently, easily — and carrying me across the room like I weighed nothing.

We didn’t rush. We undressed each other slowly, reverently. Each piece of clothing removed was like shedding armor we’d both worn too long.

His touch was heat and steadiness, rough fingers trailing reverently across my skin, grounding me. Worshipping me. And I... I didn’t want to feel divine in that moment. I just wanted to be a woman in his arms. To be seen. To be held.

And gods, he held me like I was something sacred.

When he finally slid into me, we both let out shuddering breaths — not just from pleasure, but relief. The ache that had haunted me for so long, the cold emptiness I’d carried in my chest... it didn’t vanish. But with each slow thrust, it faded into something else. Something bearable.

He moved with control, with reverence. His forehead pressed to mine, his hands cradling my hips. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Everything was in the way he touched me — the way his body curled over mine like a promise he was afraid to say aloud.

And when I came undone beneath him, my cries muffled against his shoulder, I felt something crack open inside me. Something I hadn’t felt in so long it almost hurt.

Hope.

I wasn’t alone.

He followed me into that shattering, groaning my name like a prayer, like he didn’t care who heard. Like I was the only thing that mattered in a world that had tried to destroy us both.

We stayed tangled together, our breaths still ragged, our hearts beating against each other’s ribs.

Kieran pressed a kiss to my temple. "Whatever comes next... I’m with you."

I closed my eyes, curling into his warmth.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe him.

The first time we came together, it was like releasing a storm.

But the second time... it was quieter.

It continued with a kiss — slow, searching, tender in a way that made my throat ache. Kieran’s fingers traced the curve of my shoulder like he was memorizing it, like he didn’t want to forget how my skin felt beneath his hands.

"You’re still trembling," he whispered.

"So are you," I breathed back.

His lips curved slightly, and he rolled us over so he was above me, his gaze sweeping over my face. "Then let’s not rush this."

He kissed me again — not just my lips, but my jaw, my throat, the hollow beneath my collarbone. Each press of his mouth sent a ripple of warmth through me, like he was stitching something broken back together.

His hands moved slowly — reverently — gliding over my stomach, down my sides, up the backs of my thighs. Every touch lit a new fire under my skin, but it wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t about need this time.

It was about knowing.

Knowing I could let go here.

That I could be here.

I arched into him, and his groan was low, hungry, buried into my neck as he moved lower, kissing down my body like he was worshipping me. When his mouth found the heat between my legs, I gasped — hands tangling in his hair, thighs trembling. He took his time, every stroke of his tongue slow, precise, drawn out like he wanted me to unravel for him one trembling breath at a time.

"Kieran—" I moaned, breathless, hips rolling helplessly.

He didn’t stop until I came with a cry so sharp it stole the air from my lungs. And even then, he didn’t move away — just kissed the inside of my thigh softly, like he was grounding me to my body again.

When he returned to me, our foreheads touched.

"I want you to remember this," he murmured.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him in.

"I won’t forget," I whispered. "So don’t stop."

And he didn’t.

He entered me again slowly — inch by inch — watching my face the entire time like it was the most important thing in the world. Our bodies fit together perfectly, as though the war, the blood, the pain had carved us into this shape for each other.

He moved inside me with a rhythm that matched my heartbeat — slow at first, then deeper, stronger, as our mouths met again in a desperate kiss. I could feel every ridge of his chest against mine, every tremble in his muscles as he fought to keep control.

"Say my name," he whispered against my ear.

"Kieran," I gasped, tightening around him.

His name on my lips did something to him — he groaned, thrusting harder, faster, but never losing that tenderness. It wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t conquest.

It was surrender.

It was letting someone see you and still want to hold you in all your broken pieces.

My nails dragged down his back as I clung to him, his name turning into a chant between ragged breaths. We moved like we’d done this before in another life — like the world had kept us apart too long, and the stars were finally giving us this one stolen night.

And when we fell over the edge together, it wasn’t just pleasure.

It was freedom.

It was everything we couldn’t say out loud.

Afterward, we didn’t speak. Just lay there, skin pressed to skin, tangled limbs and shared breath. Kieran’s hand found mine in the sheets and held it tight.