Sometime later, I once more ended up seated in his embrace, cradled against him. We were at the head of the narrow bed now. I didn’t remember how we’d even gotten there, but he held me as he dragged a trembling hand over my head and through my hair. We stayed that way for so long—hours, it seemed.

“How are you feeling?” Casteel asked, his voice rough. “Does anything hurt?”

I gave a small shake of my head. “Not really.” There were aches, but they were nothing. “I…I don’t understand. I was dying.” Lifting my head, I looked down at my chest as I scooped the tangled strands of my hair to the side. I saw shiny, pink skin in the shape of a rough circle between my breasts. The bolt had gone through me. “And you…you took my blood until I felt my heart fail and then gave me yours.”

“I did.” He pressed his fingers just below the barely noticeable injury, and a wave of awareness skittered through me. “I couldn’t let you go. I wouldn’t.”

My gaze flew to his, but he was staring at the wound, his brow furrowed. “But I’m not in bloodlust—well, I was. I was so hungry. I’ve never felt that hungry before.” I swallowed hard, wanting to forget what that had felt like. Wanting to forget that Casteel had experienced that over and over for decades. How had he found himself? I was in awe of him, and I was in love with him.

I love you. Those words repeated themselves over and over in my mind—words that were tattooed on my skin and carved into my bones. What I felt for him was far more powerful than words, but words were important. Of all people, I knew the power of speaking up, of being able to do so honestly and openly without hesitation. I knew the importance of not holding back now because when I’d lain there in those ruins, with my blood leaking out of my body, I’d never thought I would have the chance to say those words to him.

My fingers curled around his side as I met his gaze once more. “I love you.”

Casteel’s hand halted its movements under my hair and halfway up my back. “What?” he whispered. His eyes had widened slightly, and his pupils were dilated a little. I could see his surprise and felt it like a rush of cold air against my skin. Why did he seem so astonished? He had to know.

But Casteel couldn’t read emotions like I could. I had told him how he made me feel and showed it when I held the blade to my throat during the battle at Spessa’s End—more than ready to end my life if it meant saving his. But I’d never said the words.

And I needed to. Desperately.

I pressed the tips of my fingers against his cheek as I drew in a shallow breath. “I love you, Casteel,” I said. His chest stilled against mine and then rose sharply. “I love—”