Wrong Bond: Your Omega Is Driving Me Crazy novel · Chapter 17 of 32

Chapter 17: Rekindled

Linden didn't let go.

He couldn't have if he'd tried.

The light poured through Ivor and through him, and under Linden's mouth Ivor's heart beat like a drum at a wedding.

When it faded, it faded slowly.

Linden lifted his head.

There was a mark on the side of Ivor's neck now.

Linden's teeth, small and neat, and the edges of it shone gold.

Ivor was staring at him.

The grey was going out of his face.

Linden watched it go.

It drained out of Ivor's lips first, then his cheeks, then down his throat.

His braid was silver again.

He lifted his arm.

The stone patches over the old burn scars cracked and flaked off into the pool.

Under them was brown skin, hot to the touch.

"Linden," Ivor said.

His voice was his voice again. Deep enough to feel in the rock.

"Is it back?"

He opened his mouth and breathed out, very gently, sideways, away from Linden.

A ribbon of gold flame curled across the surface of the pool and set the steam glowing.

He shut his mouth and looked at Linden.

"It's back," Ivor said. "All of it. More than I've had since I was a boy."

Linden laughed.

It came out wet.

Ivor caught his face in both hands and kissed him.

It wasn't careful.

It wasn't anything like careful.

Ivor's hands were hot again, hot as the day Linden had first shaken one on the gold, and they slid down Linden's neck and over his clean skin and Linden shuddered.

"No wolf," Ivor said against his mouth. "I can't smell him on you anywhere."

"There's only you."

"There's only me." He sounded amazed. "Gods. You smell like you."

Linden pulled back far enough to see him.

Ivor was flushed with his own fire, and his eyes had gone dark gold, and he was breathing hard.

"I'm clear," Linden said. "No fever. No heat. Nothing in my head but me."

Ivor breathed in slowly.

Linden watched him check.

"Nothing but you," Ivor agreed, rough.

"Then ask me."

Ivor understood.

He always did.

"Linden," he said. "I want you. Here, now, all of you. Do you want me?"

"Yes." Linden put his hands on Ivor's chest, over the fire. "Yes. All of it. Every bit."

Linden pushed Ivor down onto the warm rock.

Ivor went, laughing, his braid spilling silver over black stone.

"Treasure isn't wet," Linden told him.

The old joke first, the way Ivor had said it on the gold.

"We're past wet," Ivor said. "We're soaked."

Linden knelt over him.

He unbuttoned Ivor's wet linen shirt slowly, button by button, while Ivor watched him.

The steam curled around them like it was watching too.

The gold light in Ivor's chest was still there, risen under his skin, like embers banked in a hearth.

Linden flattened his palm over it.

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