Where the Water Falls

Therrin's POV

The forest opened up like a secret whispered through the trees, revealing a glade bathed in silver light and silence. The stream that had guided us curved gently toward its beginning, where a waterfall cascaded down a mossy cliff like the earth's sigh. At its base, tucked into the roots of the mountain itself, stood a small cabin—wooden, hand-built, imperfect in shape but somehow perfect in spirit.

"This is yours?" I asked, my voice soft as my fingers brushed the worn handle of the door.

Dion nodded behind me, his presence close, steady. "Built it with my own hands. When I was younger. Before I even knew why I was building it."

I turned slowly. "You built this… for me."

He didn't smile, not fully. His lips curved with something deeper—recognition. Reverence. "I think my soul knew long before my mind ever caught up."

Inside, the cabin smelled of cedar and wild herbs. Simple. There was a low bed layered in soft pelts and quilts, a hearth still warm from past use, and one tall window that let the moonlight spill in like it belonged there.

I stood in the middle of it, unsure what to do with all the warmth pressing into the cracks of my armor.

"You're quiet," Dion said, stepping past me and lighting a small lamp with a flick of Fey fire.

I turned my gaze to the glowing window. "Ari's quiet too."

"That's rare."

I let out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath.

"She wants this. She's… letting me feel without interruption."

Dion moved to stand beside me. "Then let yourself feel."

He reached out gently, his fingers brushing mine. Not to pull or take, but to offer. To wait.

I took his hand.

Outside, the waterfall's voice grew louder as we stepped back into the night, following a narrow path lit only by stars and memory. When we reached the edge of the pool beneath the falls, I felt it—the pulse of something ancient, sacred. Like the forest itself had been holding its breath for this moment.

He turned to me. "Do you trust me?"

I nodded.

We stepped into the stream, barefoot, until the water wrapped around our ankles like silk. Cool, but not cruel. Dion moved first, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the runes and scars I'd memorized from dreams. His body was a map, and I wanted to trace every line.

When he looked to me, I hesitated only a moment before removing my clothes too. Not with shame. Not with fear. But reverence.

When we were bare, we stepped beneath the waterfall together.

The world became hushed thunder, a curtain of water and light separating us from everything else. I gasped at the sensation—cold, then warm as Dion wrapped his arms around me, his body a fire pressed to mine.

He didn't kiss me at first.

He looked into my eyes.

"You're not broken," he said. "Not too much. Not too hard. Not too far gone."

The dam inside me cracked.

I surged forward, my lips finding his, and he met me with everything—fire and gentleness, need and restraint. Every kiss was a vow. Every touch a confession.

"I'm yours," I whispered against his skin.

"And I am yours," he breathed back, voice hoarse with the weight of it.

In the moonlight, under the fall of water that had waited lifetimes to bless us, I gave myself to him—not just in body, but in spirit.

I gave him the girl who ran from the world.

The soul split in two.

The witch who feared her own power.

The shifter who never knew her shape.

And he held her—all of her—with a love that did not ask her to be anything but what she already was.

Later, when we lay tangled in the warmth of the cabin, Dion's hand traced slow circles on my back, and I felt the bond settle—not as a chain, but as a tether. A grounding. A home.

Ari stirred softly in my mind, her voice more gentle than I'd ever heard.

"You chose well."

I smiled against his chest.

"I did."