What's the point of victory if you can't enjoy it?

Do the same to her as you did to us. End this...

Be patient, my Lord...

Exterminate her.

Ethan held the dagger close to his wrist, staring at what he was about to do. But it wasn't because of fear of pain or anything else, it had never been that, or because he wouldn't recover as quickly as he would like. But because...

— Ethan?

He dropped the dagger on the couch before getting up quickly and practically staggering towards the bed where Gwenda was lying.

Because of her.

— How do you feel? — he asked, swallowing hard.

Damn it, he was giving in too much.

Gwenda grunted, which could very well have been a groan.

— Weak.

Sinclair relaxed and approached, sitting on the edge of the mattress as Gwenda slowly sat up.

She stared at him, and for a moment, he almost needed to step back again to not touch her, not embrace her against him. But he stood firm. That denial in his blood every time fire dragged him into thoughts where Gwenda was with him, touching him. He could bear a little more. A few more days keeping this to himself, that roar in his ears warning about who Gwenda was and what she meant to Ethan.

— Are you hungry? — he asked, feeling his indecent male form draining away and leaving only concern — I left the meat...

Gwenda shook her head, and he couldn't help but scan her body with his eyes. She recoiled in response.

But she was pale and weak, she needed to eat. And what the witch took from her the day before... The screams still frightened him, and he wouldn't be surprised if his hair was in an impossible tangle. He had bathed Gwenda asleep, clothes and all, but he hadn't taken his own. He hadn't even slept.

— I... — she started — That witch...

— She relieved you of the back pains. — Ethan concluded for her, proud of his old friend.

Gwenda let out a shaky sigh, and he just watched as she swallowed hard. Perhaps she was grateful, relieved, both. It was the second time he had seen Gwenda wake up disoriented, not understanding a damn thing, lost in her own conclusions. Ethan felt weak, exhausted, and seeing her like this drove him out of his mind.

— I wanted to believe it was possible — she said — My father...

— Your father didn't have the cure. His power had nothing to do with the cure. He didn't know anything.

Ethan's expression turned serious as he stood up and ran his hands through his hair, searching for the words that Gwenda would probably like to hear. Of course, the word didn't go unnoticed by her.

— How can you be so sure, you don't even know him.

— He wasn't a healer, and he was of little use in a kingdom without magic.

— If you're trying to destroy something about my father, then you're wasting your time.

Because he died years ago. Yes, Ethan knew. Yago Matchstone... hanged to death.

— I don't want to destroy anything.

In fact, he wanted to build. Build a small bond with Gwenda, a bond that only she could give him.

— He was human, what does magic have to do with it? Healers with magic are called mystics, if you're wondering.

Ethan chuckled. Even weak and clumsy, Gwenda wanted to keep her tongue sharp, Ethan realized. Especially with him.

— How did you know my father?

A light question, without the venom in the words as Ethan had seen Gwenda direct at him before. Ethan leaned his hands on the sink and sighed silently.

— I met him two or three times. — He paused and turned to her — Maybe six times.

Gwenda narrowed her eyes for a brief second.

— He never mentioned anything — she replied — Not even in his diaries.

— He had diaries? — Ethan raised an eyebrow — Interesting.

— How you two met. — It wasn't a question this time.

— I first met him in the imperial lands of Alphardj. We had a deep conversation. — Ethan smirked — Of course, if he had asked, I would have set him free, but that wasn't the case.

Gwenda seemed even more confused, and a line about to break reminded Ethan to keep his damn feet on the ground, to stop being so defensive. It was Gwenda, not just anyone.

— Why would my father be in the imperial lands?

— Because he lived there for a few years, Scar. — Ethan almost rolled his eyes. It was a secret of inexplicable size that he was about to reveal, but he couldn't do that to her. He should go easy, be patient.

Sinclair approached, his eyes on Gwenda's. She didn't look away, neither did he, he didn't want to stop looking at her.

— There are things I suppose your father never told you.

— And how would you know. — Her voice was lifeless, defeated. Perhaps disappointed that he knew something and she didn't.

Ethan cursed himself for not being able to do anything, for being in a kingdom without magic, with only a miserable crack in the wall allowing the salvation of worlds to enter. Magic. Pure and full of light magic.

— Remember what I said about my highly heroic journey? — The ironic smile took shape again on his face as he crawled across the mattress and sat next to Gwenda. Calculated and dangerous movements, ready to pounce as soon as she gave him an opening. She pretended to think.

— I guess a part or two — she lied, and Ethan's chest tightened with amusement — but nothing about deserts, volcanoes, or Dominique's jungles. You traveled to the Opposite Continent more than you wandered in Alphardj, apparently.

Gwenda narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned in closer, challenging him. Ethan's eyes fell on her dry lips. He knew Gwenda could see the eagerness in that look, so much so that he didn't hide it.

— What did you mean about setting him free? — she asked, serious.

Ethan's throat dried up further as she recoiled with a passing breeze, briefly revealing the bare thigh she rubbed against the comforter.

— Your father clearly had his ways of meddling with the wrong gods, I would just help him.

— And what did you want in return?

Gwenda's face was unreadable.

But because she thought that... Ethan rubbed his eyes.

Indeed, he asked for something in return. It wouldn't be him if he didn't ask for such a thing. But Yago Matchstone knew him, knew the deaths he had left behind, knew his past like everyone else in Telomeron knew. Rumors spread throughout Alphardj as he fled from Deb and Ramelia, until the entire continent knew of his existence.

The Opposite Continent was the only place where he might possibly live in peace, but everything seemed to start again. The money that changed hands, that they paid him to kill someone... he, for his own good, wouldn't refuse. But he needed to know the story, the reason for eliminating such a target.

But that went too far, and that continent also knew too much about him, and it would be much worse if he stayed there, in a territory that didn't completely belong to him. He was from Telomeron, always had been.

— A life that I could live without... being afraid.

Gwenda remained motionless. Then she let out a laugh that Ethan had to look at her. The smile almost undid him right there.

— The do-it-all from sector 9, after traveling miles and more miles in a few years, is afraid of something? Look, I think you're going too far with these lies.

— It's not a lie, Scar. — Ethan started to lose patience and moved away from her. The absence of her body hit him hard and almost knocked him down.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he twiddled the ring on his index finger back and forth, the green emerald shining under the lamplight.

If Gwenda was even considering that it was a lie... Ethan didn't know how he felt about that, how, then, he should reveal certain things to her. He knew he had to go slowly, but it was impossible to reveal something that he would have to see the little glint in her eyes vanish. A glint that still remained.

Ethan gritted his teeth until he swore one would chip. If he met Rubben one more time, that man would be as screwed as anyone else Ethan had gutted or dismembered.

— What are you afraid of?

The question came out with a plea that Ethan heard well. Weak, yet vivid. Concern wrapped around her words, almost hidden by Gwenda's tongue, but recognizable to Ethan. His throat closed up.

He looked at the floor beyond his hands and swallowed hard. He was thinking about whether he would tell her, whether he could let go of it. And, once again, he forced himself to remember that it was Gwenda.

— Of losing what I've gained. Losing what is meant to be mine. I needed his word that destiny would lead me to it. — To you — But he denied it. He said he'd rather waste away than accept that I found my way here. — To you.

Ethan tensed his jaw, irritated with himself. Because Yago didn't want his daughter to come across a murderer, he didn't want his influence over Gwenda Matchstone, mainly because she would be the last ranger and she needed to focus on rebuilding the Guardians of the Infernal Beasts, bringing species back, just like peace.

And because Ethan wasn't the right person.

— Why would my father tell you something like that? Why were you after him, and how the hell was he in the imperial lands? He wouldn't be able to pass the wall, and much less have liked what were on the other side.

— Your father is a different man, I admit. A bit peculiar. — Ethan still fiddled with the emerald ring as he let out a chuckle — He wanted freedom, I could provide it, but Yago didn't like what I asked in return. He preferred to stay where he was, mistreating himself, rather than giving information to a cruel and bitter assassin who has been crawling in blood for years. And freedom is something that many don't have the head to think about much. Freedom is divine. And your father chose to protect an unborn hope rather than have that power, feel the taste of the best feeling one could have.

— What hope are you talking about?

She didn't even wait to ask.

— You — he said, then — Daughter of Yago Matchstone, the Oracle, and Mary Jane Oxwinder, the last ranger in all of history. And finally, Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder, the hope of a new ranger era and the Infernal Beasts, as well as the heir of the Oracle. The hope for peace in the world. Are you up for knowing about your future? — Ethan turned to her with an arrogant smile, coming face to face with a shocked and pale face. — Because I'm dying to hear it.

----------------------------------------

Gwenda would have burst into laughter if she hadn't seen the gleam in Ethan's eyes. Hope.

Heir of the Oracle...

So many stories she had already heard. What he was fated to live and to be.

Gwenda would have laughed if her chest hadn't started to ache, sickened by what had been revealed. Her destiny was in her hands, all she had to do was guide it towards success. Heir of the Oracle and the hope of the rangers. Hope of the Infernal Beasts.

She was Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder and no matter what she said or did, she would never cease to be who she had always been.

— You can't be serious. — Gwenda's voice stumbled, caught in her throat.

Ethan nodded once.

— Very serious. Although you still need a lot of training ahead, I admit we can achieve it. You and me.

— What do you have to do with this? — She didn't want to have asked, but could barely hold back.

— A lot, Scar.

Scar. A name that meant nothing. A name that meant no heir to anything and hope for nothing. Just... Scar.

— My father... — she began, not knowing how she wanted to finish this sentence, but there was no choice — He was human.

Ethan let out a sigh that Gwenda saw as impatience, but then he relaxed and looked at her. The charming face.

— Yago Matchstone had his secrets.

She swallowed hard.

She had always heard that the Oracle wasn't human, much less any other creature. It was just... the Oracle. Books flashed in her mind, the days she spent in the library with the table piled with pages on top of others.

She frowned as she looked at Ethan. She was trembling, but she forced herself to stand firm. This went against everything she had ever believed, her entire journey was turning against her. The spilled blood left behind was now rubbing in her face, showing what she had done to her own people.

Gwenda got out of bed quickly, breathing heavily. As soon as she stood up, her head spun once... twice. Ethan was already there, asking her to lie down. But his voice was nothing compared to the screams in her mind.

Liar. Murderer.

Soaked shadows passed in front of her, devouring her common sense. Laughter she knew well entered her ears.

Murderer.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

You're just like your father.

Because her father always carried a weapon everywhere. Her father... who said there was no need to be afraid to defend oneself. And that included death.

Gwenda wriggled away from Ethan enough to take two steps towards the exit. She wanted air. Fresh air. She stopped abruptly the exact moment a hand closed around her elbow and pulled her back, colliding with a firm body. Sinclair's voice was all around, everywhere.

But that wasn't what made her stop running.

On the balcony, where the two doors were open, a woman was there. Standing and smiling at Gwenda. That smile was familiar to her. It was... Gwenda's own smile.

Mary Jane let out a low laugh, running her tongue over one of her pointed canines as she stared at her daughter in the arms of someone like her. Assassin.

You deserve him. You both deserve each other.

But Ethan killed to survive, to have power. Gwenda... Gwenda killed because she always believed it was her job, what she needed to do to earn the pride of the dead. Of her father. And now she was here, lamenting as if there were no end.

Tears began to well up in Gwenda's eyes, her mother's silhouette becoming increasingly blurred.

Gwenda. A bitter laugh.

What a joke.

She closed her eyes, letting the tear cleanse the pain.

Gwenda.

Yes, that was her name. But she didn't deserve it.

Gwen...

Scar.

Scar. There it was, a life she should start over. A name that meant nothing, it was just a name.

Scar...

Gwenda.

Scar.

She opened her eyes. Her mother had disappeared. The balcony doors closed again.

— Scar. — Ethan called her once again.

A pleading noise escaped her throat as she fell to her knees, feeling the wood beneath her hollow bones. She was hollow.

— Scar. — He knelt beside her, holding her face and turning it towards his. Their eyes met, and despair infested Sinclair's. — What was there? — She tried to remove his hands, turning her face to the side. He didn't allow it. — Scar, stop. Look at me. What did you see?

Ethan's voice was calm, affectionate, despite the furrowed brow and the eyes that didn't leave hers. — My mother — she whispered softly, hoarsely

— I... — She couldn't stop the next tears from falling — I dishonored them... all of them... — She whispered, as if someone could emerge from the shadows and take her to the hell where the hands of the corpses once led her in her nightmares. — I killed them. — Her eyes were wide, incredulous at what she was admitting to herself — I killed my people. Assassinated them.

Ethan's face was impassive as he moved his eyes over hers. Searching for something, she realized.

— Scar, you... — But he stopped himself from continuing, shaking his head at something she couldn't decipher.

Invisible claws of pain tore through her chest, letting her own blood and that of many others gush out. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. There was nothing more she could do, nothing Ethan would say would make any difference. She trembled under his hands.

Sinclair sat on the floor, pulling her head to his chest. She felt one of his hands stroke her hair while the other comfortably adjusted her body against his. But she remained curled up like a ball, knees pressed to her body and trembling hands over her own pounding and faltering heart.

She felt Ethan turn away from the bed, leaning against it, and he brought her with him. He put his feet on the ground around her, his knees raised like a protective barrier. His chin was resting on top of her head.

— Your parents weren't human.

She sobbed.

A series of emotions passed through her body, and she curled up even more. The arms around her tightened.

— Your mother was born in Wild Winds — he continued — Where the purest breezes of Alphardj roam the flowered hills and magic sings back, both dancing in synchrony, one shaping the other. — A fresh rain began outside, calming her nerves — A fey amidst worrying choices. To stay with her family that raised her, or to go in search of her own. She went from kingdom to kingdom to train her skills until she could be welcomed at the Untouched Palace. When she did, the war was starting to unfold slowly. What she would carry in her womb was hope, so when everything collapsed into ashes, Mary Jane Oxwinder fled instead of staying. She was the last ranger for a long time before she met Yago Matchstone. — She lifted her head, feeling the side of her face touch Ethan's warm skin, just below his chin. — Your father was born in Carliotis, around the Celestial Volcanoes and the floating embers. — His throat reverberated as he revealed — He lived among tribes of witches and was trained by them for many years until he discovered who he was. The Oracle roamed the imperial lands, seeking a place he could call home. It was destined for him to remain hidden, waiting for company. But that drove him crazy, he had few chances to escape and venture out before being sentenced to a cave near the volcanoes. The gods gave him mirrors so he could have his own company, he and only he living as one.

Ethan paused for a second, and Gwenda closed her eyes. He continued:

— Until your mother appeared, breaking down the barriers and reaching her beloved, saving him from his own curse. When conceiving you, they needed to find a place to lodge where they could protect their daughter with claws and teeth. Protect from the evil Alphardj would find if they knew there was a way for the Infernal Beasts to come back to life. The Oracle saw his future, knew you were the last hope of a better future to unite the races. He couldn't let them lay a finger on you. Hunters outside Carsany couldn't know about the existence of the ranger's hope, just like any king or queen. Finding a home in Carsany was a clever act, locking the information inside the kingdom. Making deals with powerful people to keep the secret of the return of a long-lost era. — She felt Ethan swallow hard — And here we are.

The ensuing silence was comforting. He moved his thumb on her ankle and shivers kissed her bones from top to bottom. His body was warm under hers and she breathed deeply, feeling Ethan's heartbeat, the faint thunder outside mixing with the warm beats. The rain fell on the roof and the wind invaded the place through the cracks in the windows and doors, making her shiver.

She closed her eyes and delicately wiped away a tear with her fingers.

Her mother was a fey from Wild Winds, Telomeron, the neighboring kingdom of Carsany. While her father came from the imperial lands, Carliotis.

She couldn't feel anything other than pain or longing, hatred for herself, and terror of what she had done. She dishonored her parents and everything they represented. How many of those she killed were from the same lands? Mystics... people... it was all the same. How could she see it any other way?

Guilt covered her like it had never covered her before, her shoulders began to weigh down and Ethan seemed to feel what ran through her body, as he held her tighter until she was chest to chest with him, feeling the scent of eucalyptus and honey, allowing it to permeate her lungs.

Her father hid the true meaning of all that protection, and she felt rotten inside, someone who didn't deserve the life her parents left behind in her hands. It was hard to think she was the hope of an entire species, of a ritual where every creature from all corners could participate. Being a ranger meant being a guardian, without belittling others. Because every ranger accepts their own and doesn't care where they came from and what they are. Being a ranger meant peace between races.

And Gwenda had become the opposite.

It was time to change.

Despite all the hatred for the mystics she had accumulated over the years, and now she had found out that she was one of them herself, everything remained quiet. The voice in her head was in eternal quietude, as if it had never existed, shocked by the revelation. The weight on her mind was empty, it was only peace and silence...

She took a deep breath, feeling the power of having the control she never had, feeling the presence of that power, yet quiet. She swallowed hard before asking, softly as if she didn't know how to pronounce the words correctly:

— How do you know all of this?

There was nothing in any book she had ventured into when she was younger. Nothing about the life of a last ranger and the relationship with the Oracle. Until now, all she knew was that rangers had left and her mother was just a human woman from the ranger lineage, and that the Oracle was just a solitary creature that tore out its own eyes so it didn't have to see itself in the mirrors.

She would bring the guardians back, she would make the Untouched Palace grow again. And all of this... was something of immeasurable value that couldn't fall into the wrong hands. She knew that well. And the fact that the king is after it, left her in panic. Maybe dying as Gwenda was a good thing, and all because of Ethan. Because he probably knew from the beginning, because maybe he knows what the king is planning. And she knew enough about Ethan to believe he wouldn't use her for his own good.

At least she wanted her assumption about him to be right, or she would suffer more at Ethan's hands than at the king's.

Ethan closed his legs around her a bit tighter in response and lowered his chin in front of her face. His forehead touched his cheek, and when he spoke, his breath caressed her lips.

— Because your father made me promise that this story would be remembered, and that you would know how much he loved her.

He lifted his head, stepping back.

Empty tears rolled down her face, slowly descending until they reached her jaw. But her breath slowed, her heart raced. Something didn't fit, it didn't make sense...

She moved away from him, and Ethan allowed it, letting his arms fall inertly around her. His eyes were ablaze with a hungry flame, his expression unreadable.

Her chest was filled with anxiety and fear, her heart racing mercilessly.

— You are one of them — she asserted.

Ethan slowly closed his eyes, but not before she could decipher the truth in that look, the sadness.

He was one of them. A mystic. He was like her.

She was one of them. Everything crumbled and she shuddered as she felt Ethan's hand caress her spine.

— I am.

That was enough, and she found herself in a completely different world. But now she was someone else... a new someone. And she could start over. Ethan was giving her a chance. Whatever he was, he was giving her a chance to start over and recreate what was lost.

The denial of the assassin voice in her head began, screaming and writhing inside her, as if it held her face and shouted inches away: Stop, it's all a lie. Don't believe.

She took the air she lacked in her lungs, her mouth trembling.

He opened his eyes. A formidable gleam hit her, capturing her senses in a single blow, making her yield to something she feared and killed. But what he showed now, there in that look... was forgiveness. Forgiving her for what she did and didn't do. Because now it was a fresh start. Gwenda was dead. And most importantly, she was seeing forgiveness in someone's eyes after a long time.

She cried, letting the tears sweep away the hatred and allowing something good to take over. But she was empty.

— I'm sorry...

Before she could even finish whispering, Ethan pulled her towards him and pressed his lips to hers.

Her stomach tied in knots. Butterflies exploded through her body like a kick. She had no idea how she should react to this, if she should react. But when he pulled away to look into her eyes, searching for something that could allow him to continue what he was doing, all she could think of was the reason she hadn't done this before.

Her hands flew to each side of Ethan's face and then she kissed him. Intense and fierce, desperate for it, for what he could give her and vice versa. She opened her mouth when his tongue brushed her lips in an invitation, and let out a low, hoarse sound as it slid over hers. Ethan helped her onto his lap, one knee on each side of his legs. His firm hands roamed her body from top to bottom, wandering over her curves she felt insecure about. But the possessive touch seemed to penetrate the thin fabric of her nightgown, Ethan's cold and trembling fingers made her shiver.

He lowered his mouth and kissed her neck, nibbled her jaw while his fingers dug into her hair in a caress she had no choice but to surrender to.

Then she thrust his hips forward and she felt him underneath his pants. Ethan let out a moan from the depths of his throat that made her name on his lips just a purr.

— Scar... — And he sought her mouth again.

Scar. Yes, a new name. A new life. That's what she needed, what she had sought for years.

Yes. A little voice screamed in her head. A friendly little voice. Scar.

Being called that wasn't so bad. Changing her name didn't seem to be a terrible thing. It was just... a new way of seeing things. Yes. She would see things the right way, move forward even with guilt corroding her. She could regain her place in the world. A place that she had lost already, but that she would regain.

Once again, she rubbed against him.

Ethan responded with a touch as he slid his hands under her nightgown, groping her bare skin, in search of that comfort and warmth. She wanted the same, she wanted him. So she grabbed the bottom hem and took off his shirt before kissing him again, caressing the scars on his abdomen.

Ethan shuddered under her hand and she made sure to move away, but Sinclair held her wrist and slowly brought her hand back until the entire palm was touching him, feeling the warmth of his body.

— Please, don't pull away.

Scar saw the plea in his eyes, in the words that made her melt completely. It wasn't just now when she felt that maybe he didn't want to be touched on past wounds tattooed on his skin, but rather that it was not to move away not now and never.

She rested her forehead against his and put her free hand on his face. Then she shook her head slightly.

— I won't.

That was enough for Ethan to seek her lips again. His mouth was in sync with hers when he bit Ethan's lower lip. There was fire between them, alive and treacherous, something that Scar had never felt and didn't want to stop. He ran his tongue over her teeth, on the roof of her mouth... tasting more and more.

Until the nightgown bunched up around her hips. The thin straps fell to the sides before she could stop them, and fear took over. Fear and shame hit her face, but her heart calmed down again as soon as she saw Ethan's devouring gaze on her, so bright and hungry that Scar could have reached the peak at that moment.

She always had insecurities. She never felt completely comfortable in her own body but couldn't avoid desire. But here... right in front of Ethan and feeling his eyes on her as if he were touching her...

They told her it was just in her head. She saw a figure that wasn't herself, some problem that settled in her mind from the moment some trauma occurred when she was younger.

Scar opened her mouth to say something, but only a moan escaped her throat when Ethan kissed her again and took a hand to one of her breasts, squeezing and caressing. Her breathing slowed down, heavy, when he began to circle his index finger around her nipple. She curled her toes and surrendered to that kiss.

The hands moved from his shoulders and went further down, feeling the robust skin with scars under her own calluses. She scraped her nails on his chest and abdomen before going to his arms and squeezing the muscles, the heat breaking something inside her.

Ethan's body stuck to hers, and that warm wall he was fictioned against her breasts took her breath away. When he pulled his mouth away from hers, Ethan moved away enough to stand up, taking her with him, her legs around his waist. She almost let out a murmur of admiration.

He laid her down on the bed and began to nibble on her neck, kiss, and lick while holding her breasts. His hands went down further, shaping her curves, and his mouth captured one of her nipples. Scar moaned, more like a pleading sob, and arched her body towards Ethan, wanting more.

A cruel little laugh escaped his lips, and the tremor against her skin made Scar close her legs around him and pull him towards her to feel him, to have him against her.

— How desperate you are. — he purred, and went down again, preventing her from being able to respond.

One of Ethan's hands went down between their bodies, and Scar held her breath. A guttural noise escaped him when he realized she was without anything underneath, and a grim smile opened on her face before she pulled him until their lips were intertwined again.

Scar moaned, as if that had opened something in Ethan, he became fierce, intensifying the kiss and digging his fingers into Scar's body, as if he wanted to leave his mark on her.

Scar's heart sped up, warning her. But it was Ethan, and she was allowing it, so she told her heart to calm down, even though the damage was already done. She tensed, but Ethan may not have noticed when he pressed his thumb on that point. Scar dug her nails into his back and held back the moan.

Ethan placed a kiss on her lips before speaking, his breath controlled:

— I've imagined this moment for a long time.

She couldn't respond, her body was deciding whether to stiffen at his touch or not. Scar's throat closed up.

Ethan stopped the caresses and everything, and stared at her, his forehead resting against hers.

She closed her eyes.

— Sorry.

Ethan held her chin, but patiently waited until she opened her eyes again to say:

— Don't apologize, Scar.

She exhaled before burying her fingers in his hair and kissing him, invading his mouth with her tongue and allowing him to do the same.

Slowly, the caresses started to come back. Ethan held one of her thighs as he brought his mouth down her neck, sucking on the skin and biting harder while Scar roamed her hands over his body. When she groped Ethan's pants, he descended, tracing a line of wet kisses from the collarbone, between her breasts, and down to her abdomen. Until Scar could only see the blonde hair between her legs. She gasped, pushing towards him.

— Ethan. — A plea. She wanted him completely.

Stars exploded behind her eyes, beautiful and bright.

The hands closed in his hair, until Scar barely understood what was happening when he got on top again and started to undo the belt buckle.

Scar swallowed hard and ran her hand over his trunk when she found his lips. And when the pants were thrown to the floor, she didn't let Ethan notice before she moved her hand between them. Ethan leaned into the touch with a groan and Scar was amazed, her mouth dry as she discovered what awaited her.

Scar's gasp and faltering breath were like begging for what she most longed for at the moment. Ethan lifted his face, looking into her eyes, and smiled at her, hungry and manipulative, just like Scar. The two were each other's mirror.

Ethan tore off her nightgown before ripping it off brutally and throwing it out of his way, and Scar felt him at the entrance, about to bury himself in her and all thought vanished. His hands still exploring her body, placing kisses all over her neck and just below her ear. She pushed on his back with her hands, encouraging him to go faster and harder. So he did, their breath mingled between them as one. Ethan swallowed Scar's moans with a firm and suffocating kiss.

She felt his body sliding over hers, which only heightened her senses. Scar licked the curve of Ethan's neck, the sweat that had begun to sprout there, as she synchronized her hips with his and tried to contain her indecent moans by pressing her lips.

— You have no idea what your presence does to me, Scar

She barely had breath to respond:

— Let me find out.

She locked her legs around him and turned until Ethan was underneath. Their eyes met when Scar went down to the limit, filled completely by him and feeling his muscles protest before turning into pure pleasure. The moan of both echoed through the room and Ethan's fingers dug into her hip. Something fragile and full of life seemed to intertwine in her soul and follow Ethan's, a powerful and sinister force that connected Ethan to her. Scar threw her head back as she moved and let Ethan's sounds affect her, feeling that connection materialize as if she could touch and protect it. So fragile and delicate... a thread bathed in gold that was finally in its rightful place, intertwining Ethan's soul with hers in one.

It was a divine feeling. A new and chilling feeling, but amazing and inexplicable. And, with that, as she felt her chest tighten with love, Scar knew she had found her home.

A new home. A new life.