Follow to the End

~ TARKYN ~

Mate.

My mate.

The words echoed in the winding caves of his mind and his heart stretched to meet them, to turn them over, examine them.

Mate.

My mate.

Words he'd yearned to hear his entire adult life and yet had begun to believe he never would. It seemed… impossible. His rational mind, the warrior within, the strategist and warmaker, that Tarkyn that had stalked the WildWood and defeated every enemy for decades… that Tarkyn shook his head and said no. It couldn't be. He couldn't hold this female, warm and strong in his lap, and see her staring love at him when they'd spoken for bare minutes.

And yet… 'I can feel you,' she had said. 'I can feel your heart. Your strength. Your… sense of right. Tarkyn, you're my mate. Your heart is for me. I know it. Just like mine is for you. I've waited for you. So long.'

It was as if she'd taken the words from his mind. He'd woken that morning, confused and befuddled, and even before he turned to see her curled at his back, there'd been a place in his heart—a hollow place that had never been filled—that had felt… solid. He'd been too shaken to register what had changed until they'd spoken, but now… now he could think. Now he could examine himself. And now he knew.

Something within him knew her to her bones. Knew she was the one—and demanded no other. There was something in her that called to him, and something within him that called back.

She'd vowed to protect him? Her—a female, near a foot shorter and likely close to a hundred pounds lighter? The idea was laughable. And yet, while the Alpha within him had smirked at the idea, he'd been shaken, too.

She was not a kitten-cub, yeowling into the storm and spitting her innocence. No, he could feel her. Sense her. Somehow… somehow he knew her.

She shielded her wounds. She cradled her scars. But she fought with the ardent fearlessness of a mother in defense of cubs. She knew the pain of battle, and would not shy from it. She was…

He'd been about to say Warrior, but that wasn't right. She was not a warrior… she was a weapon. A blade, honed and sheathed, ready for war.

Ready to fight… for him? Tarkyn sucked in a breath, his eyes never straying from hers.

She would die for him. He could feel it.

And he for her. It was… undeniable. And humbling.

Tarkyn blinked. Harth sat in his lap, gripping him, eyes wide, and waited patiently for him to answer. Because she already knew what he would say.

She already knew, just as he already knew she knew.

He shook his head in disbelief. "I am…" his throat was pinched so tightly by emotion, he was forced to stop and clear it. And still when he spoke, his voice was deep and husky. "I am certain, Harth. I have… I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

Her smile grew and she nodded quickly. "Me too," she whispered. "Me too." She leaned in as if she could kiss him again, and Tarkyn knew if he let himself, he would be consumed, so he raised a hand quickly to her shoulder, holding her back.

She raised an eyebrow in question, but her smile didn't falter.

"I need… I need you to stand up for a moment," he rasped.

"Oh?" she whispered, then rocked her hips against him. She still wore leathers, but he remained naked and… dear Lord, he'd never felt such a thing as the moment she rubbed herself on him and desire threaded into her scent.

Cursing under his breath, he gave her a look that promised exactly what he'd do to her when this was done. But it wasn't right that she had vowed herself to him before he'd given her the same. So, as her brows rose and her smile turned to a beam, he urged her to her feet, and followed her, shakily, to his knees.

She tsked again, remembering his weakness and started to put a hand under his arm, to help him up, but he shook his head, nudging her back to stand before him. And when she understood, she straightened, hands held before her, poised as if she might need to grab him and steady him.

Tarkyn pressed his lips thin and made himself straighten. On one knee he was unlikely to collapse, and yet he still trembled. He grumbled to himself in his mind that he wasn't cutting quite the dashing figure he'd always imagined for this moment, but his heart thudded with certainty: She wouldn't care.

When she'd gone quiet, waiting, he raised one fist and thumped it to his chest in the salute saved for the highest in the hierarchy, though she wouldn't know it.

"Harth," he said quietly, his voice deep and rumbling.

"Yes, Tarkyn?" she murmured, her eyes still locked on his.

"You are my mate. Chosen by the Creator. Made for me."

She gave a happy little sob. "Me too. You for me, I mean."

He nodded. "And so, I am here—we are here, as the Creator determined before time. And I must… honor you so you know my heart." He cleared his throat and blew out a nervous breath. Creator's Mane, when had he ever been so timid? She'd thrown her heart at his feet before he'd even known her, and he became shaky like a newborn kitten to return her favor?

If he hadn't been saluting, he might have smacked himself. But he pushed the thought away and focused.

"Harth, I come empty-handed. I bring no weapon. Because I… I swear to you, I will never choose to harm you. Never draw your blood—in anger, or in fear.

"I bring no shield. Because I vow I will never defend myself from your eyes, your hands, your mind. I am… I am yours."

He gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh as she clasped her hands to her mouth and her eyes began to silver. But he had to clear his throat again before he continued.

"I have waited for you since I understood what a True Mate was. Finding you is the joy of my life. I come to you with nothing except myself. But I swear to you… What is mine, is yours. I am yours. And I will put everything available to me between you and harm—my life, my blood, my body. It is yours."

Tears spilled over her long lashes, trickling down her cheeks. He yearned to reach up and rub them away, but he remained in the salute, because the instinct was within him, the conviction that she had to know his heart before he took her. He knew himself enough to know that once that leash was snapped, he wasn't retreating. He had to give her his heart before he took her body, make himself known in this moment, so she would trust him in the next.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and held her swimming eyes.

"I am a male of my word, Harth. My heart is yours. My blood. My breath. My body," his voice caught on the last one and her pupils dilated, which brought the mating call into his throat, but he swallowed it back. "Will you take me as I am—no weapon, no shield, but vowed to you?"

"Yes!" she breathed. "Oh, Tarkyn, yes!"

Then she took his face in her hands and beamed at him. They were both breathing too quickly. Tarkyn broke the salute and took her waist in his trembling hands.

"What now?" she asked breathlessly.

Tarkyn finally let himself smile the smile of his predator, and Harth laughed—until he pulled her down into a searing kiss.