🩸 To Dream Beneath Dying Stars (Flamebound Edition) — Chapter One Sneak Peek
🩸 To Dream Beneath Dying Stars (Flamebound Edition) — Chapter One Sneak Peek
Release Date: September 30, 2025
Series: House of Teeth Saga – Book 4 (Flamebound Edition)
Author: Remington Wülf
“Neon. Hunger. Velvet. Fire.
Love never asked for permission. Neither did they.”
If you’ve been waiting for a reason to fall harder, deeper, and messier into the House of Teeth world—this is it.
The Flamebound Edition of Book 4: To Dream Beneath Dying Stars is almost here. Releasing September 30, this remastered version of the fourth installment is hotter, sharper, and more emotionally dangerous than ever. And starting now, you can read Chapter One—completely free.
🖤 What Is the Flamebound Edition?
It’s not just a reprint. It’s a reckoning.
The Flamebound Editions are fully updated and expanded versions of the original House of Teeth novels, featuring:
Additional NSFW scenes
Deeper emotional layers
Sharper prose, cleaner continuity, and darker intimacy
Bonus content that was previously cut or never written at all
These editions are designed for readers who want to feel everything—from mythic-scale romance to soul-deep grief, queer intimacy, and found family under pressure.
📖 Chapter One – No Spoilers, Just Vibes
In the opening chapter of To Dream Beneath Dying Stars, you’ll be pulled into the glow of The Moonfire Lounge, where Kriia and Rexar navigate a night soaked in heat, vulnerability, and the kind of tension that could scorch gods.
You’ll get:
One of the steamiest, most emotionally rich scenes in the series
A moment of joy before the storm that will wreck these characters
Power shifts, body worship, and love that claws its way through fire
This chapter sets the tone for a book that’s more than just a fantasy—it’s a reckoning with desire, survival, and the price of being loved in a world always on the edge of ruin.
✨ Perfect For Fans Of:
Queer dark fantasy with high emotional stakes
Enemies-to-lovers-turned-devoted-disasters
Sensual prose that doesn’t pull punches
Characters who love hard and suffer harder
Found family, trauma healing, and unhinged intimacy
💬 What Readers Are Saying:
“It’s not just steamy—it’s sacred. You feel everything. The emotion, the history, the power dynamic.”
— ARC Reader, 2025
“Finally. Kriia and Rexar getting a moment to be themselves before it all shatters. This chapter was so intimate it hurt.”
— TikTok Commenter (@fangs.and.trauma)
👀 Read Chapter One Now (Free)
🖤 Continue on to read the full first chapter of To Dream Beneath Dying Stars – Flamebound Edition.
🔥 No sign-up. No spoilers. Just you, them, and the fire they’ve been holding back for years.
📆 The full Flamebound Edition launches September 30, 2025
Preorder now and prepare to be destroyed beautifully.
Chapter 1: Cynefin — n. Someplace that feels like home
The air in The Moonfire Lounge simmered like liquid velvet, thick with anticipation and the slow burn of desire. Neon violet and crimson lights streaked across the darkness, washing over faces caught in shadows, lingering on parted lips and widened eyes. The bass thumped in rhythmic pulses, vibrating deep beneath Kriia’s skin, each beat syncing effortlessly with the hammering of her heart.
Tonight was different—special. The usual ache of survival, the sharp edges of caution, had faded to something distant. Tonight, she danced for him, only him, beneath a sky of smoke and pulsing lights. Tonight belonged to Rexar Fang.
As the crowd parted before her, Kriia’s heels clicked against the stage, a sound swallowed by cheers and breathless gasps. The spotlight crashed onto her, bathing her figure in liquid gold. Crimson hair cascaded down her shoulders, shimmering with every subtle sway of her body. Her dress clung to every curve, whispering promises of silk and sin. Violet eyes glittered with mischief, locked onto him instantly, capturing him completely.
Rexar sat at the center of the lounge, eyes blazing, smirk predatory and promising, his every breath shallow as she moved toward him. His gaze roamed her body with unabashed hunger, teeth grazing his lower lip, hands clenched to suppress the instinctive need to claim her right then and there.
The music shifted—a slow, seductive rhythm that thrummed through her veins, coaxing her hips into motion. She swayed toward him, sinuous, deliberate. When she finally reached him, she paused just long enough for anticipation to coil tighter in his chest before boldly straddling his lap. The roar from the patrons was deafening, money raining down like paper blessings around them. His muscles trembled beneath her, heat radiating off him in waves that made her heart race.
Leaning forward, Kriia let her breath warm his ear, voice a teasing purr, dripping with delicious torment.
“Patience, birthday boy.”
The corner of Rexar’s mouth curled into something feral, raw hunger burning bright in those ember-ringed eyes. But he didn’t move—he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Not here, with every gaze locked onto them. Instead, he leaned back further, feigning ease, every muscle in his powerful body taut beneath the weight of barely restrained need.
The music throbbed around them, dark and irresistible, coaxing her into motion. Kriia rolled her hips slowly, sensually, teasingly, feeling every shuddering breath Rexar fought to control. Each sway brought her closer, the silk of her dress gliding against him, their skin separated by only the cruelest whisper of fabric. She tilted her head back, crimson hair cascading in waves, exposing the pale, elegant line of her throat.
His fingers twitched beside him, longing etched deep in every tight muscle. She felt his warmth intensify beneath her, heat pulsing in time with the heartbeat that pounded in his chest. Her lips curled into a knowing, sultry smile.
“Funny,” she breathed, dipping her head so her lips brushed the edge of his jaw. “All this time, and this is the first real dance I’ve ever given you.”
His laugh was rough, breathless. He forced himself still as she ground against him, slow and deliberate. “And I’m beginning to understand why you held out on me so long,” he managed, voice edged with gravel. “Any longer, and this might actually kill me.”
She chuckled, low and teasing, trailing a single fingertip along his collarbone. “Careful, Fang. Wouldn’t want you expiring on your birthday.”
His smirk widened, sharp and irresistible. “Believe me, babygirl—there are worse ways to go.”
She leaned in again, dangerously close, feeling his body tense with anticipation, every muscle coiled tight beneath her fingertips. Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, soft as silk against his ear, teasing with memories of how they’d begun. “Sure you’re not in the mood to just…talk instead? I know how much you love a good conversation.”
Rexar laughed again, deeper now, his hands finally breaking their careful restraint, slipping to grip her waist, holding her firmly in place. His eyes flashed with possessive fire, matching the molten heat that now flared openly beneath his skin.
“You tease me any harder, Krii,” he murmured roughly, lips grazing her cheek, “and we’re going to give these poor bastards far more of a show than they paid for.”
Kriia grinned wickedly, hips moving just enough to make him groan. “Careful what you wish for, birthday boy,” she purred, violet eyes burning into his. “The night’s still young.”
The song shifted seamlessly, each new beat heavier, richer, as if the Moonfire Lounge itself was conspiring with her, daring Kriia to press Rexar’s limits even further. Around them, voices rose, hollers and applause thickening the air, but Kriia could only hear Rexar’s uneven breath, feel the rapid pulse beneath his heated skin.
Her fingertips trailed upward, teasing over his chest, pausing at the collar of his shirt as though contemplating buttons she had no intention of undoing—not yet, anyway. Her lips parted slowly, daring him to close the distance between them, the space between their mouths charged with a tension so fierce it was nearly tangible.
Rexar’s eyes darkened dangerously, smoke drifting lazily from his nose, curling gently around her throat in a caress she knew too well. He inhaled sharply, each exhale trembling, revealing just how desperately he was holding himself back. She moved languidly atop him, savoring every tight muscle beneath her, every involuntary shudder, every muted groan he failed to contain.
“You’re testing my patience,” he growled softly, voice roughened by restraint. His hands tightened at her waist, fingertips digging gently into the silk that separated their skin. “And you damn well know it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kriia teased breathlessly, her gaze catching the feverish light that danced within his ember-ringed irises. “After all, you’re the one who taught me patience is overrated.”
A low chuckle rumbled deep within his chest, and suddenly, his fingers slid lower, skimming the curve of her hips in a possessive caress that sent electricity cascading along her spine. His breath hitched when she pressed closer, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touched, sharing heat, sharing breath.
“And you’re a fast learner, babygirl.” His words were molten honey, a promise wrapped in velvet. “But there’s only so much a man can endure in public.”
Around them, the cheering intensified, and Kriia was dimly aware of money fluttering down, landing softly around them like snowflakes in a dream. Yet in this moment, none of it mattered. Her world had narrowed down to Rexar, to the pulse of their matched breathing, to the desperate way his eyes begged her for more.
Finally, mercifully, the music slowed, fading into a sultry, lingering note. Her body still pressed against him, their gazes locked in an intense, unspoken challenge.
“You survived,” she whispered playfully, a mischievous glint in her violet eyes.
“Barely,” Rexar replied hoarsely. His thumb brushed tenderly over her cheekbone, his gaze searching hers for something deeper. “But the night’s just begun. Are you prepared for the consequences of your actions, Ms. Thomas?”
She laughed softly, the sound pure silk, and leaned forward until her lips grazed his in the barest tease of a kiss—one that promised everything but yielded nothing. “I’ll take my chances,” she breathed against his mouth.
His fingers tangled into her crimson hair, pulling her close until the warmth of his breath mingled intimately with hers. “Good. Because tonight, my dear, I intend to make you pay for every wicked second of this.”
And in the heat of his promise, Kriia smiled—a slow, dangerous smile filled with anticipation, desire, and the unspoken understanding that, between them, passion always came with a price.
The lingering heat from their captivating display still pulsed gently between them as Rexar guided her offstage, his arm wrapped possessively around Kriia’s waist. Patrons parted around them like waves around stone, offering cheers and nods of approval, but none of it registered—her world was already narrowed, distilled down to the warmth of Rexar’s palm against the small of her back, the smoky timber of his voice whispering playful threats and tender promises into her ear.
“You know,” he murmured, lips brushing her temple as they moved through the vibrant crowd, “after tonight, Chandra might ban you from dancing again.”
Kriia laughed softly, her fingers gripping gently at the sleeve of his shirt. “You think she’d risk losing her best performer?”
His smirk deepened, the crimson-tinged curl of his hair falling carelessly into his eyes. “I think you underestimate how deeply you rattled me up there. Management doesn’t take kindly to dancers who nearly give their regulars heart attacks.”
“Who, me?” she teased, eyes bright with mischief. “Plus, you act as if you aren’t only a regular because of me.”
Rexar didn’t lead her toward their usual booth.
Instead, his grip on her waist tightened, steering her through the back corridors of the Moonfire Lounge. The air here was different—cooler, quieter, thick with the faint scent of smoke and velvet curtains long steeped in perfume and dust. The bass of the club still pulsed faintly through the walls, but out here, it felt distant, like the echo of a world that no longer mattered.
He pushed open the door to an empty back room with his shoulder and guided her inside.
The door shut behind them with a heavy click, sealing them off from the pulse of the lounge. The back room was dim, lit only by a single low-hanging lamp that cast everything in warm, amber shadows. It smelled faintly of smoke, velvet, and the faint metallic tang of spilled liquor from long-forgotten nights.
Before Kriia could catch her breath, Rexar had her pressed to the wall, his massive frame boxing her in. His eyes blazed, ember-ringed and feral, his smirk nowhere to be found. Instead, there was raw hunger written in every taut line of his body, every heavy breath he took like it was dragged from his chest.
“You have no fucking idea,” he growled, voice low, gravelly, each word vibrating against her skin as he leaned in close. “What you just did to me out there. You owned that stage. Owned me. Every bastard in that room wanted you. Every one of them would’ve given their soul to touch you.”
His hand clamped her waist, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, his other hand sliding up to curl around her jaw. He tilted her face up, forcing her violet eyes to lock with his.
“But they don’t get to.” His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “Only I do. Only I will.”
The contrast made her shiver—his grip iron, his thumb stroking her cheek with something dangerously close to tenderness. His forehead pressed to hers, and his voice dropped even lower, almost awed.
“You don’t see it, do you? The way you burn. You tore me apart out there. Gods, Kriia—you don’t even know what you are.”
Her lips parted, a soft sound escaping, but no words came.
He kissed her before she could think. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t gentle. It was heat and hunger and desperation, his mouth crushing against hers like he’d been starving for her all night. She melted into it, her hands threading through his crimson-tipped hair, pulling him closer until their bodies collided in a clash of heat.
“Say it,” he demanded against her lips, voice rough, uneven, vibrating with need. “Tell me you’re mine.”
Her answer came in a breathless whisper, swallowed by his next kiss. “Yours.”
The sound ripped a groan from his chest. His hands were everywhere then—sliding beneath the hem of her dress, reverent and rough, dragging fabric up her thighs as if he needed her bare for him now. He kissed her hard, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Mine to praise. Mine to ruin. Mine to worship.”
He spun her, pressing her chest to the wall, his body flush against her back. His hands trailed up her thighs, squeezing, spreading, commanding. “You don’t get it, babygirl. You’re a goddess to me. And gods deserve worship.” His mouth was hot against her ear, the words filth and reverence all tangled together.
She gasped as his hands slid higher, one gripping her hip tight, the other sliding between her thighs with slow, deliberate pressure. His growl rumbled deep in her ear. “Already wet for me. Gods, you’re perfect. Say it again.”
Her voice shook. “Yours.”
“That’s right.” He kissed the side of her throat, biting just enough to make her shiver. “Every inch of you. Mine to make beg. Mine to make scream. Mine to love until you can’t fucking breathe.”
He turned her back to face him, his mouth crashing against hers like he was starving. The kiss was searing, greedy, his tongue sliding against hers until she was gasping into him. Then—without the slightest strain—he lifted her. Her legs locked around his waist, instinctive, the skirt of her dress riding up her thighs as his hands spread possessively beneath her.
The wall met her back with a muted thud, and then his hips ground hard against her, deliberate, unrelenting. The thick press of him through his slacks had her moaning into his mouth before she could stop it.
“You feel that?” he rasped, breaking the kiss just long enough to scrape his teeth down the side of her jaw. His breath was hot, ragged, each word sharp enough to brand. “That’s what you do to me. Every fucking time you even look at me.” His grip tightened, one hand splayed wide across her ass, the other gripping her thigh like he owned it. “And tonight—” his mouth brushed her ear, rough and reverent, “—I’m going to take my time showing you exactly what you are to me.”
Her laugh came out breathless, teasing. “Pretty sure I already figured that out when the crowd was watching you practically choke on your tongue, birthday boy.”
He growled, low and dark, thrusting up against her until her head tipped back, lips parting on another sharp gasp. “Keep teasing me, babygirl. See what happens. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk back onto that stage again.”
Her nails dragged down the back of his neck, sharp enough to make him hiss, but her smirk was wicked. “Maybe that’s what I want.”
That undid him. His hips snapped forward again, the movement rough, controlled chaos, and then he was fumbling just enough fabric out of the way to sink into her with one long, brutal thrust. The sound she made—half cry, half moan—tore a curse from his throat.
“Fuck—so tight for me,” he groaned, pressing her harder to the wall as he started to move, each thrust deep, claiming. His forehead pressed against hers, sweat already slicking his hairline. “So perfect. Made for me. You hear me? Made. For. Me.”
Her violet eyes fluttered, her lips falling open as her nails dug crescents into his shoulders. “Yours,” she gasped, voice breaking on his name.
The word was everything. His rhythm faltered, hips jerking, a ragged groan spilling from him as he pressed his mouth to her throat. “That’s it. Say it again. Remind me who you belong to.”
She arched into him, breathless but defiant. “On your birthday? Maybe I should make you work for it.”
He bit down on her pulse point, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her shudder violently. His thrusts grew rougher, grinding deeper, punctuating each word. “Mine. My fire. My destruction. My salvation. Say it, Kriia.”
Her moan hitched high, breaking as she clung tighter to him. “Yours—fuck, Rexar—I’m yours.”
His pace stuttered, a strangled groan tearing from his chest as he slammed her harder against the wall, each thrust laced with desperation and worship. “Good girl. Gods, you’re everything. I’ll ruin you a hundred times just to prove it.”
By the time he carried her to the velvet couch, neither of them were steady. He sank into it with her straddling his lap, the dress shoved up to her waist, her body bouncing against his with each punishing thrust. Money from the stage still clung to her hair, slipping free with every motion, floating to the floor like paper blessings.
He couldn’t stop talking—filth and devotion spilling out between his ragged groans. “Look at you. Riding me like you were fucking made for it. My goddess. My ruin. So beautiful I could lose myself in you forever.”
She was grinning through the moans, voice hoarse, teasing even as her body shook around him. “Not bad—for twenty-eight. You might just survive me after all, Fang.”
He snarled, one hand twisting in her hair to yank her head back, forcing her gaze down to meet his. His other hand gripped her hip, guiding her rhythm until she was bouncing harder, deeper, each thrust hitting where she needed it most. “You think you’re in charge because it’s my birthday? Sweetheart, I’ll remind you who’s really running this show.”
Her answer was a broken cry of his name, her body trembling violently as the pleasure tore through her. He followed right after, groaning her name like a prayer against her mouth as they came undone together.
The world narrowed to heat and shuddering breath, to the frantic thrum of blood in their veins and the sound of his voice breaking against her lips.
When it was over, they collapsed into the couch cushions, bodies tangled and trembling, clothes clinging damp with sweat. Their mouths never truly left each other—kisses sloppy, desperate, blurred at the edges with exhaustion and worship. His hands still roamed, greedy even in their aftermath, smoothing over her thighs, her hips, her back, like he couldn’t stop touching just to make sure she was real.
Finally, when the haze softened and his body eased, Rexar pulled her in tighter, cradling her against his chest as though she were something sacred, as though he hadn’t just ruined her against a velvet couch in a dark back room. His lips brushed her temple, voice quiet, reverent, breaking through the ragged breaths.
“You are everything,” he whispered into her hair. “And I’ll spend every night proving it.”
For a moment, she let herself believe it. Let herself melt into the warmth of his chest, his heartbeat still pounding hard and steady beneath her cheek. They stayed like that, cocooned in the velvet-dark silence, the muffled pulse of the music outside seeping faintly through the walls, reminding them that the world hadn’t actually stopped for them.
Eventually, Rexar shifted, the low rumble of his laugh vibrating against her. “As much as I’d like to keep you here all night, babygirl,” he murmured, tilting her chin up so he could look into her violet eyes, “we should probably remind the world we still exist. Don’t want them thinking I’ve died on my birthday.”
She smirked, brushing her thumb across his jaw where her lipstick still smudged against his skin. “You almost did.”
His grin turned wolfish, his ember-ringed eyes flashing molten in the dim light. “Best way to go I can think of.”
He pressed one last searing kiss against her lips before finally setting her down gently, his hands smoothing her dress back into place with an almost comical reverence given what they had just done to it. She tugged his shirt straight, wiped her lipstick from the corner of his mouth with her thumb, the two of them exchanging quiet laughter that felt too soft, too intimate for the chaos waiting just outside the door.
When Rexar finally opened it, the world crashed back in—heat, sound, neon. The bass throbbed through the lounge, voices rose in drunken cheers, glasses clinked, and the haze of smoke curled in the violet-crimson light. They slipped back into the crowd like nothing had happened, but Kriia knew better—her skin still sang with him, her body still hummed with every word he had spoken against her.
Patrons greeted them with knowing smirks, a few ribald cheers thrown their way as they crossed the lounge, Rexar’s arm firm around her waist. She flushed faintly but kept her chin high, violet eyes daring anyone to say more.
Rexar leaned low, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he guided her through the press of bodies. “Let them look. Let them all fucking look. You’re mine, Kriia. They should know it.”
Her answering laugh was soft, teasing. “Pretty sure they figured it out when you nearly devoured me onstage.”
He only smirked, guiding her to the secluded booth tucked at the edge of the lounge. The crowd thinned here, the noise dimming to a dull roar, neon light washing the space in violet shadows. He slid into the booth first, pulling her effortlessly into his lap, her back pressed against his chest as if she belonged there—and maybe she did.
The chaos faded around them, replaced by the quiet intimacy of the corner they’d claimed. Rexar’s hand settled easily at her hip, his thumb tracing slow circles against the silk of her dress.
“I think we might’ve broken the lounge tonight,” he murmured, voice low and laced with satisfaction.
Kriia tilted her head back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips curving into a soft, dangerous smile. “Worth it to see you lose your composure, Fang.”
A gentle laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating softly against her. His fingers tangled tenderly in her crimson hair, brushing through the strands with a careful reverence. “Well, babygirl, you’re the only one capable of doing that.”
Kriia’s expression softened, and in the quiet intimacy of the booth, her defenses slipped away. How had a year and a half passed already? How had she gone from surviving night by night, guarded and solitary, to trusting him enough to move into that sprawling, shadow-rich Fang Estate? Every adjustment, every challenge had been worth it because of him—because of the way Rexar’s easy warmth balanced out the strict, sometimes suffocating Fang traditions.
“Who knew I’d end up here?” she mused softly, eyes tracing the outlines of the bustling lounge. She smiled, a hint of surprise in her voice as she turned her face to his again. “Living this life with you—in your family’s mansion, no less.”
Rexar’s gaze was impossibly tender as he cupped her cheek, thumb brushing affectionately over the delicate line of her jaw. “You belong here, Kriia.” His voice was low, earnest, the depth of his affection clear. “With me.”
She leaned into the warmth of his palm, eyes shimmering softly, the quiet fierceness of his love wrapping around her heart. Her voice lowered to a whisper, honest and vulnerable, a secret spoken only between them.
“There’s no place I’d rather be.”
His fingers brushed her hair back again, eyes warm with understanding, with gentle pride at her vulnerability. The tension had long faded; now there was only this moment—quietly playful, intensely affectionate—promising a thousand more like it.
“You know,” he teased gently, voice dropping to a mischievous murmur, “I’m pretty sure I could get used to you actually dancing for me, if you’re ever inclined again.”
Kriia chuckled softly, eyes twinkling as she tilted her face up toward him. “Careful what you wish for. You saw what happened tonight.”
Rexar’s lips curled into a slow, languid smile as he leaned in, forehead gently pressing against hers. “I survived, didn’t I?”
“Barely,” she reminded him with a teasing whisper, fingers brushing gently against his chest. “Besides, are you sure you wouldn’t rather just sit here and…talk instead?”
He laughed again, the sound full of quiet joy and promises that stretched beyond tonight, beyond tomorrow, into a future neither had ever dared to dream of before. “Only with you, baby doll,” he whispered, the teasing replaced by something deeper, warmer. “Always with you.”
Kriia smiled softly, closing her eyes as she leaned comfortably against him. For the first time in a long, tumultuous life, she finally felt safe—wrapped up in his warmth, beneath dying stars and neon lights, exactly where she belonged.
Nestled comfortably in the familiar warmth of Rexar’s embrace, Kriia’s eyes drifted across the lively lounge. Friends and acquaintances mingled in the hazy glow of neon lights, their laughter weaving harmoniously into the lounge’s pulse. But it was Remi who caught her attention, leaning casually against the bar, head tipped back as he laughed openly—truly laughed. It had been a long time since she’d seen him so at ease, so free from the shadows that often lingered behind his neon-green gaze.
“Remi seems to be doing a lot better lately,” she murmured thoughtfully, resting her head comfortably against Rexar’s shoulder. “After all the relapses, I wasn’t sure if he’d ever truly bounce back.”
Rexar followed her line of sight, a soft pride illuminating his expression. His thumb moved gently over her shoulder, soothing in its absent rhythm. “He’s strong, love. He always finds his way back, even when it gets tough. Working steadily at the auto shop with his uncle has helped more than he’ll admit.”
Kriia hummed softly in agreement, her eyes lingering on her best friend’s relaxed smile. A small, tender ache touched her chest. “I just wonder why he hasn’t found someone steady yet. He hooks up plenty, but…” Her voice trailed off, curiosity gentle and careful.
A low, understanding chuckle rumbled through Rexar’s chest. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Maybe he’s waiting for someone special. Or maybe he’s just afraid of letting someone in again. Either way, he’s got time. Not everyone gets as lucky as we did.”
She smiled warmly at that, tilting her face upward until her lips brushed softly against his jaw. “Very lucky indeed,” she whispered, her voice infused with quiet gratitude.
For a long, comfortable moment, they watched Remi across the room, seeing him laugh again—freely, openly—like he hadn’t in months. His deep, raspy voice rose above the noise, drawing easy laughter from others nearby. His shoulders were looser, his usually guarded eyes softer. For Kriia, it was a relief—like a long-held breath finally released.
“You know,” Rexar murmured, drawing her from her reverie with gentle humor, “at this rate, we might actually start to think the Moonfire Lounge is therapeutic.”
Kriia snorted softly, shaking her head against his shoulder. “Careful. If word gets out, Chandra might start charging us for emotional healing sessions.”
“Ah, yes.” Rexar laughed softly, brushing his lips affectionately against the crown of her head. “Therapy, but make it neon-lit and expensive.”
Kriia chuckled quietly, fingers tightening around his hand, warmth spreading steadily through her chest. It was moments like this, wrapped in his affection, laughter weaving gently between them, that reminded her how far they’d truly come. Together.
“Who’d have guessed?” she mused quietly, tracing soft, lazy circles against his palm. “You, me—even Remi—somehow finding our way out of the darkness.”
His voice softened as he replied, full of reflective warmth. “Turns out love, stubbornness, and a dash of sarcasm go a long way.”
She laughed again, softer this time, leaning further into him. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
“It will,” he mused gently, confidence unwavering. “We’ve earned it, babygirl. And so has Remi.”
Across the room, Remi glanced toward them as if sensing their quiet attention. He smirked playfully, lifting his glass in silent salute. Kriia smiled warmly back, squeezing Rexar’s hand as she returned the gesture.
“Yeah,” she murmured softly, voice filled with quiet gratitude, settling deeper into Rexar’s embrace. “We all have.”
The lounge quieted around them, fading to a gentle hum of voices and soft, distant music. The late hour had coaxed many of the patrons into the moonlit streets, leaving behind a more intimate glow, an almost dreamy stillness that wrapped warmly around their secluded corner.
Rexar shifted slightly, guiding Kriia’s chin upward with a gentle fingertip. His thumb brushed affectionately against her cheek, crimson-edged eyes soft with an easy tenderness that he reserved solely for her.
“You know,” he drawled quietly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “now that my birthday’s officially over, it’s your turn next, babygirl.”
Kriia laughed softly, warmth dancing through her chest as she leaned closer, savoring the quiet closeness between them. “Don’t remind me. Twenty-five already. I feel ancient.”
His laugh was gentle, rumbling against her ear as he pressed a soft kiss into her hair. “If you’re ancient, baby doll, then I’m practically dust. Twenty-eight, remember? I can feel myself falling apart as we speak.”
She rolled her eyes playfully, fingers dancing lazily over his chest. “You’re impossible, Fang. We both know you’re nowhere near falling apart.”
Rexar smiled warmly, his eyes turning quietly thoughtful. “Twenty-five,” he repeated softly, almost to himself. “How should we celebrate? Another dance, perhaps?” His voice dipped lower, teasing. “Or maybe just talking?”
Kriia tilted her head back, laughter bubbling up as she playfully swatted his chest. “Don’t get your hopes up. You got lucky tonight.”
He chuckled gently, catching her hand and pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles. “No, Kriia,” he murmured sincerely, gaze deepening as it met hers. “I got lucky a year and a half ago when you decided to give me a shot. Everything else since then is just a bonus.”
Her heart squeezed softly, eyes shimmering with quiet emotion. For a moment, she didn’t speak, just rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—a rhythm that had somehow become a comforting anchor in her life.
“I love you, Rexar Fang,” she whispered finally, the words delicate but fierce.
He held her tighter, leaning down until his lips brushed tenderly against her temple. “I love you more than anything, babygirl.”
For a long, comfortable silence, they simply existed—content, wrapped up in the warmth of each other. They had fought hard to build this peace, this trust, this safety. And though life was rarely kind, in these quiet moments, Kriia knew with absolute certainty that together, they could withstand whatever storms waited ahead.
And in a little over a month, when she turned twenty-five, she knew exactly where she wanted to be: right here, in Rexar’s arms, beneath dying stars and neon lights, in the life they’d carefully, painstakingly built together.
But tonight was theirs, and she intended to cherish every moment of it, quietly grateful for the path they’d chosen, and the future that lay ahead—unknown, yet endlessly promising.
Tomorrow could wait.
A familiar voice cut through the velvet buzz of the lounge, sharp and flat against the backdrop of synth and laughter.
“Happy birthday, Fang.”
Kriia turned her head just as Remi slid into view, beer in hand, posture loose but gaze sharp—like he was already done with the whole night and hadn’t even sat down yet. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He leaned his hip against the booth’s edge, his green eyes flicking between Kriia and Rexar with practiced disinterest that didn’t quite mask the storm always simmering behind them.
Rexar’s brows lifted in mild surprise. “Remi,” he offered a casual nod. “Thanks. Surprised to see you here without a dancer on your arm. Not usually your scene unless there’s some incentive.”
“It’s not,” Remi replied without hesitation, taking a slow swig of his beer. “But I needed a reason to not drink alone.”
Kriia snorted under her breath, already giving him a warning look. “Please don’t get belligerently drunk this time. You know some of the girls are still talking about the last time you tried to ‘unwind.’”
Remi smirked, unbothered. “That’s because they liked it.”
He didn’t smile often—but when he did, it was razor sharp and fleeting, like a blade catching the light before slipping back into shadow. He took another sip, turning just enough to eye the stage, where a dancer in silver lace caught his attention mid-spin. His eyes lingered—calculating, appreciative. And then he turned back to them, expression unreadable.
“It’s been quiet,” he remarked with a shrug. “Meeko’s been spending more time with Uncle Ivan. House feels empty. Thought I’d come out and remind myself why I hate people.”
“You’re doing a great job,” Rexar deadpanned, draping an arm more firmly around Kriia’s waist.
Remi arched a brow, but didn’t rise to the bait. “Relax. I’m not here to start anything.”
“Good,” Kriia goaded with a smirk, adjusting herself slightly on Rexar’s lap. “Because if you embarrass me again, I’m making him kick your ass.”
Rexar laughed, warm and sudden, like it caught him off guard. “I’m not getting dragged into this.”
Remi took another slow sip, then tilted the bottle toward Kriia, dry amusement curling at the edge of his voice. “You’re just jealous I pull more tips when I dance drunk than you do sober.”
She scoffed, swatting at his leg. “That’s because you take your shirt off and flirt with everything that breathes.”
Remi grinned, wolfish now. “And yet, it works.”
Rexar shook his head, smoke curling lazily from his nose in soft, maple-sweet streams. “You’re somethin’ else, man.”
“I try.”
But something shifted behind the sharp smirk, the half-lidded glare he used like armor. Just for a second—when Kriia wasn’t looking—Remi’s gaze flicked toward Rexar. Measured. Wary. Not hostile anymore. Just… watching.
“I’ll grab another drink,” he muttered, pushing off the booth with the heel of his boot. “You two look disgustingly domestic. It’s making my beer taste like commitment.”
Kriia rolled her eyes as he disappeared toward the bar. “He really knows how to ruin a moment.”
Rexar’s arm tightened around her, lips brushing her temple. “Nah. That was him saying he’s glad we’re good.”
Kriia stilled for a second, then nodded slowly, letting the thought settle in.
Maybe it was. Maybe that was his version of soft.
She watched him pause by the bar, lean in to whisper something to the dancer in silver, his smirk low and lethal. She rolled her eyes again, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Remi would never be easy.
But he showed up.
And for her, that still meant something.
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