A Plea Stitched in Silk and Starlight
# FINALLY A single, perfect tear traced the warmth of Liana’s cheek, catching the faint, perpetual moonlight glow of her skin before falling silently into the dark. The familiar, hollow ache was in her chest again, a cold, heavy stone wher
Chapter 1
A single, perfect tear traced the warmth of Liana’s cheek, catching the faint, perpetual moonlight glow of her skin before falling silently into the dark. The familiar, hollow ache was in her chest again, a cold, heavy stone where her heart should be. Loneliness wasn’t just an emotion for her; it was a physical space she inhabited, vast and echoing. She wrapped her arms around herself, the silk of her newest gown whispering against her skin. Tonight’s creation was a masterpiece—backless, with a neckline that plunged to her navel, held together by delicate, golden chains that glinted against her pale gold skin. The skirts were a cascade of midnight and starlight, swirling around her legs as she paced her empty studio.
She had crafted it for him. Every stitch, every daring drape, was a silent plea. *See me. Want me.*
The memory of his deep, rumbling laugh earlier that afternoon echoed, twisting the knife. She’d been talking to Diana, her voice a little too loud, a little too bright, hoping the sound would carry to the forge where he worked. “I just wonder if *he’ll* even notice this one,” she’d sighed dramatically, fingering the gossamer fabric. “All this work for a blind man.” She’d meant it as a joke, a venting of her frustration, but the hurt was real. She’d seen Garrett’s shadow freeze in the hallway archway, then retreat silently. Her hope had soared, then plummeted. Another dismissal.
“Enough,” she whispered to the silent room. The word felt sharp in her throat. The cold, painful void inside her throbbed, a sudden, sharp pull of profound longing. It was more than emotion; it was a magical ache, a fate-tug deep in her soul. Without conscious thought, she took a single, fluid step forward.
The world dissolved into a blur of shadow and light, and she *traced*.
She materialized with a soft gasp, her back pressed against cool, rough-hewn stone. The familiar scent of coal, leather, and him filled her senses—Garrett’s private chambers. She hadn’t meant to come here. The pull had been too strong. Panic licked at her, and she pressed her hands over her mouth, stifling the sound of her own ragged breathing. She was an intruder in his sanctuary, hidden in the dark.
Then she heard it.
His voice, low and thick with a pain that mirrored her own, spilled from the adjacent room. “...by the forge, I would give anything,” he murmured, a raw, broken sound. “To hold her. To have her look at me not as a guardian of this mountain, but as a man. To feel her skin, to hear my name on those lips…”
Liana’s blood turned to ice, then fire. She couldn’t move.
A soft, rhythmic sound followed, the creak of leather, a sharp, hissed intake of breath. She knew that sound. Her enhanced hearing painted the picture in vivid, devastating detail: his large, calloused hand moving over the hard, thick length of himself, his head thrown back against the chair, blue eyes squeezed shut, her name a prayer on his lips. “Liana,” he groaned, the word a universe of want and despair. “My lonely star… why do you never fall for me?”
The tears she’d been holding back broke free, silent and hot. She slid down the wall, the beautiful, desperate gown pooling around her. He was pleasuring himself to the thought of her, aching for her, while she sat in her own studio dying of the same silent famine.
The sounds ceased. She heard his heavy sigh, the rustle of fabric as he righted himself. Footsteps approached the doorway.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She tried to *trace*, to vanish, but her magic stuttered, choked by overwhelming emotion. The shadow in the doorway filled it completely.
Garrett stood there, his long black hair loose around his broad shoulders, his shirt unlaced. The dim light from the hearth caught the blue of his eyes, wide with shock, then dawning, heart-stopping recognition. He saw her—crumpled against his wall in a dress of night and desperation, her face streaked with tears, her glowing eyes surely blazing with a heartbroken violet.
He didn’t speak. He simply crossed the space in two long strides and sank to his knees before her. His large, warm hands came up, cupping her face, his thumbs brushing her tears away. His touch was infinitely tender.
“You heard,” he stated, his voice rough.
She could only nod, a tiny, shaky movement.
His gaze burned into hers, no longer shy, no longer restrained. The playful king, the serious blacksmith, the affectionate friend—all were stripped away, leaving only the raw, dominant truth of his desire. “All those gowns,” he whispered, his eyes tracing the golden chains on her chest. “All those conversations. Were they… for me?”
“Always,” she breathed, the word finally free. “Only ever for you.”
A low, possessive growl rumbled in his chest. His hands slid from her face, one tangling in the short, black pixie cut of her hair, the other grasping her waist, pulling her flush against him where he knelt. The sheer size of him enveloped her.
“No more going home alone,” he vowed, his lips a breath from hers. His other hand slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, his blunt fingers a thrilling contrast to the delicate silk. “No more tears in the dark. You are mine. Do you understand?”
A shiver of pure, submissive delight raced through her. She arched into his touch, her sharp, almond-shaped nails digging lightly into the thick muscles of his shoulders. “Yes,” she sighed, the loneliness inside her cracking, replaced by a searing heat.
He claimed her mouth then, not with playful teasing, but with a deep, consuming hunger. It was a kiss that held years of longing, a dominant possession that promised an end to all her solitude. His tongue, hot and demanding, swept against hers, finding her piercing, and she moaned into him, her hands moving to fist in his hair.
When he finally broke the kiss, both were breathless. His blue eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. He looked at her—really looked at her—the goddess in the desperate gown, and a slow, wicked smile touched his lips.
“This,” he said, his voice a low, dirty promise as his knuckle brushed the chain between her breasts, “is coming off. And then I am going to worship every single, lonely inch of you until you forget your own name. Until all you know is mine.”
The cold, painful stone in her chest shattered, melting away under the fierce, tender heat of his gaze. Finally.
Chapter 2
His thumb brushed the delicate golden chain that held the front of her gown together, his knuckle warm against the valley of her breasts. The anticipation in the air was so thick Liana could taste it, metallic and sweet. Garrett’s blue eyes held hers, a dark promise gleaming within them, as his other hand splayed possessively across the small of her bare back.
“Mine,” he breathed again, as if sealing the vow.
Then, his fingers closed around the first clasp.
A surge of primal, reactive magic—pure, unfiltered fae energy—erupted from her core. The enchanted necklace at her throat flared with a light that was neither harsh nor gentle, but simply *true*. It washed over her in a wave of molten gold.
Liana gasped, a sound of shock and vulnerability. The glamour dissolved like mist under a noon sun. Her skin, always pale, now shone with a deep, luminous gold, as if she were carved from sunlight captured in amber. From her shoulder blades, her grand, sweeping wings unfurled with a soft, rustling sigh, filling the space around them—vast sheets of black iridescent feathers that gleamed with hints of violet and deep blue. The air hummed with her power.
She froze, bracing for the instinctive recoil, the fear she’d seen in mortals before.
It never came.
Garrett’s hands stilled, but his grip didn’t loosen. His eyes, wide with awe, drank her in. There was no fear, only a profound, reverent recognition. The playful king, the serious blacksmith—all those masks were gone, leaving only raw, honest wonder.
“Finally,” he whispered, the word a prayer of gratitude. “I see all of you.”
He didn’t just look; he *saw*. He saw the goddess, the guardian, the lonely woman. His gaze traced the powerful arc of her wing where it emerged from the glowing skin of her back. Then, he leaned in, his beard soft against her sensitive flesh, and pressed a kiss so tender, so intimate, to the very base of her wing.
A tremor shook Liana to her core. It was an erogenous zone she hadn’t known could be, the touch sparking a line of fire straight to her belly. A choked moan escaped her pierced lips.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against her feathers, his voice thick with emotion. His hands began to move again, not with haste, but with deliberate worship. He found the true fastenings of her gown now, the hidden ties she’d woven into the design. The silk sighed open, pooling around her hips like fallen night, leaving her torso bare to his gaze and the warm hearth light. His calloused palms slid up her sides, mapping the newly revealed, glowing skin, thumbs brushing the undersides of her full breasts, then higher to trace the rose gold hoops piercing her nipples.
“Every inch,” he vowed, his earlier promise now a sacred oath. He lowered his head, his mouth finding the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing with possessive gentleness. “Every secret. I will know it all.”
Liana arched into him, her sharp nails scoring his shoulders, her wings trembling. The cold, lonely void was gone, incinerated by the heat of his acceptance. He had seen her truth, and instead of turning away, he had kissed it. Finally.
Chapter 3
Garrett’s fingers never left her skin, tracing the delicate, powerful edges of her wings as if memorizing their contours. His whispered vow, “I want to worship every inch of you,” resonated in the charged air between them, sealing the moment.
Then, he moved, his dominance absolute yet infinitely tender. He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, mindful of her wings, and lifted her from the floor as if she weighed nothing. Her arms instinctively curled around his neck, her glowing cheek pressed against the steady beat of his heart as he carried her the short distance to his large, curtained bed. He laid her upon the furs, her midnight skirts a dark pool around her, the golden chains on her chest glinting with each tremulous breath.
He followed her down, bracing his weight on his arms above her, his blue eyes burning with intent. He found the sensitive hollow where her neck met her shoulder, his lips and beard a delicious abrasion against her luminous skin. He bit down there, not hard, but with a possessive pressure that drew a sharp, shuddering gasp from her pierced lips.
His hands, never still, explored the curve of her waist through the silken remains of her gown, his touch firm and claiming. Then he slid higher, his palms cupping the full swell of her breasts. His thumbs circled over the rose gold hoops piercing her nipples, the touch sending jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core. A low, needy whimper escaped her.
“So responsive,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with awe and desire. He caught one peak between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently, watching her back arch off the bed, her wings fluttering in helpless pleasure. “All these years, I dreamed of this. Of the sounds you’d make.”
His mouth abandoned her neck, trailing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her sternum. He paused at the valley between her breasts, his breath hot on her skin, before his tongue flicked out to taste the sweat-slicked gold of her. His large hands pushed the silk of her gown down further, baring her completely to the waist.
His gaze was worshipful, devouring. “You are the most beautiful thing this mountain has ever held,” he swore, before his mouth descended, taking one tight, pebbled peak fully into the heat of his mouth, his tongue lavishing the piercing.