His quiet, "Lux," sounds strangled, hand clenching in your hair. When you pull back to check on him you're shocked to recognize that his eyes are misty in the moonlight, and that's all the warning you get before he swoops down and crushes your mouth beneath his. The intensity slams into your ribs, bowling you head over heels, but the moment his thumb caresses your jaw you're lost. Ruthless and tender. His reluctance from your first kiss is nowhere to be found, angling his head to deepen it with an urgency that sweeps your sensibilities right out from under you — like he's trying to imprint all the words he hasn't said onto your skin.
It's everything you've been craving, it's all and it's more. It's an endless well of unsatisfied yearning, it's need and desire and adoration, the world collapsing as though this right here, this long-resisted and hard-won union, is the only thing that matters. Your fingers wind their way into his hair, a sigh on your lips as he coaxes you open beneath him. The sharp edges of his shackles dig into your waist as he squeezes you flush against his chest, his hard metal collar digging into your sternum, and you're certain his arms are the only thing keeping you somewhat upright as the force of his attention dips you backwards. When the kiss ends his palm strokes your cheek, lidded eyes darting between yours with a naked want he's been remarkably good at obfuscating until now. His thumb graces your bottom lip only a moment before he kisses you again, softer, and your knees go weak as his grip at your ribs tightens.
"You have no idea," he murmurs, and you can hear the thickness in his throat, choked and helpless, and your mind spins dizzy at the depths implied in that emotion. "No idea what you mean to me."
He holds you like a treasure, like some precious thing in his grasp, a magnitude of affection so strong that all his restraint and careful distance has been abandoned entirely, so you can't imagine what more he could impress upon you. The cage of his shackles is uncomfortable, even a little painful, but you like that he can't seem to hold back from embracing you any longer.
Another scene from chapter 9. A lot of the effort behind writing War of Hearts came from wanting to see Lux and Sylas heal from the trauma they'd inflicted on each other, but they're also both understandably wary of being hurt again. I find the idea of putting in the work to repair their relationship an excellent parallel to repairing Demacia on a larger scale. Plus, they encourage all the best parts of each other. 🤗
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