Zaal breathed deeply as his hands traced lazy circles on the back of my hand. My heart swelled with love and adoration, we had found our happiness, such intense and radiant happiness.

Only a few weeks had passed since Luka had returned Zaal to me; since Zaal had sought revenge on Jakhua; since he’d honored his family’s deaths—blood for blood with the man who had cast him into slavery.

Luka had arranged for Alik Durov’s empty apartment to be given to Zaal, and me. My parents hadn’t been happy about my leaving their home and moving in with Zaal. My father had insisted we marry first. But like Kisa with Luka, I understood Zaal needed me by his side more than I needed marriage. He was just learning about life, and he refused to let me go.

We hadn’t spent a second apart ever since.

Kisa rolled her eyes when I moved in against the grain. She’d always called me the rebel.

And I was glad for it. Zaal and I couldn’t get enough of each other. We touched, we bathed, and we made love day and night. I loved him. I loved him so much that at times I was sure my chest would not be able to contain all the love I had in my heart.

And I knew he loved me, too. It showed in every glance from his jade green eyes, his every gentle touch, and the way he kissed me; gently, softly, like I was his universe.

Like he was the Earth and I was his sun.

Zaal shifted under me, and his hot bare skin smoothed against mine. “I like the stars,” he whispered into the silence of the night.

I smiled as my fingers played with the ends of his long black hair. “I like them, too,” I replied. And I did. We spent night after night out here on this beautiful rooftop, just watching the night sky. And the daytime, too. Zaal told me that he remembered watching the sky as a child, and after twenty years of nothing but darkness, I wanted to give him his sky. His night and his stars.

I wanted to give him the world.

I had already given him my soul.

My music played softly in the background. I closed my eyes. And I knew. I simply knew that life would never be better than this.

As one song ended, the crackled sound of a familiar song drifted across the rooftop garden. Zaal stilled, his hand halting on the back of mine. Dinah Shore’s “I’ll Walk Alone” drifted through the French doors. I smiled.

This was our song. A song that meant the world to both of us.

As Dinah’s words of a lover’s promise sounded, Zaal’s mouth moved to my ear and he whispered, “Dance with me.”

My heart fluttered at his request. All I’d ever wanted was for a man to hold me as we danced. And Zaal had passed all my expectations.

I nodded my head to his invitation and moved forward, only for Zaal to take me in his strong arms. He lifted me from the bed and carried me into the living room. Sliding me down his body, I gripped his strong arms. I stared into his green eyes.

He looked stunning, breathtaking. His olive skin was golden in the blue light of the full moon shining through the windows.

Silently, Zaal lifted my hand and placed it on his shoulder, then my other in his hand, which he brought to the warmth of his chest. Zaal’s free hand wrapped around my waist and he pulled me flush against his hot skin.

Then we began to move.

Zaal led us slowly around the room and I pressed my cheek to his chest. I closed my eyes, letting the old song express to Zaal everything that I felt.

We had found our own peace in our brutal world. And I wouldn’t change it for anything. This was my heaven. Zaal was everything.

He owned me.

Possessed me.

Was soldered to me in every possible way.

As the song drew to its close, Zaal’s hand on my waist traveled north to rest under my chin. He guided my head up and he fixed his gaze on mine.

Green to brown.

“Talia,” he whispered. I nuzzled against his cheek. Zaal’s head leaned down and he said, “Potzeluy menya.” “Kiss me.” I smiled wide and a soft contented sigh left his parted lips. Lifting my chin, he crushed his mouth to mine on a low hum. His lips were soft. I felt his love, all of his love, in this one simple touch.

Breaking from my mouth, Zaal pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “You are … for me.”

I smiled again. I whispered back with absolute conviction, and tears in my eyes, “I am … for you.”

They were our own words.

Straight from the heart.

Because I was his.

And he was mine.

A Kostava and a Tolstaia.

Heart to heart.

Scarred soul to scarred soul.

*   *   *

Unnamed Female

Manhattan, New York

The door to my apartment burst open. Footsteps pounded down the hallway. I jumped from my seat and faced the door, my heart thumping. Panic quickly consumed me.

Had they found me?

Did they know I was here?

Had they finally come for me?

I held my breath, just waiting, when Avto rounded the corner and ran into the room. I exhaled a long relieved breath at my old friend, then noticed his aged face was flushed, and he was shaking.

Frozen to the spot, fear seizing my limbs, I could feel the incredible heat from the open fire burning my back. Avto fought for breath and I kept waiting, waiting for him to speak.

“Avto?” I whispered in question, eventually drawing lost breath.

I watched him swallow hard and his dark eyes met mine. “He’s alive, miss. I’ve just discovered he’s alive.”

My eyes widened and my hands joined Avto’s in shaking. “Which one?” I asked, voice trembling.

Avto stepped forward, his old body moving slowly. My pulse pounded in my neck when he informed, “Zaal, miss. Zaal is alive.”

My knees went weak and I dropped to the floor at the news. Staring at Avto, with tears in my eyes, a single word slipped in a whisper from my lips.…

“Sykhaara.”