In the days that followed, Elle began to feel more like herself physically. The aches and pains had ebbed, and all that remained of her horrific ordeal was a small scar below her ribs.

Even her nightmares were few and far between.

But her sense of identity was in a tailspin. She couldn't shake this feeling of loss—this sinking aimlessness that left her staring blankly at the fortress walls—her mind reeling with anxiety.

So much had changed in such a short time. The shocking circumstances surrounding her true identity and the traumatic events that had occurred as a result of it had shaken her foundation to its core. It had fractured everything she thought she knew about herself, making her question her footing in the world and, more importantly, what sort of future awaited her.

I cannot call you mine until you consent to be my wife.

Mine. It was a word worth fighting for—a word she desired to be, and Don was giving her that choice, something no one had done before. But how could they expect to live a normal and fulfilled life if the risk of danger was imminent? She would be fearful of every dark shadow or suspicious noise, terrified that either would produce a threat. Frightened that Seraphine—or others like her—would be lurking with a firm mind to kill or steal her body.

That daunting prospect threatened her forever with Don.

Your body was fashioned solely for one purpose: to bolster unparalleled, everlasting power. Magic adheres to your body like a second skin, and it prevails.

Was that all she was meant to be? A conduit for power? A source to be weaponized?

Elle knew her quick recovery was due to the powerful magic rooted within her body. Lucy had explained as much when she questioned her rapid healing, revealing that her friend was apprised of the staggering details that had capsized her life; still, she found no solace in knowing that she was a vessel for magic.

She would rather die than allow the supernatural to use her body in a way that would cause irreparable harm and devastation. And the idea that she and everyone she loved most may never be safe because of something that was out of her control churned her stomach with dread. It made her sick.

True to his word, Don had rarely left her side. At sundown, he allotted her full use of his massive bed, and every night before she drifted asleep, her heavy eyes would peer through the silk curtains suspended from the ceiling to find him stationed in the corner of the room, his formidable sword anchored to his side.

His determinedness to protect her warmed her heart, but surely it was taking a physical and mental toll, for he hardly slept and always appeared on edge, yet he uttered no complaints.

When he did vacate the room, it was either to wash up or see to matters that could not be postponed, but she had been confined to his chambers for nearly two weeks, and she was going stark, raving mad, staring at shadows that eluded the moving sun.

Elle had hoped to visit with her family, convinced that if she immersed herself in familiarity, it would restore or nurture some semblance of her old self.

When Don returned that afternoon with their midday meal, she got to her feet, eager to broach the subject.

Her breath caught at the sight of him. It always did. There was never a moment where he did not rouse her pulse to excitement.

The color he had chosen to wear was a color he favored and donned often—black, she recently learned in her observations. The material of his tunic was loose fitting in the sleeves but stretched taut across his wide, muscular chest, adhering to the hard planes of his upper body in a way that never ceased to quicken her heartbeat.

His thick, shoulder-length hair was secured at the nape of his neck, revealing a clean-shaven face that her fingers itched to stroke.

Her heart swelled with affection as her eyes drank in his distinctive face, delighted to see that he had abandoned his cowl and that he felt comfortable enough with her to brandish his perfectly imperfect features.

To Elle, the ruin that shaped his visage was his most remarkable facet—next to his caring heart, despite his mulish naysaying. His notable scars illustrated a fortitude that withstood tragedy, betrayal, and heartbreaking loneliness, and she believed that he should display them with great distinction, curse or not.

Don paused at the door, his moon-colored eyes sweeping appreciatively over her body, that white-hot gaze obliterating the course of her thoughts as it kindled a pleasant heat to warm her blood.

She would never tire of the way he looked at her or how, when she gazed into his remarkable pale eyes, all her worries dissipated, swiftly dissolved in the steely strength peering back at her.

Elle was still getting used to that—her vision, that was.

The visual input was still overwhelming and difficult for her to stay abreast of, but Don's solid presence was a reassuring and encouraging force in her new and perplexing reality, allowing her to process the visible information at her leisure and with more confidence as the details came to her.

"How are you feeling, my sweeting?" The term of endearment made her heart sing, making her feel giddy and cherished.

Elle watched as he strode across the brightly lit room, his long linen-wrapped legs carrying him swiftly to the table board, where he placed a tray piled with steaming food.

"My cook has prepared some venison and cabbage for us. There is fresh bread as well. I thought you would appreciate something other than broth or porridge to eat."

The enticing aroma of various spices and seasonings permeated throughout the room, making her mouth water and her stomach rumble in anticipation of savoring the rich flavors.

She smiled, her hands twisting in the fabric of her dress. "That is so thoughtful; thank you."

Elle had yet to meet his elusive cook, but she was immensely grateful to the man—or woman—for preparing a hearty, tasty meal that wasn't a broth of some kind.

Although she was fully recovered, Lucy continued to ply her with herbal tinctures combined with her water, insisting it was to keep her strength up, and despite how bitter and grainy they tasted, she stomached the vile concoctions simply to acquiesce her friend.

So she was looking forward to savoring a meal with delicious substance, but first...

Clearing her throat, "I was hoping that we might have a short respite from these chambers and call on my family. We could inform them of my improved condition, and I would like very much to see my sister."

When Elle last saw Esme, she was fleeing for her life through a plume of suffocating smoke. Don had reassured her that her sister was alive and well, but that was not enough for her. She needed visible validation. She needed to embrace her brave and resilient sibling and explain that were it not for Esme's remarkable courage, she would not have been able to endure those terrifying moments when their fate was undecided.

Don turned to look at her, his expression inscrutable.

"I am well rested," Elle continued. "And Givens can escort me if you are engaged elsewhere, although I had hoped you would accompany me." There was much they needed to discuss with her family.

Thinking his prolonged silence was masking reservations, she was quick to add, "If you are concerned about how the others will perceive you—"

"It is not that," he interjected matter-of-factly. "I am sorry, Nymph, but I cannot allow it."

Her spine stiffened with anger. "It was not a request, Don."

He walked towards her, her eyes assessing how quickly and easily he consumed the space between them. "I forbid it."

Elle narrowed her eyes at him. "You forbid it."

"It is not safe for you to travel, not yet." His tone softened at her indignation. "If it pleases you, I will send Givens on the morrow to retrieve your family. I think it prudent they reside with us for a while anyway, at least until we are certain there is no danger."

Her brows lifted in surprise. "You...would let my family stay here?"

One corner of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting a smirk. "I would be lying if I said I didn't want you all to myself, but to ensure your family's safety, yes, I think it's wise."

Just like that, her anger evaporated, and she beamed. "Again, you should have started with that."

He flashed a roguish grin, the gesture transforming the unmarred side of his face in the most breath-catching way, his teasing manner virtually warming her insides to mush. "And forgo the chance to engage your ire—I think not."

She grinned, a titillating thrill rushing through her as she matched his humor. "Would it not be in your favor to charm me? Are bees not attracted to honey?"

A visible change came over him, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

The dark pupils of his eyes widened, and his nostrils flared.

There was no mistaking the hunger burning in that piercing gaze as it focused intensely on her parted lips. "You taste like honey," he whispered huskily.

Elle had no reply for his heady quip, but it affected her all the same.

"If it is within my power to grant your every whim, consider it yours," his fingers trailed softly across her collarbone, his transient touch enticing her to lean closer, her hand finding balance on the solid breadth of his chest. "But your safety will always take precedence. In that, there is no room for argument. I will deny you nothing if I can help it, but I am taking no chances with your life. I made that mistake once; I'll not make it again. You are too precious to me."

Her smile wilted as her disquieting thoughts returned with vengeance.

"Something troubles you," Don remarked, his brows creasing as he studied her face. "What is it, my love? I will have no secrets between us."

Elle swallowed thickly and blinked against the sting of tears. "I do not know who I am anymore—what I am, and that frightens me. What will become of me—of us?"

His hand fell away, taking with it the lulling comfort of his touch.

Then, without preamble, he reached down and swept her into his arms.

She gasped as she hooked her hands around his neck, the elevated position bringing her dangerously close to his provocative lips.

Don held her gaze as he carried her to a large bench adjacent to the wall closest to the door, depositing them both onto the seat, her mass of skirts draping over his thighs.

As she squirmed to get comfortable, he grabbed her hips, the muscles of his body tensing and his voice deepening to a low and silky pitch as he warned softly, "I fear I may not have the wherewithal to resume this conversation if you do not sit still, Nymph."

As the meaning of his words—and the hard length digging against her—registered, her face flushed a deep crimson. "Oh..." she stammered sheepishly, despite her thoughts shamelessly wondering what it would be like to touch him there, to see and palm that discernible thickness, and run her curious fingers over it.

It still amazed Elle to know that she—the one deemed plain and peculiar by the masses—could have such a profound effect on this massive, brutal man—brutal in the way he fiercely defended and loved her.

"It has not escaped my attention that you have not accepted my proposal." Don stated in a more controlled tone, heedless of her wanton thoughts. "Are you having doubts, little one?"

She lowered her lashes, shielding her worried thoughts as they resurfaced.

He leaned closer, his warm breath fanning across her cheek. "Do you not wish to marry me?"

Her head whipped up. "Of course I want to marry you," she replied earnestly, pausing to bite her trembling lip as she wavered. "But as long as I am the Elemental Host, someone—or something—will always pursue me, and what if they target you or my family? What if someone I love dies because of me? What if you are brutalized more than you are now because of what I am?"

"No one will touch you," he vowed with an ominous growl, that possessiveness she had come to know and love roaring to the surface of his unique eyes. "I will protect you and everyone you love, and I will kill anyone who gets in my way of you."

She shook her head. "I cannot ask you to kill for me."

"You didn't," Don replied directly.

There will be others like me seeking to steal what is mine.

Elle shuddered at the memory of Sera's haunting words, a petrifying reminder that solidified her fears all the more. What kind of life would she be subjecting her loved ones to? It was unfair that she was bestowed this portentous power—a power that proved useless when it came to protecting herself; therefore, it seemed equally unjust that Don and her family should suffer too.

Maybe she should flee to another corner of the world, some remote place where no one could find her, so no one would get hurt.

"You cannot run from me," he warned low in his throat, sensing her panicked thoughts. "I will follow you no matter where you go."

"It is not you that I would be running from." Elle wouldn't actually do it, but the idea did hold some appeal. "But the likelihood of condemning you to a lifetime of bloodshed."

His arms tightened around her middle, his expression tendering as he reached up and tucked her plaited hair over her shoulder. "You say that as if my commitment to you is based solely on obligation."

She sighed. "I do not want you to be forced to make a choice that may cost you your peace if it means saving me." Taking a shaky breath, her voice broke as she added, "And I could not bear it if something happened to you."

Don captured her chin, drawing her teary focus back to him. "You are an integral part of my peace. You are my peace, Elle." He replied emphatically, his thumbs brushing away her salty tears. "I am committed to you—to us, because I love you, and I will protect what is mine, whether it be with a ruthless hand or a sharp command, because there is no me without you. Do you understand?"

"But Seraphine—"

"I have been searching for Sera and Veda these last few days; Givens has renewed the search in my absence, and we will continue to canvass every mound and plain, leaving no part of this landform unturned until they are found. I will hire an army of watchmen to safeguard this keep, to guarantee your safety, but you must remain close to me. You must allow me to oversee this the only way I know how. I cannot protect you otherwise." His eyes, so very reminiscent of the moon, burned with uncompromising heat. "I could not live with myself..." he faltered, a tremor of remorse breaching his solemn words as he admitted, "if I failed to save you a second time."

Elle inched back to frown at him. "A second time?"

Don looked away, his throat muscles bobbing as he choked out her name. "Elle..."

Her heart sank in her chest, realizing there was something he was neglecting to tell her. "You are keeping something from me."

He avoided her eyes. "I was trying to find the right time to tell you."

Elle shoved from his lap, "Did you not say we would have no secrets between us? Does that not apply to me as well?"

Don got to his feet and reached for her. "Of course, Elle, but—"

She dodged his hand. "Then what are you not telling me?"

With a heavy sigh, he tore his gaze away and scrubbed a hand down his face, his broad shoulders hunching.

With every second that ticked by, her heart beat a little harder with trepidation.

When he finally turned to face her, she was startled to find tears gleaming back at her. "You died, sweetheart." His reply was barely above a whisper, but it struck her core like a balled-up fist.

Elle staggered as if he had struck her. "What?" she rasped, horrified.

He took a desperate step toward her. "You were in a delicate state of mind; I didn't want to scare—"

"By deceiving me?"

He stiffened, "My intentions were never to be dishonest, even by omission. Again, you were not in the right frame of mind when you awoke, and I would rather rip my heart from my chest than cause you further distress."

Elle dragged a quivering breath into her lungs and wrapped her arms around her middle.

You died, sweetheart.

His bone-chilling admission was a shock to her system, transporting her back to that precarious precipice where Seraphine's dagger was very real, terrifying, and evidently inevitable.

At last, you are mine!

The dark mage's forbidding declaration tolled through her memory like a blaring alarm, heralding her demise to come and congealing her blood to ice as it did when confronted with her raised weapon.

A nauseating sensation overcame her, the spices of her cooling meal suddenly off-putting as her stomach roiled with the realization that the void in her memories was not because of dissociation—but because Sera's blade had found its mark... and was fatal.

Elle closed her eyes as bile surged in her throat, the surplus of horror and shock making the room spin uncontrollably.

Don fell in next to her, his strong arms embracing her, steadying her. "It's my fault this has happened," he said softly, squeezing her tighter to his chest. "If I could go back—if I could undo it all and make it right, I would."

"H-how am I alive?" Her broken query was muffled in his tunic, but it was deafening in her racing mind. "How am I not—" she swallowed, "—dead?"

He grasped her arm and steered her gently back towards the bench.

Pulling her into his lap, he cupped both sides of her tear-streaked face. "You are alive because of the magic in your body...and Lucy's herbal remedies. I would not have much faith in the latter had it not worked."

Elle gaped at him, taken aback by his dubious revelation.

If you would but drink your tea.

She released the breath she had been holding, some of her shock receding to astonishment as she recalled Lucy's gentle entreaty. "Did she know what I was all this time?"

Don shook his head. "Not initially. Lucy believed she could repair your vision—to some capacity—and lift your spirits with her medicinal brews. It was an innocent approach, but given my abhorrence for all things unconventional, I would have not sanctioned it had I known, 'tis why she kept her doings in secret. It wasn't until Sera broke Veda's spell that she realized who you were."

"But... herbs?" She was stunned. How could a bunch of leafy plants restore life? It was implausible. Too farfetched and extraordinary of a task to be achieved.

And yet Lucy had done it.

Elle knew next to nothing about the realms of magic—or healing, in her case—but it spoke volumes of the power firmly fixed within her bones.

"Veda claimed that the power that reinforces the vessel is from an ancient, unparalleled source. That is why Seraphine coveted it. It is extraordinarily rare and can enhance something as infinitesimal as an herbal plant and amplify its healing properties a thousandfold. They worked in tandem to restore your life. I was skeptical myself, that is, until Lucy revived you."

"You trusted her?" Elle questioned, her thoughts spinning, remembering how the white witch had fought to protect them both against Seraphine's fiery attacks.

She had believed it was because Veda wanted her for herself.

"We had an understanding," Don replied, and then added, "Veda foresaw how detrimental that power would be if it fell into her sister's hands. She was willing to do anything, even establish a tentative truce with me to see that it didn't."

She can see what lies ahead and can predict certain outcomes. You were revealed to her in a vision. She knew what you were and sought to conceal you with a cloaking spell, essentially masking the essence of the ancestral power nested within your skin. It shielded what you really are.

"Why me?" Elle muttered, trying to wrap her mind around the influx of information.

"They wouldn't look for a human," Don answered, recalling Veda's response to him when he had asked the very same question.

They, meaning those who employed magic.

"Is Lucy a witch too?"

Again, he shook his head. "She is a healer, much to my surprise."

"How did she know about the Elemental Host?"

"Lucy had come into possession of some chronicles belonging to her departed mother. She too was a healer...and evidently a fire elemental. Not only did the parchments have knowledge of herbals and remedies, but they had detailed information on the host, which happens to be an open secret among the otherworldly."

If it were not for the magic in her body, Lucy's efforts would have proven unsuccessful.

Elle would be well-and-truly-dead.

Lucy had saved her life, and for that, she owed her everything.

She lowered her lashes, but Don was quick to seize her chin and force it aloft. "You once said that your blindness did not define you; why should this? Because of you, you have given me the courage to move boldly in the honest light. You have repaired parts of my soul that I strongly believed could not be whole again. You, Elle Duncan, are my deepest, irreplaceable blue. Where the open sky and the vastness of the sea meet is where I find you. You are the calm and stability that anchors me, and it is because of who you are—not what you are—that I am hopelessly and madly in love with you."

Her watery eyes moved over his scarred face, her heart teeming with the same raw emotions reflected back at her.

You are my deepest, irreplaceable blue.

His beautiful words carried her back to that moment on the sand, to his rendition of the color—a color that had been so present in her dreams.

If they were fated to lose their happily ever after—if this moment was meant to be fleeting—then Elle wanted to procure something lasting. Something to stow away in the dire moments sure to come. Something no one could take from her.

She stared at the man she loved, the red to her blue, and took a stuttering breath. "Would you make me yours?"

Don tensed beneath her, his moon-like eyes widening a fraction as her meaning dawned. "Elle..." his breath whispered across her lips.

She didn't wait for a response as she pressed her lips to his.