My fingers tremble against his. I try to pull away, but it’s like trying to fight the tide. He is an ocean, and I am drowning.
“Stop,” I whisper, but even to my own ears, the word lacks conviction.
“Why?” His breath ghosts across my neck. “Because you're afraid I'll see how much you want this?”
The truth of it hits me like a collision. I do want this—thepower, the connection, the dangerous intimacy of our magic intertwined. And I hate myself for it. I hate him for showing me.
“I want to kill you,” I breathe.
“I know.” His voice is thick with something that might be amusement, or desire, or both. “But you also want to taste me. I can feel it in the way your pulse quickens every time I'm near. In the way your magic reaches for mine even when you fight it.”
My jaw clenches. “You're delusional.”
“Am I?” He shifts his grip, and suddenly our palms are pressed together inside the pillar, fingers interlaced. The intimacy of it sends a jolt through me that has nothing to do with magic. “Tell me you don't dream about it. About the ritual. About the way my blood felt sliding down your throat.”
I can't. Because he's right. Every night since Heathborne, I've woken in a cold sweat, my body trembling with need. I've tried to convince myself it's just the aftermath, that it will pass, but I’m struggling to believe it more and more.
“This is torture,” I manage.
“No. This is training.”
The power surges again, and this time I can't hold back the cry that tears from my throat. It's too much, too intense. My vision whites out, and for a moment, I'm not in the arena anymore. I'm back in the ritual chamber, Dayn's blood hot on my tongue, his body pressed against mine as ancient magic bound us together in ways I could never have imagined.
When my sight clears, I realize the entire arena is bathed in our combined light. Every pillar burns with that same swirling black and gold. The air crackles with power, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that this shouldn't be possible. One person—even a dragon—can't power all twenty pillars. But we're not one person. We're something else entirely.
“Do you see now?” Dayn's voice is rough, strained. Even he's affected by the magnitude of what we're creating. “This is what we are together. This is why they fear you. Why they should.”
I want to argue, to push him away, but my body won't obey. Instead, I find myself leaning back into him, seeking more contact,more heat. The thirst is unbearable now, a living thing clawing at my insides.
“I need—” The words catch in my throat.
“I know what you need.” His free hand comes up to clutch my jaw, turning my face toward his. His amber eyes are molten, burning with something that transcends mere hunger. “But not here. Not like this.”
The denial stings worse than it should. My pride flares, hot and sharp. “I don't need anything from you.”
“Liar.” The word is quiet, almost gentle. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I feel myself sway toward him despite every screaming instinct to pull away. “Your body betrays you, Esme. Every tremor, every quickened breath. You're starving for it.”
“For what?” I force the question through gritted teeth, even though I already know the answer.
“For me.”
The arrogance should infuriate me. Instead, it sends heat pooling low in my belly, a dangerous warmth that feels somehow both right and utterly wrong. This is exactly what he wants—to make me dependent, to bind me tighter with every shared breath.
“Let go,” I whisper, but my voice lacks conviction.
“Make me.”
It's a challenge, one I should rise to meet. But the power still flowing between us makes movement nearly impossible. I'm caught in the current, drowning in sensation. His scent wraps around me like smoke. The steady thrum of his pulse beneath my palm is a siren song.
I could bite him. Right now. Sink my teeth into the exposed column of his throat and take what my body screams for. He'd probably let me. The thought terrifies me more than anything else.
I’m going crazy.
“It's too much,” I gasp. “I can't?—”
The words are barely out before I feel it: the snap. Like a cord pulled too tight finally giving way. My hand jerks free from the pillar, and the connection shatters. The swirling vortex of black and gold light gutters out instantly, plunging the arena into relativedimness. Only the torches remain, their mundane flames suddenly inadequate after what we'd created.
I stagger back, gasping, my legs unsteady beneath me. Dayn catches me by the shoulders, steadying me, but I wrench away from his grip with what little strength I have left. The loss of contact is both a relief and an agony. My body still screams for him, but at least I can breathe again. At least I can think.
