“Zeidan… I’m… I can’t…”
“Let go,” he growls into my ear, his pace becoming erratic, frantic. “Give it to me. Give me everything.”
The coil inside me shatters. Pleasure detonates, wave after wave of it, crashing through me with a force that blots out thought, fear, everything but the feeling of him pulsing deep inside me as his own release follows, triggered by mine. His shout is raw against my throat, his body shuddering as he spills into me, the bond flashing white-hot for one eternal second, welding us together in the aftermath.
We collapse, a tangled, breathless heap of limbs. He rolls to his side, taking me with him, keeping us joined. His heart hammers against my back. My own feels like a wild thing trying to escape my chest.
In the heavy, sated silence, he presses a kiss to my sweat-damp shoulder. Zeidan’s arm rests across my ribs, warm and solid, as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
I close my eyes, letting myself believe in this moment. We don't need to talk, I feel everything he feels through the bond.
Somewhere deep beneath us, the Wildspont shifts. And I know, without doubt, that nothing will be the same after tonight.
20
ZEIDAN
Iwake before dawn because stillness no longer feels empty. The chamber is quiet in the way only the hours before sunrise can manage, when the world holds its breath and even stone seems to listen. Pale firelight has burned itself down to embers in the hearth, painting the walls in muted gold and shadow.
Outside, Nytheria sleeps uneasily. I can feel it through the Wildspont’s distant pulse, uneven but present, alive in a way it was not weeks ago.
Amelia is asleep beside me. She lies on her side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting loosely across my chest as though it has always belonged there. Her hair spills over my shoulder in dark copper waves, catching the low light. Her breathing is slow and deep, unguarded in a way I have rarely seen her allow herself to be.
I do not move.
There is a fragile precision to this moment, and I am acutely aware that anything careless could fracture it. I have lived most of my life with armor on, discipline, distance, control layered so thick that nothing could reach the parts of me that mattered. Last night, I set that armor aside willingly.
The bond hums beneath my skin, steady and resonant, no longer sharp with urgency or strained by resistance. It does not pull. It does not claw. It simplyis, like a river that has finally been allowed to follow its natural course. I feel her presence through it, not as noise or intrusion, but as alignment.
Peace settles into me with unfamiliar weight. So does dread. Because peace, for someone like me, has always been temporary.
Amelia shifts slightly in her sleep, her fingers curling reflexively against my ribs as if seeking reassurance even in dreams. The movement sends a quiet echo through the bond, a subtle answering warmth that tightens something in my chest. I tilt my head just enough to look at her properly, memorizing the soft line of her mouth, the faint crease between her brows that never fully smooths, even in rest.
This is what terrifies me. Not the intimacy. Not the bond. The certainty.
She stirs again, lashes fluttering before her eyes open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, caught between sleep and waking. Then her gaze focuses on me, and something eases in her expression.
“You’re awake,” she murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.
“I didn’t sleep much,” I admit.
Her fingers flex against my skin, more deliberate now. “You never do.”
I expect myself to withdraw, to shift away under the weight of that simple truth. Instead, I remain where I am. When she slides her hand upward, resting it fully over my heart, I let it stay there.
The bond responds with quiet approval.
Amelia studies my face with that unnerving attentiveness she brings to everything important, as if she is cataloguing not just what she sees, but what it means. “You’re thinking too loudly,” she says.
“Am I?”
“Yes.” A faint smile curves her mouth. “It feels… crowded.”
That should unsettle me. It doesn’t. The fact that she can feel the undercurrent of my thoughts through the bond, and that it no longer feels like an invasion, tells me more than I am ready to unpack.
She props herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping slightly. I look away out of habit more than modesty, giving her space even now.
Her hand catches my wrist.
