“I don’t know how to exist without the cost.”
“You’ll learn.”
We stay tangledon the shelf of rock as what must be hours pass.
Neither of us suggests moving. His wounds are still healing—I feel the slow process through the bond now, the way his body knits itself back together incrementally. My own systems are adjusting to changes I’m only beginning to understand.
At some point, I push myself upright. Look around the cave with eyes that have adjusted to the perpetual orange glow.
“I want to test it.”
He doesn’t ask what. Doesn’t need to. The bond transmits understanding without words.
I reach toward a loose stone near the edge of the shelf we’re lying on. A piece that has broken free from the wall, unremarkable in every way.
Call my power.
The Anchor magic responds instantly. Cleanly. I pin the stone’s current state to reality, anchoring it so firmly that nothing short of divine intervention could change it.
No pain. No drain.
The magic simply works.
“Again.” Kaster’s voice carries quiet intensity. He’s watching me with focus I feel through the bond—attention so absolute, it almost has weight.
I release the first anchor. Call my power again, stronger this time. Push it into the stone until the rock itself accepts my judgment, agreeing to remain exactly as I’ve decreed.
Nothing. No cost. No countdown.
I laugh. The sound startles me—I can’t remember the last time I laughed without calculation, without measuring the expenditure against remaining reserves. It bubbles up from somewhere that has been locked away since childhood.
“It works.” The words come out rough. “Gods, it works.”
His hand finds the back of my neck. Pulls me toward him with proprietary force. “Of course, it works.”
“You couldn’t have known?—”
“I knew.” His eyes burn into mine. “I knew because losing you wasn’t an option. You would survive or nothing would matter anymore.”
The second time is different.
Slower. More deliberate. His hands mapping my body with attention that misses nothing, cataloging every response, every shiver, every bitten-off sound. Learning me the way a predator learns territory it intends to keep.
I do the same. Trace the lines of old scars alongside new wounds. Find the places that make his breath hitch, the spots where touching earns a growl that vibrates through us both. Claim him the way he’s claiming me.
When he enters me again, it’s with a controlled force that’s almost worse than the earlier desperation. Each movementprecise. Calculated. Designed to draw out sensation until I’m shaking beneath him.
“Look at me.”
I open eyes I didn’t realize I’d closed. Meet his gaze in the orange light.
“You’re mine now.” The words carry the weight of absolute truth. “No matter what happens. No matter what follows. You’re mine.”
“Yes.” The agreement escapes without thought. “And you’re mine.”
His rhythm breaks. For one moment, the careful control shatters, and I see beneath it—the need he’s been hiding, the desperation that drove him to claim me, the terror of a creature who found a life worth keeping in a world designed to take everything away.
Then he’s moving again, faster, harder, and thought becomes impossible.
