“That sounds worse.”
“It is more honest.”
She huffs a quiet laugh, and I feel it through the bond like a soft ripple across still water. “You’ve been doing that all evening.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I would like to test something.”
She turns in my arms, studying my face. “That sentence has historically led to chaos.”
“Less so recently.”
“That’s debatable.”
“It is improving.”
Her gaze narrows, but there’s no real resistance in it. “What kind of test?”
“Control,” I say. “Variation. Range.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re making intimacy sound like a laboratory experiment.”
“I am attempting to avoid setting the laboratory on fire.”
“Fair.”
I brush my fingers along her arm, slow enough for her to feel every shift in pressure. The bond responds immediately, a quiet brightening, not a surge. I increase the infernal current slightly—just enough to register, to test the edge where sensation becomes influence.
Sable inhales, sharp but steady.
Then she pushes back.
Not physically. Through the bond.
Her energy meets mine with precise force, not rejecting, not yielding—matching. The feedback loop forms cleanly, a closed circuit rather than a collision. My power does not spill into her. Hers does not disappear into me. They meet, adjust, and settle into a shared rhythm that feels… intentional.
I exhale slowly. “Good.”
She tilts her head. “You’re doing it again.”
“Observing.”
“You’re enjoying it.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth curves, and she steps closer, reducing the space between us until there is none worth measuring. “Then stop pretending you’re not.”
I let the control loosen.
Not lost. Never lost. But softened, allowed to move without the rigid edges I’ve relied on for centuries. My hand slides to the small of her back, drawing her fully against me, and this time when the bond responds, it does not spike or flare.
It deepens.
Sable’s breath catches, then evens out. Her hands come up to my shoulders, not gripping, not bracing, just… there. Present. Engaged.
