Then…contact. Hands. Warm. Solid. Anchoring.
Riven’s grip closes around me before the panic can take hold. My spine hits his chest, and I finally feel the burn of skin against skin again, a shock of sensation that drags me back into my body like a crash landing.
I’m not standing anymore. I don’t know if I fell or if he brought me down. My knees are on the cracked floor, palms splayed out over fractured concrete still humming with my power. My breath comes in shallow gasps, each one sharp and scraping like smoke-scorched glass in my throat.
Riven’s crouched behind me, his thighs bracketing mine, arms caging me in but never tightening. His body is still, coiled, and ready like he’s holding the leash of a beast he knows could break him if it really wanted to.
“Breathe.” It’s not a command. It’s a lifeline. I inhale. Shaky. Shallow. “Again.” The third breath nearly breaks me.
“I…I didn’t mean to…” My voice fractures into air. My tongue is dry. My throat is raw, like I’ve been screaming, even though I don’t remember making a sound.
“You didn’t lose control,” he says into my ear, the words warm and deliberate. “You gave yourself space to feel it.” I shake my head and try to twist away, but he holds me firm. Not to trap me, just to keep me from falling deeper.
“I could’ve killed them.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I wanted to.” I hate how small my voice sounds. How honest.
His grip slides up, slow and steady, one arm wrapping fully around my ribs from behind while the other drapes low over my hips.
“You think I don’t want to?” he murmurs. “You think this power doesn’t whisper how easy it would be every time I walk into a room?” He lowers his head, his mouth brushing the edge of my jaw, the warmth of it sharp and grounding. “This isn’t about whether you want to. It’s about what you choose.”
I exhale, shaky. A breath stolen through clenched teeth. My hands slide forward on the concrete until my forearms fold and I drop my head between them.
The smell of dust, blood, and ozone clings to the floor. There’s a crack an inch from my nose, deep enough to run your finger through. It wasn’t there before.
I did that. My body shakes with the relief of release.
Everything I’ve been holding, every scream I swallowed, every warning I ignored, every bruise on my soul I painted over with sarcasm and cheap bourbon. It all starts pouring out at once. Like the bond with Riven didn’t just mark me, it opened me. Peeled the armor off with a blade and left me bleeding under it. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” I whisper.
“That’s because the version of you who didn’t know the truth is gone.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
He shifts and pulls me up into his lap like I’m made of nothing, settling back against the cracked wall behind us. I end up sideways, straddling one of his thighs, my chest against his. His jacket is gone. His shirt’s unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled, forearms bare and lined with old scars I want to trace with my tongue.
But not now. This isn’t that moment.
His palm presses flat between my shoulder blades, urging my body to stay close, to feel. Not to hide. Not to run. Not this time. “I can feel it,” I say after a while. My voice is hoarse. “Like…the bond. Still alive. Still burning.”
“Of course it is. You didn’t close the door.”
I lift my head enough to look at him. His eyes are a storm of gold and shadow. “What door?”
“The one between you and everything that’s always been waiting.”
My chest tightens. “You mean you?”
He smiles, honestly. “No. I mean us.” When he says this, I flinch. “You think it’s just me, Lux? Just one man playing God with a ceremonial blade and a house full of weapons?” He reaches up, dragging his fingers throughthe sweaty mess of my hair before resting them lightly at my neck. His thumb brushes the edge of my jaw. “This bond, it’s not mine. I didn’t create it. I didn’t make you bleed.”
“You asked me to.”
“I gave you a choice. You said yes.”
His tone doesn’t apologize or try to justify. It just is. And he’s right. I did say yes. I offered myself on the edge of a blade and meant it. The weight of that sinks like a body dropped into water. Cold. Final.
“I don’t want to be a weapon,” I whisper.
