“Jaxon—” Her protest came out as little more than a groan as he stripped off his own clothes and lifted her in his arms, lowering them both into the rising water.
Araya gasped as the scalding water closed around her, instinctively twisting in his grip. But Jaxon didn’t let go.
“Easy,” he said, holding her tightly against his chest. “Relax for me, Starling.”
She did, eventually. Bit by bit, her muscles loosened. Jaxon kept one arm around her as he reached for the washcloth, running it slowly over her limbs. Then he moved to her hair, unraveling the braid and combing his fingers through the damp strands until she slumped against him, too worn out to keep herself upright.
Her eyes drifted closed. Somewhere in the fog, she heard the splash of water, the shift of movement as Jaxon slid away. Clothing rustled. Then his arms were around her again, lifting her from the water.
She whimpered as the cold air hit her skin, but he didn’t pause. He dried her off, wrapped her in a thick towel, and gathered her close.
Relief surged in her chest as he carried her from the bath. The bed was only a few steps away. She didn’t care about anything else—just sinking into that softness and letting it all go.
But Jaxon didn’t lay her down.
Instead, he settled her on the edge of the bed and kept an arm around her waist, steadying her as he knelt to pull the blankets aside.
“I’m sorry, Starling,” he murmured, voice low, almost tender. “But there’s one more thing we need to do tonight.”
“Jaxon—” Her voice broke on his name, trembling with fatigue and fear. “I can’t?—”
“This will help,” Jaxon insisted. His grip tightened on her arm, his fingers digging into her bicep hard enough to make her eyes water. “I just need to see how much you’ve been holding back. Trust me.”
Trust him. Araya opened her mouth to protest again, but the air rushed from her lungs in an agonized groan as Jaxon’s magic pulled tight inside her.
Her own magic slammed into her like a tidal wave as Jaxon pulled at her core, coaxing and commanding. She gasped, doubling over as raw power surged through her veins.
“Jaxon—” she cried, clawing desperately at his wrist. The conduit around his neck swung as he leaned over her, its glow pulsing in time with the beat of the aether in her veins as it bent to his will.
“You’re holding back.” Jaxon’s breath brushed her skin, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Let go, Starling.”
There was no comfort in his voice, only command. Araya tried to resist, tried to hold on to herself, but his power—herpower—was relentless, bucking her feeble attempts to collar it. She cried out as the last thread of restraint snapped, her aether exploding outward in a blinding rush.
This was why the Arcanum bound their magic—not to weaken them, but to save them from themselves.
It tore through her—wild and unrelenting. Her power had always been something she could guide, like a current beneath her skin. But this was a flood, and she was drowning in it, swept under by her own power.
Gods, it hurt?—
Araya clung to Jaxon’s wrist, her gaze locked on his face as she silently begged him to stop, to cut the flow—but he only laughed, his eyes wide and bright with triumph as her power surged through them both.
“Gods,” Jaxon breathed, his grip on her tightening. “Do you feel that?” He laughed, staring down at her with awe. “You have no idea how magnificent you are, Starling.”
By the time the last surge of power ebbed, Araya sagged against the pillows, black spots dancing at the edges of her vision. Jaxon climbed into the bed beside her, tucking the blankets snugly around them both before pulling her into his arms.
“You can sleep now, Starling,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”
Safe. Something about the word rang false, but Araya couldn’t find the energy to pull away. Her entire body ached, every shallow breath dragging like broken glass through her lungs.
“You’re right where you belong,” he murmured, tucking her closer. “And nothing will ever take you from me again.”
Chapter
Eight
Araya hummed softly,shifting the heavy basket against her hip as she made her way through the evening crowd surrounding the Aetherium. The crisp autumn air nipped at her exposed cheeks, but she left her hood down, savoring the bite of the wind. Even after two months, the giddy rush of walking freely—hair unbound, ears uncovered—hadn't faded.
Bonding with Jaxon had given her everything she had ever wanted. Safety. A home—even a place in the Aetherium, though she’d traded the title ofadeptformiss.
