Araya’s stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to be playing a part.”
“You’re angry.” Jaxon raised his eyebrows, releasing her. “Why?”
“I—” Araya shook her head, trying to dispel the memory of the chained male and the raw, oozing wounds under the iron around his wrists and throat. “It was just so—so ugly.”
“It’s torture, Araya.” Jaxon rolled his eyes. “Itisugly.”
She stared at him. “But you’re not an inquisitor. You’re a commander.” This wasn’t supposed to be his job.
Jaxon smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “This one’s personal.”
He crossed the room, casually pouring himself a drink. “He knewmy father—before. It’s a brilliant strategy, actually, having me lead his interrogation. The last time he saw me I was barely walking.”
“But…” she whispered. “If this project is so important…shouldn’t he see a Healer?”
Jaxon turned, glass in hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He sipped, unfazed. “He’s fae. He’s fine.”
“Fine?” The word escaped her lips before she could stop it, sharp with disbelief. This wasn’t the Jaxon she remembered—the brilliant human mage who had changed her life by taking an interest in her, who pushed her to apply for a waiver she should never have had a hope of getting.
“He’s been in that cell for twenty-five years.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “He’s notfine.”
Jaxon turned back to her slowly, like she was the one who had lost her mind. “He’s still breathing, isn’t he?” he said flatly. “That’s all we need from him right now.”
Araya looked away, her vision blurring with tears as shame and anger churned in her chest. She needed to get out of this room—away from Jaxon and the horror of what she had just done, before she said something she couldn’t take back.
“You still have work to finish,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I should go home?—”
“No,” Jaxon said. “You needed me to siphon from you, didn’t you? So you don’tlose controlagain.”
Araya froze. Her magic thrummed under her skin, restless—but the memory of the cell clung to her like smoke. His hand around her throat. The way he’d wrenched her power from her before it started to flow on its own, tossing her aside just as casually, leaving her gasping in pain on that filthy, cold floor.
“You took enough earlier,” she said quietly. “I can wait?—”
“You can’t.” Jaxon’s hand shot out, gripping her arm with bruising force. “Like you said, what if someone had seen you?”
“I know,” Araya whispered. “But?—”
“But what, Araya?” His voice dropped, and she flinched at his useof her name instead of the fond nickname he’d given her all those years ago. “You’re mine to protect. Or have you forgotten that?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “But you hurt me—in the cell. When you draw on it that fast?—”
“I couldn’t exactly go slow in the cell with the prince ripping his chains from the wall to get to you, could I?” He huffed, his breath warm against her skin. “But we can go slow now, Starling. Let me take care of you.”
“Is this where I pretend I have a choice?” She asked, swallowing hard.
Jaxon leaned back, studying her. “You always have a choice, Starling,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. “But you never say no to me. Now, come here.”
He pulled her to the couch, dragging her roughly into his lap when she tried to sit down beside him instead. Her magic pulsed under her skin, rising eagerly to meet him as his hands traced over her sides. She tensed under his touch, bracing for pain—but instead heat bloomed in her chest. It spread through her body like molten gold, soothing her aches and dulling the edges of her exhaustion until she was floating, weightless.
Jaxon sighed against her skin, pleased. “There it is,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot against her skin as his power intertwined with hers. “That’s balance, Starling. This is what I give you—what you can’t get anywhere else. Remember that.”
She buried her face in his neck, a soft moan escaping as he traced lazy, possessive circles on her hip. Shame prickled at the edges of her awareness—but she couldn’t hold onto it, not while her magic poured out in slow, steady waves.
But then the pull sharpened. Pleasure twisted, too tight and sharp as warmth bled into pressure. Araya gasped, clutching Jaxon’s shirt as his easy draw on her magic turned insistent—demanding. Relentless.
“Jaxon—” she groaned, her voice wavering. “That—it’s enough.”
But he didn’t stop.
