My hands found his chest and I was pulling at his shirt, nails catching on fabric, desperate to feel skin against skin. His scenthit me like a physical blow—ozone and wind and something indefinable that made my mouth water. I pressed closer, trying to climb him, to wrap myself around him, to get close enough that maybe this terrible emptiness would finally stop.
"Wren—" My name came out strangled, but I barely heard it over the roaring in my ears.
I kissed his throat, his jaw, anywhere I could reach while my hands worked at his clothes with fumbling desperation. He was so warm, so solid, and through the bond I could feel his shock mixing with his own arousal, the way his body responded even as his mind tried to stay in control.
Then his hands closed around my wrists, and the world stopped.
"Easy, little one." His voice was barely recognizable—strained thin, rough with want he was fighting to contain. But the words cut through the haze just enough. Little one. Something about that made me pause, made me look up at him through the mess of my hair.
His eyes had gone storm-dark, pupils blown wide. His jaw was clenched so hard I could see the muscle jumping. And when he pulled me against his chest—not releasing my wrists but gathering me in, holding me still despite my desperate writhing—I felt the proof of his arousal pressing against my stomach.
He wanted this too. The bond sang with the truth of it, showed me his desire laid bare. But his arms stayed firm, keeping me contained even as every line of his body screamed tension.
"I know," he said against my hair, and through the bond I felt everything—the way my need crashed into him like waves against cliffs, how it took every bit of his considerable control not to simply give us both what we were screaming for. "I know it hurts. I feel it too, Wren. Every bit of it."
I whimpered against his chest, still trying to get closer despite his hold. My hips rolled involuntarily, seeking friction, and his breath hitched.
"The bond wants to complete itself," he continued, his voice shaking slightly. "Wants us to seal it physically, to make it permanent. Your body is transforming to accommodate my dragon nature—becoming more sensitive, more attuned to my element. That's why you can feel the wind now, taste the storms. You're becoming partly creature of air, and that transformation is . . ." He paused, clearly searching for words while I trembled against him. "It's making everything more intense."
"Then give me what I need." The words came out broken, pleading. I hated how desperate I sounded, but I was long past pride. "Please, Caelus. It hurts. I need—"
"I know what you need." His arms tightened around me, and I felt his own desperation bleeding through the bond. "And I will give it to you. Every bit of it. But we can't. Not yet. Not while that thing has its claws in you."
The words took a moment to penetrate the fog of arousal. The mark. He was talking about the Unnamed's mark.
"If we consummate now, before we understand the mark's influence, it could corrupt our bond permanently. The Unnamed would have a doorway straight into both of us."
Horror cut through need like cold water. I'd been so consumed by wanting that I'd forgotten the danger. Forgotten that this intensity wasn't entirely natural, that the mark was pushing us toward something that would destroy us.
"Come on." Caelus shifted his hold, keeping one hand firm on my waist as he guided me toward the bathing chamber. "We need to cool you down before you burn yourself out."
I should have been embarrassed. Should have been mortified at my loss of control, at throwing myself at him like an animal inheat. But I was still too far gone for shame, my body still singing with unfulfilled need even as my mind tried to claw back control.
The bathing chamber was all white marble and crystal, with a large pool set into the floor. Caelus kept me steady with one hand while using the other to gesture—his wind magic responding instantly, water pouring from carved spigots without anyone touching them. The sound alone made me shiver.
"This will help," he said, and there was something in his voice that made me look at him properly. His hands were shaking. His breathing came too fast. Sweat dampened his hairline despite the cool morning air. "The cold will dampen the bond's demands. Give us time to think clearly."
The tub filled quickly, mist rising from where cold water met warm air. When it was ready, Caelus helped me stand at the edge, his hands careful on my waist, and I realized with a start that I needed to take off the shift.
My hands went to the hem, pulled it up and over my head before I could overthink it. The fabric stuck to my damp skin, and I had to peel it away, and then I was naked in front of him—all my hunger and need and transformed sensitivity laid bare.
Caelus made a sound low in his throat and turned his head sharply to the side, deliberately not looking. His jaw clenched hard enough that I heard his teeth click together.
"In," he managed. "Get in before I lose what's left of my control."
The water was shockingly cold, raising goosebumps across my overheated skin. I gasped as I lowered myself in, the temperature differential almost painful. But he was right—the cold helped. Not immediately, but gradually, like someone turning down a fire from roaring inferno to merely burning.
Caelus settled on the marble edge, still not looking directly at me, but his hand found mine in the water and held on like an anchor. He was still fully clothed, I noticed. Still wearing sleeppants that did nothing to hide his obvious arousal. He had to be in pain, wound as tight as he was, but he sat there anyway, breathing through it, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand.
"Talk to me," he said quietly. "Tell me about something from before. Anything. Just . . . keep talking so I can focus on your voice instead of—" He cut himself off.
So I talked. Rambling, disconnected stories about the farm where I'd grown up, about my grandmother who taught me to read, about my time at the Bronze Cat—the pleasure house where I’d worked before my abduction. Anything to fill the silence while the cold water slowly, gradually brought me back to myself.
And through it all, Caelus held my hand and fought his own battle, proving with every shaking breath that he meant what he'd said.
He would give me what I needed. Just not yet. Not like this.
By the time my teeth stopped chattering and my breathing evened out to something approaching normal, the sun had climbed high enough to paint the bathing chamber in shades of gold. Caelus still sat on the marble edge, still held my hand, but some of the desperate tension had drained from his shoulders. Through the bond, I felt his relief mixing with exhaustion—holding back that much want had cost him.
