“I can quiet it.” His voice is rough. Careful. “Not forever. But long enough for you to rest. Long enough for your mind to adjust.”
I should say no.
Not because I’m afraid of him. Not because the others would stop me. But because letting him hold me means something. Means cracking open a door I’ve kept firmly shut since I learned what he did.
But I’m so tired.
And the bonds are so loud.
Finn catches my eye across the dim cave. His expression is unreadable, but he gives me the smallest nod.
It’s okay. We’ve got you either way.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Something cracks open in his expression. Hope. Disbelief. A vulnerability I’ve never seen him show.
Darian squeezes my hand once, then pulls back. Giving space. His guilt still hums through the bond, but it’s quieter now — tempered by something that might be relief.
Kieran moves.
It’s nothing like the others. No urgency. No hesitation. Just that ancient, deliberate grace — a predator who’s learned patience over centuries of hunting.
He settles behind me. Close. So close I can feel the heat of him through my bare skin.
“May I?”
His voice is barely a murmur. Asking permission for something he could just take. Something hehastaken before, in other ways.
But not this time.
“Yes.”
His arms wrap around me.
And the world goes quiet.
Not silent — not completely. I can still feel the bonds, still sense the others at the edges of my awareness. But it’s like someone turned down the volume. Muffled the chaos. Wrapped everything in thick, heavy wool.
Kieran’s presence bleeds through the bond — not emotion, not thought, juststillness. Ancient and vast and impossibly calm. Like sinking into deep water. Like the moment before dawn when the world holds its breath.
“Breathe,” he murmurs against my hair. “Match my rhythm.”
I try.
His chest rises and falls against my back. Slow. Steady. Slower than any human could manage. The rhythm of something old. Something patient. Something that has learned to wait for centuries.
My breathing syncs with his.
The bonds quiet further.
“That’s it.” His voice is barely audible. “Let me carry it. Just for now. Just until you can rest.”
I should be tense. Should be wary. Should be holding myself stiff and separate, maintaining the distance I’ve kept since he forced the bonds on me.
Instead, I melt into him.
My body remembers this. Remembers the safety of him, the steadiness of his presence, the way he used to make me feel like I was precious. Like I was everything.
