She'll survive this transformation. She'll live.
That's worth any price I have to pay.
16
Kess
The heat hitswhile I'm in the bath.
I've been soaking for nearly an hour, letting the volcanic hot springs work the ache from muscles I pushed too hard in training. Steam rises around me in lazy curls, fogging the narrow windows, turning the bathing chamber into a warm cocoon of stone and water. My eyes are closed, my body loose and floating, my mind drifting somewhere between sleep and waking.
Then fire floods my veins.
It comes without warning—no slow build, no restless days of anticipation. One breath I'm relaxed, boneless, half-asleep in the hot water. The next I'm gasping, gripping the edges of the stone tub, my whole body clenching around a need so sudden and violent it steals the air from my lungs.
Heat.
Three weeks. It's only been three weeks since the last one.
I try to stand and my legs won't hold me. Slick is already flooding between my thighs, mixing with the bathwater, that telltale sweetness cutting through the mineral smell of the springs. My nipples have gone hard and aching, every brush of water against them sending sparks down my spine. The pressurein my belly is a fist clenching tighter and tighter, demanding something I can't give myself.
Flash heat. Again.
I manage to haul myself out of the tub on trembling arms, water sluicing off my body, dripping onto warm stone. The air feels cold against my overheated skin even though the chamber is thick with steam. I need to get to my room. Need to lock myself in before anyone sees me like this—naked and dripping and desperate, barely able to stand.
The bond pulses in my chest.
It feels different. Fainter than it should be, like something's muffling the connection, like hearing music through a wall. I've noticed it growing quieter over the past weeks, the thread between us thinning somehow. Probably the transformation affecting it—my body changing so fast that even the bond can't keep up.
But even muffled, I can feel him. Feel his awareness of me spike as my heat floods through whatever remains of our connection. Feel his rut stir in answer, that dark hunger rising to meet mine.
He'll come. I know he will.
I grab a robe from the hook by the door—don't bother tying it, just clutch it closed with one shaking hand—and stagger into the corridor. The stone is cool under my bare wet feet. A servant rounds the corner ahead of me, takes one look at my face, and flattens herself against the wall with her eyes averted.
Smart girl.
My chambers aren't far. Twenty steps, maybe thirty. I count them in my head, using the numbers to keep myself grounded, to keep from dropping to my knees in the hallway and presenting for anyone who walks by.
Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.
I shove through my door and slam it behind me, leaning against the oak, breathing hard. Water drips from my hair onto my shoulders, runs down my spine, pools at my feet. The robe hangs open, forgotten. I'm shaking so hard my teeth are chattering, but not from cold—from the heat burning me alive from the inside out.
I reach for the lock.
Turn it open, not closed.
Then I wait.
He arrives faster than I expected—minutes, not the hour it took him last time. I hear his footsteps first, heavy and uneven, a man running. Then his breathing through the oak, ragged and harsh.
"Kess." My name scraped raw. "I felt it. The heat. I can leave—lock myself away until it passes. You don't have to?—"
"Come in."
Silence.
I open the door.
