"Head back," he instructed.
I tilted my head. Water cascaded through my hair, carrying away days of accumulated dirt. His hands supported the weight,cradling my skull with surprising gentleness. Through the bond, I felt his focus—absolute attention on this simple act of care.
He applied soap that smelled like rain and something floral I couldn't name. His fingers massaged my scalp in slow circles, working the lather through. The pressure was perfect—firm enough to feel good, gentle enough not to hurt.
I made a sound without meaning to. Something between a sigh and a whimper.
"Feel good?" His voice carried that electric undertone.
"Yes." The word came out breathy.
His fingers continued their massage, working from my hairline back toward my crown. Finding points of tension and releasing them. The sensation was overwhelming in its simplicity. Just touch. Just care. Just someone paying attention to my body's responses and adjusting accordingly.
When his fingers brushed the nape of my neck—just a light touch, almost accidental—electricity erupted between us.
Not the small sparks from earlier. This was lightning. Raw current that shot from his fingertips into my spine and exploded through my entire nervous system. Every nerve ending fired at once. The sensation crashed through me like a wave, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
I cried out. My back arched. My hands gripped the edge of the stool hard enough that my knuckles went white.
The electricity continued for three heartbeats that felt like eternity. Then Zephyron pulled his hand away and the current cut off, leaving me gasping.
"Fuck," I breathed. The curse felt foreign on my tongue—the cult didn't allow profanity—but nothing else fit.
"Sorry." His voice was rough. Through the bond, I felt his own response—arousal, sharp and immediate, and the effort it took to control it. "That was the bond. It's getting stronger. Demanding completion."
Completion. Physical union. Sex.
The word sat in my brain, tangled with six years of cult teaching about physical purity and spiritual elevation. But my body didn't care about cult teaching. My body wanted to know what would happen if he touched me like that again. If he touched me everywhere like that.
"The bond wants completion," he continued, his hands returning to my hair but carefully avoiding my neck. "It wants to seal the connection permanently. It amplifies touch between us, makes every contact charged. Literally, in our case."
I could still feel the echoes. Pleasure-pain rippling through my nervous system. Between my legs, I was wet in a way that made sitting uncomfortable. My nipples were hard enough to hurt against my shirt.
"I'm transformed enough," I said, my voice coming out desperate. "The healing is—I'm strong enough now—"
"Not physically." His hands stilled in my hair. "Emotionally."
"I don't understand."
"You still flinch when you're happy, like joy is forbidden." His thumb traced the edge of my ear, sending smaller sparks cascading. "You analyze your own responses instead of just experiencing them. You try to perform what you think I want rather than discovering what you actually want."
Through the bond, I felt his certainty. His recognition of patterns I couldn't see in myself.
"That's cult conditioning," he continued. "Six years of learning that your wants don't matter. That your body exists to serve their purposes. That feeling pleasure is weakness or distraction or sin."
He was right. Even now, my arousal was tangled with guilt. With the sense that I shouldn't want this, shouldn't feel this, shouldn't be squirming on a bathroom stool while he washed my hair.
"I need you present, Thalia." His hands resumed washing, rinsing the soap from my hair. "Not performing. Not surviving. Not being the perfect High Priestess or the good Little girl. Actually here with me, in your body, wanting what you want because you want it."
"Teach me." My voice broke. "Please. I don't know how."
"I will." Water cascaded through my hair as he rinsed the last of the soap. "Soon. First, the Dragon Lords are coming. We need to speak to them about The Unnamed. You—what you’ve been through, your knowledge—will change everything for us.”
Chapter 4
Thefirstsignoftheir approach was the wind. Clouds, which had been calm all morning began to scud across the sky. But the clouds move in pulses, as though pushed by wing-beats.
I was in a grand meeting room, all glass and steel. I watched through endless windows, waiting to see when they’d arrive.
