Could feel Zephyron's heartbeat through his hands on my shoulders. Could track each electrical impulse as it fired in his nervous system. Could sense the bond between us like a physical thing—a circuit completing, two sources of electricity finding equilibrium.
My muscles spasmed. My back arched hard enough that I heard something crack. The carved intelligence—the spell fragments I'd etched into my spine—burned as dragon magic flooded through them. The scars transformed, becoming conductive pathways instead of just raised tissue.
Then my heart stuttered. Stopped. Restarted with a rhythm that was faster, stronger, powered by something more than just human biology.
The peak of pain lasted three heartbeats that felt like eternity. Then, gradually, it began to subside.
The lightning still danced across my skin but it didn't hurt anymore. The electricity flowing through my nervous system settled into a comfortable hum. The bond mark on my temple pulsed in time with Zephyron's, synchronized perfectly.
When I could see again—when my vision cleared and the white-hot agony faded to manageable burning—I looked down at myself.
The lightning scars traced everywhere. Down my neck, across my collarbones, along both arms in intricate branching patterns. They disappeared under my shirt but I could feel them—across my chest, down my stomach, along my thighs. My entire body mapped with silver-blue conductivity.
My hands shook when I lifted them. The scarification from the cult rituals was still there—twenty-seven lines across my palms—but the scars glowed faintly now. Transformed. Repurposed. The marks of my crimes had become part of my bond pattern.
"There," Zephyron said quietly. His hands still rested on my shoulders, steady and grounding. "You survived it. You're transformed."
I tried to speak. Couldn't. My body was done. The three days of gradual healing plus this violent transformation had burned through every reserve I had.
I pitched forward. He caught me before I hit the desk, his arms coming around me with surprising gentleness given how much power he'd just channeled.
"Easy," he murmured. "The transformation isn't complete. You still need full consummation. But your body needs rest first."
Rest sounded impossible. My nerves were still firing, my new senses overwhelming me with too much input. I could feel everything—the texture of his shirt against my cheek, the electrical hum of his heartbeat, the storm miles away calling to something new inside me.
But exhaustion was stronger than sensation. My eyes wouldn't stay open. My muscles had stopped taking commands.
He lifted me easily, cradling me against his chest. Through the bond, I felt his satisfaction. His pride in how I'd survived the transformation. His fierce protectiveness wrapping around me like armor.
The walk to the nursery passed in a blur. I registered glass walls. Soft light. The comfortable carpet under his boots. Then the massive bed with its piled quilts that had looked too soft to be real.
He laid me down carefully, arranging pillows around me, pulling the quilts up to my chin. The fabric was impossibly soft against my transformed skin. Every sensation was amplified now—texture, temperature, the slight weight of the blankets.
"Sleep, little lightning." His hand brushed across my forehead, tucking hair behind my ear. The touch sent pleasant sparks cascading but gently. Controlled. "You're safe now. You're mine. And soon, we'll finish what we started."
His voice carried that electric undertone. The promise of completion. Of physical union that would seal the bond permanently.
But I was already falling. Consciousness slipping away into darkness that felt safe instead of terrifying. I registered his hand still resting on my head. His presence through the bond, steady and certain.
The last thing I felt before sleep took me completely was the lightning scar on my temple pulsing in perfect synchronization with his.
Connected. Transformed. Finally, impossibly, home.
Chapter 5
Iwoketolightninginmy veins. Not metaphorical—literal electricity humming through my nervous system like I'd become a living circuit. Every nerve ending sang with power that was mine, not stolen, not corrupt. Just pure electrical potential waiting for direction.
Morning light poured through the glass walls, catching on the silver-blue scars tracing across my arms. The lightning patterns pulsed faintly with each heartbeat, synchronized with something deeper. The bond mark on my temple thrummed in response.
My senses exploded outward before I'd fully opened my eyes.
I could feel every electrical current in the citadel. The lights in distant corridors hummed at frequencies I shouldn't be able to hear but could track perfectly. The locks on doors clicked with tiny electromagnetic pulses. Power flowing through conduits in the walls created three-dimensional maps in my mind—I knew exactly where each circuit ran, which transformers stepped voltage up or down, where the main power feeds entered from Zephyron's storm-collection arrays on the roof.
Further out, maybe fifty miles over the ocean, I sensed a storm brewing. The electrical potential building in those clouds called to something new inside me. I could feel the charge differential between cloud layers, could almost taste the lightning waiting to strike.
It was overwhelming. Beautiful. Mine.
I sat up carefully, testing my transformed body. My muscles felt denser, stronger, like they'd been reinforced at the cellular level. When I moved my hand, tiny arcs of electricity danced between my fingers—blue-white sparks that should have hurt but only tingled pleasantly.
