Zephyron stirred behind me. His arms tightened briefly, pulling me closer against him before relaxing again. Through the bond, I felt his awareness surface—consciousness flowing back like tide returning to shore.
"Good morning, little lightning." His voice was sleep-rough, intimate against my ear.
"Morning." The word came out softer than I meant it to. My body remembered yesterday with perfect clarity—the spanking, the aftercare, the way he'd made me come apart with just his hand and his mouth and electricity flowing between us.
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, right over one of the lightning scars. The touch sent pleasant sparks cascading. "How do you feel?"
"Different." I tested my limbs, my new senses reaching out automatically. The storm I'd felt yesterday over the ocean had moved closer. I could taste its electrical potential like metal on my tongue. "Stronger. More."
"Good." He shifted, turning me in his arms so I faced him. His storm-gray eyes caught the dawn light, reflecting it back in silver. "Today."
The single word carried weight. Promise. Certainty. Inevitability.
"Today," he repeated, his hand coming up to trace the bond mark on my temple. "The transformation completes today."
My breath caught. Through the glass walls, I could see clouds gathering on the horizon. Dark and heavy, moving with purpose that wasn't entirely natural. The hair on my arms stood up, responding to atmospheric pressure changes my human senses never could have detected.
"You're already calling the storm," I whispered.
His smile was small but satisfied. "Been building it since midnight. Needs to be perfect. Massive enough to channel the power required for complete transformation. Controlled enough that it won't destroy half the territory when we . . ." He trailed off, his thumb still tracing patterns on my temple. "When we finish what we started."
Heat flooded through me. Not just arousal—though that was definitely present, pooling low and liquid. But anticipation. Recognition that everything had been leading to this moment.
"First, we prepare you properly." He sat up, pulling me with him. "Come."
He led me to his private bathroom—not the nursery one, this was his personal space. All dark stone and brushed metal, with a massive tub that could easily fit three people. He turned on the water, testing the temperature with careful attention before gesturing me forward.
"Clothes off," he said quietly. Not a command. An invitation.
I stripped with shaking hands. Yesterday's clothes fell to the floor, and I stood naked in the steaming room while he looked at me with intensity that made my lightning scars pulse brighter.
"In." He offered his hand.
The water was perfect. Hot enough to make me gasp, but not scalding. I sank into it with a sigh while he knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves.
"I'm going to wash you," he said. "Properly. The way a mate should be prepared for bonding."
His hands were reverent. That was the only word for it. He soaped his palms and began with my shoulders, working in slow circles that made me want to melt. Down my arms, fingers tracing every branching lightning scar with attention that said he was memorizing them.
"These are beautiful," he murmured. His thumb followed one pattern from my wrist to my elbow. "Evidence of transformation. Of becoming mine."
He washed my breasts with the same careful attention, palms cupping their weight, thumbs brushing across nipples that tightened immediately. The electricity between us hummed but gently—controlled, purposeful rather than wild.
"Today will be intense," he said quietly, his hands moving to wash my stomach, my sides. "The final transformation happens during consummation. Your body will complete its restructuringwhile I'm inside you. It will hurt and feel incredible and you won't be able to tell them apart."
My breath hitched. "How long will it last?"
"As long as it takes." His hands dipped lower, washing my hips, my thighs. "Could be minutes. Could be hours. The bond decides. But I'll be with you through every moment. Won't let you break. Won't let the intensity destroy you."
He turned me gently, washing my back with the same reverent care. His fingers traced the carved intelligence—the spell fragments I'd etched into my own spine, now transformed into conductive pathways that glowed faintly under his touch.
"You'll probably scream," he continued, matter-of-fact. "The transformation is violent. Beautiful, but violent. Your cells restructuring. Your nervous system being completely rewired. The lightning scars spreading to cover places they haven't reached yet."
Lower still, his hands washing places that made me squirm. Not sexual—or not entirely sexual. Just thorough. Complete. Like he was claiming every inch of skin as his.
"Will I lose consciousness?" My voice came out breathy.
"No." He rinsed me carefully, warm water cascading over my body. "I need you present. Aware. Experiencing every sensation. That's how the bond completes properly—both partners conscious and consenting through the entire transformation."
