"You chose this," he said, his thumb finding the bond mark on my temple. The touch made electricity sing through my nervous system. "Chose me. Chose to become something new rather than staying broken. That's not weakness. That's not desperation. That's strength the cult tried to destroy but couldn't."
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. His words were rewriting something fundamental, carving new truth over old lies.
"You deserve this bond," he said, each word deliberate. Certain. "Deserve to be cared for. Deserve to transform into something powerful and safe. Not because you earned it through suffering. Because you're you. Because you're mine."
The tears came faster. I didn't try to stop them. Just let them fall while he held my face and looked at me with intensity that said he meant every word.
"My brilliant, brave, beautifully broken little lightning. Mine to protect. Mine to heal. Mine to complete."
He leaned in slowly. Giving me time to pull back if I wanted. But I didn't want. I tilted my face up, meeting him halfway.
The kiss was different from yesterday's hungry claiming. This was tender. Reverent. His mouth moved against mine with careful attention, like he was sealing promises with each pressof lips. The electricity between us surged but gently, flowing in waves that built gradually rather than exploding.
Through the bond, I felt his emotions flood over me. Pride in my courage. Wonder at my transformation. Fierce protectiveness that would destroy anything threatening me. And underneath it all, something deeper. Something that felt like forever.
The storm responded. Lightning struck in cascading patterns around our calm sphere, illuminating us in silver-blue light. Thunder rolled in rhythm with our joined heartbeats. The rain falling on us seemed to glow, charged with the magic flowing between our bodies.
When he finally pulled back—not far, just enough to breathe—his eyes had gone pure molten silver. The bond mark on my temple pulsed so hard I felt it in my teeth.
"Ready?" he whispered against my lips.
I looked up at the stars visible through the opening in the storm. At the impossible calm he'd created for us. At the power spinning in controlled fury all around.
At him. At the certainty in his eyes that said we were about to finish this transformation and emerge as something new.
"Yes, Daddy," I breathed. "Make me yours. Completely."
His smile was dark with promise. The storm pulsed in response, lightning painting everything silver.
Then his hands found the hem of my soaking shirt and began to lift.
I gasped at the sudden exposure—not to cold, the rain was warm and the air held tropical heat, but to his gaze. His eyes tracked across my revealed skin with intensity that made every lightning scar pulse brighter, made my nipples tighten despite the warmth, made heat pool between my legs in a rush that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with want.
"Beautiful," he breathed. His hands hovered just above my skin, not quite touching. "Mine."
The possessive made me shiver. He noticed, smiling with dark satisfaction before his hands finally made contact. Palms sliding across my shoulders, down my arms, electricity jumping between us in gentle arcs that made me gasp.
He bent his head and kissed the lightning scar tracing from my collarbone toward my breast. His tongue traced the pattern, following each branching path while rain fell softly on us both. When his mouth closed over my nipple, I cried out—the sensation amplified by the bond, by the electricity flowing between us, by the simple fact that I'd never been touched like this before.
He gave thorough attention to both breasts before moving lower. Kissing down my stomach, his hands working at the waistband of my pants. He removed them slowly, reverently, his mouth following the revealed skin. Kissing my hipbones, the inside of my thighs, places that made me squirm and gasp.
When my pants and underwear were finally gone, he sat back on his heels and just looked. His eyes tracked across my body with possessive satisfaction that made me want to cover myself and display myself simultaneously.
"Don't hide," he said quietly, catching my hands when they moved instinctively toward coverage. "I want to see all of you. Want to memorize every inch before I remake you completely."
The words should have been frightening. Instead they made wetness flood between my legs.
"Your turn," I managed. My voice came out breathy, desperate. "I want—I need to see you."
His smile was pure masculine satisfaction. He stood in one fluid motion, rain sluicing down his chest. His hands went to his shirt and I watched with hungry eyes as he stripped it over his head.
His chest was a work of art. Muscled from centuries of battle and training, marked with scars that told stories I didn't know. And traced across everything were lightning patterns that matched mine—silver-blue fractals that glowed when my eyes tracked across them.
I reached out before I could stop myself. My fingers found his sternum, tracing the pattern there. He gasped, his stomach muscles clenching. Electricity jumped from my touch directly into his skin and I felt his response through the bond—sharp spike of pleasure-pain that made his hands fist at his sides.
I explored with growing confidence. Found the lightning scars across his ribs, his shoulders, down his arms. Learned which touches made him gasp and which made him groan. His skin was hot beneath my hands, rain-slicked and responsive. When I found a scar that curved around his side and he made a choked sound, I smiled.
"Sensitive," I murmured, echoing his words from yesterday.
