But something shifts. The pleasure frays at the edges—too sharp, too fast. The chains tighten like they’ve stopped listening to me, pulling harder than I meant them to.
“More,” I hear myself whisper again, but my voice sounds strange. Distant.
He smiles against my throat, fangs grazing skin. “There you are,” he croons, and the certainty in his voice should feel like safety. Instead, my chest flutters with something unfamiliar.
The mirrors catch my face—but the eyes staring back aren’t mine. Too bright. Too silver. A stranger wearing my smile.
“Perfect,” he says, voice soft as silk, and it sounds less like accusation and more like destiny.
But destiny feels heavier than I expected.
The chains pulse again, drawing more Ether, and this time the sensation makes me gasp. Not entirely from pleasure. A hollowness grows with each pull, spreading through my chest like cold water.
“That’s enough,” I whisper, but the words feel weak.
He doesn’t stop. His touch becomes more insistent, more possessive. “Don’t think,” he murmurs. “Just feel. Just give.”
The chamber around us tilts, and in the mirrors I catch glimpses of myself—pale, drained, while silver light mixed with black flows from me in streams that hurt and please at the same time.
My reflection smiles back at me with eyes that aren’t quite mine anymore.
“Something’s wrong,” I whisper, though even as the words slip free I can’t explain them. Everything feels perfect—too perfect—so why does my chest feel tight, like I’m already drowning?
“Nothing is wrong,” he says gently, thumb stroking over my cheek. “This is exactly what you wanted.”
And it is. Isn’t it?
The thought should comfort me, but it doesn’t.
The chains pulse one more time, harder, and my scream tears through whatever space we’re in.
I jolt awake gasping, sheets soaked with sweat. My wrists ache like they’re still bound, and I can taste copper and something older than grief in my mouth.My hands won’t stop shaking. My chest feels too tight, my breath too shallow.
It was good. It was everything I wanted.
So why does my body feel like it just survived something terrible?
Footsteps thunder down the hallway. My door crashes open, and they pour in.
“Bree,” Theo breathes, reaching for me first, fingers hovering before he settles his hand on my shoulder. “You’re here. You’re safe,” he says, voice thick with relief, and I can see the fear that’s been eating at him.
Rhett moves to my other side, scanning me for injuries. “What happened? You screamed.”
Gray appears at the foot of my bed, sharp eyes taking in my shaking hands, the sweat-soaked sheets. “Talk to me,” he says, steady despite the concern written across his face. “Are you okay?”
“Nightmare,” Jace says, but there’s no dismissal in his voice. Just worry. “Must have been a hell of one.”
Wes hovers near the door, dark eyes tracking the black mist still curling around me. His expression is careful, like he’s trying not to crowd me but doesn’t want to leave either.
Thane appears in the doorway behind them, silver eyes sharp and assessing. Stellan follows, quiet and watchful.
They’re all here. All worried. All looking at me like I matter, like my pain matters.
But they don’t feel like Riley’s men. Don’t move with that possessive certainty, that unquestioning adoration. They’re careful with me. Gentle. Like they’re afraid of pushing too hard.
Like they think I might break.
I try to speak, to explain, but all that comes out is a whisper that feels torn from my chest:
