But luckily Talen doesn’t seem to notice or care, he just leans in, body bracing against my back, close enough that I can feel the pull of his grin against my ear.
“They can’t hear you, but remember...” His voice slides down my spine as the heat of him bleeds. “They're still watching, I know it will be hard, but make sure to pretend like you don't enjoy this.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks, flushing hot against the cold stone wall.
Jerk.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Veirmont. I’ve had tooth extractions I’ve enjoyed more than this.”
“Oh, there are thosethornsI like…”
Fuck him.
I'm done tiptoeing around, playing this game of cat and mouse. It's time I get some answers.
“You say you want me dead, then you catch me trying to escape and offer me a truce, but you still walk around telling everyone I'm marked and yours for the kill. Please enlighten me, is this just some sick game to keep you entertained in this hellhole, or do youactuallyplan on killing me? I'd rather just know and get it over and done with”
His hands find my hips, the grip is firm but not tight, as he pushes an inch of distance between us, more serious now. “I'm not going to kill you,Bloom. I thought I made that very clear.”
“Then why the ongoing threats and death stares?”
“Trust me.” His hands tightens around me. “It's in your best interest if people in here think you’remine.But then again,” he adds, “maybe I just enjoy watching your thorns come out.”
My elbow jerks back before I think, driven by instinct, not strategy. It slams into his gut, solid muscle meets bone, jarring up my arm.
“That’s more like it,” he huffs, leaning back in, the full weight of him against me now.
I can’t see his face, but I know that crooked grin is sliding right back into place—smug, practised,infuriating.
“Just play your part so we can get this done. You’re not the only one who wants it over fast. I’d rather be stuck in this cell with Strannt than in here touchingyoulike this.” He spits the last few words. Precise. Each syllable carved clean with contempt.
“Don’t worry.” I murmur, fingers curling against the stone. “The feeling’s mutual.”
I have questions, too many. The truce, the envelopes.The bloody dragon. But right now? Right now I’d rather rip my Threads out of my own arms than spend one more minute inthis room, waiting for answers he’s never going to give. I’m done playing. Done dancing around him, around them. No more questions. No more games.
“Just get this over with,” I hiss. “Don’t want to keep your little audience outside waiting any longer”.
He doesn’t reply. Just lets the quiet drag out, long enough for the pounding in my chest to take over, for the cold press of memory to slide in. The tunnel, my dreams,mynightmares. The ones I wake up sweating and shaking from.
This isn’t that... But it’s close. Too goddamn close.
I swallow, forcing the rising tension down, and press my palms harder to the wall, grounding myself in stone, pressure, pain.
But still, my Threads stir against my skin, twitching with unease, restless, alert, like they’ve already decided something’s coming.
Then he shifts.
Just an inch, maybe less. But I feel it. The weight of him easing back, pulling heat with it. Cold slides in to take its place, greedy and instant.
His hands stay on my hips, heavy, then they move.
Quick at first, efficient, sweeping up the back of my body in one rough motion. He’s not lingering, it’s almost mechanical, practised.
I stay locked, every muscle braced, not giving him anything as his fingers trace the line of my spine, rise over my shoulders, sweep down my arms, and return to my hips.
Then a pause, almost a hesitation. Pressure eases, his grip softens until he’s no longer holding, just resting. Something shifts in the air, just enough to catch. A breath, low and controlled, brushing close. And then his fingers move again, slower now, more delicate. Knuckles brush skin as they slip beneath the hem of my shirt.
My magic sparks, lungs catch—tight and involuntary—as I brace for the chill of his touch. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his hands are warm, hot against my bare skin.
