Lykor lunged.
Heart vaulting into his throat, Jassyn stumbled backward, water sloshing around his thighs. His hands flew up, a desperate surge of power streaking from his palms.
Caught in the invisible snare of magic, Lykor jerked to a violent halt.
For a heartbeat, something fractured in Lykor’s expression, a fissure in his rage. But it hardened as quickly as it came, his snarl ripping through the humid air.
Jassyn’s breath caught. If Lykor broke free, there’d be no stopping him. But beneath the fear, something darker flared—the thrill of control seeping into his veins, feeding the frantic rhythm of his heart.
Shoving the feeling aside before it could take root, Jassyn drew in an unsteady breath. He retreated a few steps, but the added distance felt meaningless with Lykor’s immobilized fury filling the space between them.
“I—I’m sorry,” Jassyn stammered, wrapping a shimmering shield around himself, the thin barrier an illusion of safety. The apology sounded hollow, pathetic even. “I was just mending you.”
Lykor continued snarling, Essence sputtering around him. But his magic refused to ignite, his Well likely drained. Fangs elongating, anger blazed even brighter in his eyes.
“Why won’t you die?” Lykor’s voice cracked like a whip through the chamber.
The question slipped out before Jassyn could stop it. “Why did you pull that punch?”
The words were quieter than he intended, half-swallowed by his own confusion. Lykor’s gauntlet should have shattered his skull completely—left him lifeless. But it hadn’t.
Lykor strained against the confinement, every tendon bulging. “If you keep using your vile magic on me,” he spat through clenched teeth, “I won’t make that mistake again.”
A pit opened in Jassyn’s stomach as he realized that coercion thrummed between them. The power he wielded hadn’t been deliberate—it had been a reflex, instinct. Survival had driven his hand, shackling Lykor without conscious thought.
“That—that wasn’t my intent.” The explanation sounded feeble, even to him. “I—” Hands trembling, Jassyn faltered, no defense rising. Slowly, he released the magic, letting the constraints unravel.
Lykor surged to his full height, eyes locking onto him with a fire that promised devastation. Muscles twitching, his body coiled to charge. But then, as if struck by an invisible force, his legs buckled, sending him splashing down. Swearing profusely, Lykor shoved himself back upright. His talons scraped against the stone edge of the pool, water dripping down his arms.
“Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growled around ragged breaths, the flames in his eyes stoking.
Jassyn tensed, his heart pounding in his throat. But guilt wrapped around his feet, fettering him to the spot. He couldn’t retreat. Not without trying to explain.
Holding his breath, Jassyn lowered his shield, a silent gesture of surrender, a plea for understanding. His thoughts churned, searching for some way to make amends for the torment he’d dredged up. “I didn’t mean to—”
The words barely escaped his lips before Lykor’s growl ripped through the air. “Are you fucking deaf?”
The apology died in Jassyn’s throat. No excuse would suffice. Lykor’s pain mirrored his own—impossible to confront. Jassyn knew that agony all too well. The despair of submission, the helplessness of being at another’s will.
Perhaps the best thing he could do was walk away. Steeling himself, Jassyn inhaled deeply and turned toward the tunnel leading out. At the edge of the water, he hesitated. He could feel Lykor’s murderous glare boring into him, itching between his shoulder blades.
Jassyn knew he shouldn’t look back—knew it was a mistake—but he had to try one last time. His throat tightened as he faced the crimson fire in those scorching eyes.
“Do you need anything else mended?” Jassyn asked before thinking better of it, driven by an inherent need to finish what he’d started. “I didn’t have time to—”
Lykor erupted from the pool, water streaming off his broad shoulders. Every fiber of Jassyn’s being screamed at him to flee as Lykor stormed up to him. But an inexplicable gravity anchored him in place, drawing him into Lykor’s wrath as though letting the confrontation play out was the only path forward.
Each of Lykor’s steps devoured the space between them. Jassyn straightened, but his height was no match for Lykor’s bulk. The sheer force of him—his size, his rage—was a stronghold of strength that made any advantage meaningless, his presence an inescapable force.
Jassyn’s breath hitched as Lykor stopped close enough for the heat of his fury to feel tangible, smothering the air between them.
“Does it make you feelstrong,” Lykor snarled, his voice a blade scraping over stone, “to overpower someone like that?”
The accusation struck too close to a truth that Jassyn didn’t want to acknowledge. Words eluding him, he remained staring and frozen.
Fists forming at his sides, Lykor bared his fangs in the silence that followed. “If not for Aesar, I’d tear you apart.” Chest heaving, his arms flexed, muscles straining in what had to be an active battle against Aesar’s intervention. “Get the fuck out of my fortress.”
A faint trace of irritation surfaced through Jassyn’s fear. No matter what he said, Lykor wouldn’t hear him. He was too blinded by his own anger.
