But the distance between them had become suffocating, and Jassyn needed one breath—just one—to release the apology he couldn’t hold any longer.
And if he’s already this furious with me,Jassyn thought, heart pounding a wild rhythm.Then what’s left to lose?
Closing his eyes, Jassyn reached for Essence, coaxing a strand of telepathy forward. As delicately as sliding a needle through silk, he wove the magic outward through stone, air, and the muted hums of dreaming consciousness.
His awareness brushed against the one mind left open, turbulent and banked like fire beneath ash.
Jassyn hesitated before slowly pressing forward with the barest touch. A breath against a door that had every right to slam shut.
“Lykor?”
The connection sharpened instantly, snapping taut with a turn of attention. The sense of Lykor’s eyes flashing as he swiveled in the dark, bracing for impact.
A heartbeat passed. And then another.
Jassyn’s breath snagged, but he held steady and waited.
Lykor’s voice finally bled into his thoughts, low and rough.“Is everything alright?”
Jassyn’s pulse stumbled, the words he’d rehearsed unraveling. He’d been prepared for fury. A snarl. A venom-laced curse.
Not this. Not a question branded with concern, a door left half-open despite the fire still licking at the hinges.
Jassyn swallowed hard, thoughts tangling.Waseverything alright?
“No,”he said before he could stop himself.
Alarm spiked through the link, Lykor’s focus locking on him with sudden precision.
“I mean—”Jassyn winced, scrambling to gather himself.“I’m fine. I just… Can we talk? Like this?”
He didn’t ask to see him, even though he wanted it more than he had any right to. Jassyn held his breath instead, waiting in the silence.
A knock shattered it, abrupt and urgent.
Jassyn flinched, his magic recoiling, the telepathic link severed with a jolt. Heart hammering in his throat, he crossed the room to unlatch the door.
The instant it cracked, Lykor stormed through the narrow opening.
Jassyn staggered back, words rising to explain, to apologize, to brace for the fury he’d clearly unleashed. The fire in Lykor’s eyes promised retribution, blazing with unyielding wrath.
But Lykor didn’t give him the chance to speak.
One hand seized Jassyn’s jaw, the other slammed the door shut. Jassyn froze, expecting that anger to break over him.
Instead, Lykor’s mouth did.
Their lips collided, no forgiveness or restraint. All heat and fury, Lykor hauled Jassyn into a kiss that ripped the air from his lungs, scattering every coherent thought. His fingers curled behind Jassyn’s neck, anchoring him with a reckless desperation, as if this was the only language he trusted enough to speak.
Before Jassyn could breathe—before his hands remembered how to reach back—Lykor slammed him into the wall.
His shoulders struck hard enough to rattle the door, but the kiss didn’t break. Fierce and bruising, Lykor consumed his mouth in a way that didn’t ask permission, every movement simmering with intent that refused to soften.
Jassyn’s pulse stuttered, then surged. He met Lykor’s fire with his own—breath for breath, kiss for kiss—because gentleness had never been what he sought. Not when some long-buried part of him burned to be devoured by someone he chose.
He caught Lykor’s arms, lips parting as their tongues clashed in a spark that struck straight through his heart. Bare-chested from sleep, Lykor radiated heat beneath his palms—skin fever-warm, breath dragging harsh against Jassyn’s mouth.
Jassyn tensed when his beastblood reared its head, fire coiling molten behind his ribs. But he didn’t smother it or pull away from the hand Lykor curved around his neck—holding him as though the idea of Jassyn being fragile had never existed in his mind at all.
