Understanding flickers down the tether—like he knows the darkness that lives within me intimately.
Darling, you think I’m afraid of monsters? I’m at home with them. Iamone. The only souls who aren’t monsters are the ones who deny what lurks within. I want all of you. I can handle you. Burden me with your rage and pain, Elyssara. Let me help you hold it. He says the words like a prayer and a promise—a vow I can’t trust. Not yet.
The words brush against something raw in me, too tender to look at for long.
I don’t know how.It’s all I can say to his heart laid bare.
Let me hold you.Take what you need from me—use me.He offers himself freely, and I know—thishas not been conjured. His elbows rest on his knees, and he opens his arms wider in a barely perceptible gesture.An offering.
The tether hums between us—quiet, alive, pulsing with everything unsaid.
Part of me wants to step forward, to fall into the gravity of him. But the moment I shift, memory rises: the stone floors ofKryntar, the sound of chains, the echo of his blade cutting down my friends and family. My body goes rigid. I can’t.I won’t.
His thoughts brush mine again, steady and unrelenting.Take from me.
I flinch.
The words scrape against the walls I’ve built. I want to tell him no, to tell him that I don’t want his softness, that every inch of me is splintered and sharp and unfit for touch.
A memory climbs back up my throat—Vessira’s blade, the way she conjured visions of his shadows choking me, his grip climbing up my body, entitled. My knees want to buckle. My hands want to shove him away. Everything screamsnot him.
One breath later, some stupid stubborn piece of hope wins.
His presence thrums down the tether—steadfast, waiting, patient.
My knees wobble—not in weakness, but in recognition. My body remembers him even when my mind refuses.
A single, shuddering breath leaves my lungs. Then another. And I move.
I cross the distance in two stumbling steps. My hands hesitate on the seam of his cloak, fighting the part of me that hums in his presence.Is it safe in his arms?
The ache wins.
I press into his chest, stiff at first, like my body doesn’t remember how to yield.
He says nothing, only folds his arms around me—gentle, absolute—and I feel the fight bleed out of me molecule by molecule.
It’s strange, being held and not taken.
So I let him.
Not because I trust him—Stars know I don’t—but because for the first time since I was taken, I want to.
Safety, ruin, salvation—it all blurs together in a single, fragile exhale.
Not healed. Not forgiven. But maybe, finally, willing.
Use me.The words float down the tether like an incantation.
I know I will not find healing in old ways of being, so I force an exhale from my lungs and press into him. Forcing myself to lean into his frame, his offer, likeheis the remedy to my suffering.
He cradles me to his body, and says nothing, only clings to me like he’s lost out at sea and I am his raft.So, I take.I take his affection, his touch, his support, and I let it bleed into my tissues.
I don’t know how. I don’t trust him—not fully. But it’s a start. A shaky one, but real.
A strong hand squeezes my shoulder, and Merrik’s wise eyes stare into mine with a tenderness I’ve only ever experienced with Revryn, and my heart cracks at the sight. His rough timbre drifts on the embers, “It’s good to have you back, love. I knew you were too strong to stay down.”
I let a smile form at the old warrior, but Therion stills, hand flying to his axe, and springing to his feet.
