Page 33

KEIRA

Keira surfaced slowly, her awareness returning in fragments that clicked into place one by one, each breath dragging her closer to herself beneath the looming sense of something vast, primal, and impossible to name. Her body felt alien and electric, alive in a way that was both disorienting and intoxicating. Emotion warred with sensation—relief tangled with fear, awe laced with a flicker of unease.

What had she become? What did it mean to belong to this world now, not just beside Finn but inside something primal and inescapable? She didn’t know, but as she lay still in the dim morning hush, she wasn’t ready to look away.

Cool sheets tangled around her legs. A pulse of warmth curled low in her belly, hazy and slow like the afterburn of a dream. The morning light was barely a suggestion at the edge of the curtains, but she was already awake. Too aware. Every sense humming just under the surface.

She didn’t open her eyes right away—not out of fear, but because she needed a moment to reconcile the girl she’d been with the creature she was becoming. Her body hummed with something wild and new, and her thoughts felt stretchedbetween past and present, instinct and memory. A breath caught in her throat, not from pain, but from the weight of everything that had changed in the space of a heartbeat.

Because the world felt different now. Or maybe, just she did.

The night before was a blur of heat, mist, and something wild that still lingered in her bones, pulsing like an echo she couldn’t shake. Her muscles tingled with the phantom echo of that leap—the rush of it, the wind tearing past her face, the jolt of pure freedom. The intoxicating power still clung to her skin, even as her mind scrambled to catch up, chasing the reality her body had already embraced.

She stretched, testing her limbs. Everything felt sharper. Not just more sensitive—more hers. Strength lingered in her muscles, not brute force but something nimble, tightly wound, fierce. And beneath that, the memory of Finn’s voice.

'You really are mine now.'

The words hadn’t struck like a claim or a threat. They settled over her like gravity—undeniable, inevitable, pulling her toward something she hadn’t let herself name. A truth that had always been there, waiting in the quiet, biding its time until she was ready to feel it all the way down to her bones.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the soft light filtering through the curtains. Finn sat across from the bed in a low chair, forearms resting on his thighs, his gaze steady—not watchful like a guard, but waiting, like a man who’d been holding his breath since the moment she leapt from the balcony and disappeared into the woods.

He looked like he hadn’t slept. His hair was tousled, the top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows. That familiar, dangerous calm still wrapped around him like armor—controlled, composed—but the edges had softened, just enough to reveal something raw beneath.

There was a stillness in him that unsettled her in the quietest way, a kind of quiet devotion that stripped him bare more than any words ever could. He wasn’t here out of duty. He was here because there was nowhere else he’d ever let himself be.

"You stayed?" Her voice came out rough, dry. Raw in a way that had nothing to do with her throat.

He nodded. "I always will."

She blinked, thrown by the simplicity of it.

Finn rose slowly and crossed the room, each step fluid with predatory grace. The control in his movements was absolute—measured, grounded. Still very much the predator. But now, so was she. That knowledge sparked between them, alive in the silence, a low hum of shared instinct that tasted like danger and belonging.

And damn if that didn’t spark a fire low and molten, something reckless and challenging that curled in her chest and made her want to test him—test herself—just to feel that heat blaze brighter.

He reached for a glass of water on the nightstand and held it out.

She took it, her fingers brushing his. "Am I supposed to feel different?"

His lips quirked. "You do feel different. You just don’t realize it yet."

She drank, the water cool and grounding. Her body buzzed beneath the stillness, restless and waiting, but for what?

Finn sat on the edge of the bed beside her, his thigh brushing hers, the warmth of his body a furnace against her skin. The nearness wasn’t accidental—it was possessive, a silent claim wrapped in heat and tension that made the air between them feel heavier. She could smell the salt of his skin, the faint spice of whatever soap he used, and beneath it, something darker, wilder. Her pulse answered before her thoughts could catch up,a slow, insistent heat that sparked low between her legs and climbed steadily into her chest.

"There’s more coming," he said quietly. "The instincts. The strength. The need."

She swallowed hard. "Need for what?"

His gaze burned into hers, unwavering. "Everything," he said, the word low and rough like gravel dragged through heat. It wasn’t a demand—it was a confession, a promise, and a dare all in one. Her breath hitched as it settled between them, heavy with implication.

The word ignited something inside her, a flash-fire of heat that surged low in her belly and radiated outward, threading through her like molten silk—hot, decadent, and impossible to ignore.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze. "I’m not broken. I don’t need fixing."

"No," he agreed, voice low. "But you were always meant to burn. Now you just know how."

Something in her chest cracked open at that—sharp and soft all at once. She set the glass down with hands that trembled just enough to betray her composure. Then she reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging until he leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. Her heart thudded against her ribs, not from fear, but from the ache of knowing she was about to fall—and wanting it anyway.