Page 207

Lucien
The second I wake, I know. It’s not a whisper, not a hint, it’s a drag, molten and violent, low in the center of my chest. A pull so fierce it feels like someone’s curled fingers into the cavity beneath my ribs and is tugging.
Luna.
She’s bound to someone else. It has to be Elias. That idiot fought it. And now he’s hers.
I push up from the mattress and sit for a long moment, jaw locked, trying not to growl at the hollow, aching pulse under my sternum. It's worse today. Stronger. Which means the balance is shifting again. Every new bond changes her, amplifies what she is. And the more of us she claims, the more unbearable it becomes for those of us she hasn’t.
A cruel design. The deeper her reach, the more we crave her.
No. Not crave.
Need.
I roll my shoulders, stretch out the tension, and try to ignore how fucking present she is in my head. In my bloodstream. It won’t kill me. I’ve survived worse.
But if this keeps up, I’m going to start dreaming about her again.
And that… is unacceptable.
I head down the hall, footsteps sharp against stone, and find Orin in the kitchen, a mug of something ancient and steaming in one hand, the other resting absently over his chest like he’s holding in a secret.
He glances at me when I enter.
And he smiles.
Smiles.
That’s how I know I’m not imagining it. He feels it too. The burn. The ache. The way the bond ripples outward from wherever she is and calls to what hasn’t yet answered.
“Let me guess,” I mutter, stalking toward the cabinets. “You woke up gasping too.”
Orin takes a slow sip from his cup, unbothered. “It’s not a gasp if you don’t fight it.”
I shoot him a look, sharp enough to cut.
He meets it without blinking.
“The bond’s stronger now,” I say. “Which means Elias gave in.”
He nods once. “He did.”
“And you’re pleased about that?”
Orin shrugs. “He was always going to.”
“Doesn’t mean he should’ve.”
Another sip. Another infuriating silence.
“You know what this means,” I snap, pulling down a glass and pouring something bitter into it. “Every bond tightens the noose. Her magic wraps tighter around the rest of us. This isn’t just heat, Orin. It’s design. Manipulation. Evolution.”
“She isn’t doing it to trap us,” he says softly.
“She doesn’t have to.”
I throw the drink back, the burn barely enough to distract me from the real fire still twisting under my skin. I can feel her. Not her thoughts. Not her voice. Just her presence.