Page 12

Jaxi closed the bathroom door and braced her hands on the counter. Her breath hit the glass in short, uneven bursts as the silence outside the door pressed in harder than his voice ever had.

He was in her room. He’d be in her bed. And she had no more venom left to throw at it.

Her chest rose and fell like it didn’t belong to her.

Every breath caught in her throat, tight like she was choking on her own heat.

Her reflection didn’t help. She looked like someone caught between a fight and a collapse—jaw tight, eyes rimmed in frustration, skin burning in places she couldn’t cool.

He was going to sleep beside her. Not across the room. Not behind a wall. In the same space. On the same mattress. In the dark.

And she was out of fury to stop it. She didn’t want him near her. Except she did. She didn’t want him watching her. Except she wanted to know if he did. She didn’t want to feel anything. Except her skin kept reminding her that he existed.

The heat of what he’d done got under her clothes, into her lungs, into places anger didn’t reach. And now she was alone with it. No paint to fling, no brushes to smash, no canvas to beat on. And no room left to lie about it.

She gripped the edge of the sink harder. Closed her eyes. Tried to think of something—anything—that didn’t feel like him.

Jaxi shoved off the sink and paced once. Then again. And again.

She slapped the sink with both hands and leaned into the mirror.

She took from me what she needed. Through breath. Through skin.

What a fucking line. What a perfect, holier-than-everyone line. Like the Queen floated. Like she bled rose water and moaned in riddles.

She could see it now. The divine light. The whispered prayers. Kaos with his hands placed just right while sacred wind blew through the curtains.

“Fuck off,” she muttered.

He probably thought it was honorable. Ritualistic. He probably bowed when he touched her. He probably lit candles and chanted before sliding in.

She scoffed and turned, still pacing. “Congratulations, you were a glorified charger with a dick.”

But it wasn’t funny. And it wasn’t helping.

Because he’d given himself to someone. In a way Jaxi didn’t even understand yet. And now he was here. Sitting in her room. Clean and silent and made of exactly what she didn’t want to want. And all she could think about was how she wasn’t the first.

She shouldn’t care. She didn’t want to be first, second, chosen, or sacred. She didn’t want to be some Queen .

So why did it feel like something had been stolen straight from her chest?

She finally climbed into the shower and stayed in till her fingers wrinkled and her knees wobbled. She turned the water off and stared at nothing.

She dried off slow. Put lotion on her legs she didn’t plan to show. Combed her short hair twice. She flossed. She changed. She folded the towel, unfolded it, then folded it again.

Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe if she waited it out, the weight in her chest would let her breathe again.

She pressed her ear to the door.

Silence.

The weight in her chest didn’t move.

Kaos was there. Just like she’d once wanted. Same room. Same mattress. Same air.

She reached for the doorknob. Her hand stalled.

This wasn’t about him touching her.

It was about what it would feel like if he didn’t.

She opened the door. Steam spilled out behind her, but the air in the bedroom sat flat. And he sat on the far side of the bed, shirtless . Elbows on his knees. Back curved forward, spine a sculpted line drawn in tension. Beautiful pale skin wrapped perfectly over muscle, shoulders set hard.

A row of pillows ran down the center. The barrier. She barely registered it.

Her eyes caught on his back and her throat tightened. She moved before she could think too long. Fast steps. No sound. Blanket up to her neck before her body even settled. She turned toward the wall, arms locked tight around herself.

Her chest refused to rise steady.

“If I wanted to take something,” he said, quiet behind her, “you wouldn’t have reached the bed.”

She swallowed. Flicked her tongue over dry lips.

“You're real proud of that spine, huh.”

It landed weak. Off rhythm. And too late.

Just like her.

****

The floor was cool beneath her feet.

Stone, polished to a shine too perfect to belong anywhere real. Her breath didn’t echo, but she felt it—tight in her throat, drawn low into her lungs like it didn’t need to leave.

Where was she?

She followed the stretch of the ceiling where windows glowed with light that didn’t belong to any sky she knew. And impossibly high. The light bled down in soft columns, pale and maybe holy. Or maybe wrong.

The air suddenly pulsed around her like it had a heartbeat.

She turned. And he was there.

Not a man. Not a monster. Something between a god and…

maybe a weapon—sculpted from white stone and black fury.

Wings rose behind him like cathedral walls, black with veins of red threaded through the membrane.

Horns crowned his head, claws curled from his fingers.

And those eyes. They burned straight through her without blinking.

She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Her pulse forgot how to beat.

He stood still, like he’d been carved into the world first and the rest of it had come after. His gaze didn’t ask. It commanded.

Where was her fear? Her dread?

She stepped forward, slow, breath shaky.

Her body didn’t scream in warning. It reached.

Every nerve hummed as her foot met the floor again. Her chest pulled tight with heat. Her skin prickled with want.

Still, he didn’t move.

“Come to me, little fleshling.”

Her knees buckled.

The voice settled inside her like gravity. Every muscle in her body tensed, then loosened in surrender. She sucked in a breath that didn’t fill her lungs. Her skin flushed down to her toes.

She stepped forward. Once. Then again.

His head slowly tilted as he watched her. Gaze pulling her in slowly. She didn’t fear him. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to touch her. To know what it felt like to stand close to something that shouldn’t exist.

His hands moved to his waist and in one graceful move, he ripped off the inky black robe covering his lower half.

Her breath froze.

Her body froze.

Her eyes froze.

Right on the massive penis that levitated with its own pulse. It felt like a judgment, aimed right at her. A verdict.

And still, she didn’t fear.

****

She came closer. Every part of her naked. Every inch of her exposing truth.

The first command still echoed in her blood. Kaos remained still, gaze devouring every inch. Every shift. The glow of her skin. The silk of her breasts. The heat and hunger that tightened her nipples.

She didn’t recognize him. But her need matched what she gave Kohl. That was all he required.

Kaos moved his eyes slowly over her, watching the data in real time—breath held too high in her chest… thighs drawn tight… pulse stammering under flushed skin… heat blooming across her collarbone in waves.

Her silence crept toward him as Lust circled low, sharpened by restraint. It studied the set of her mouth, the hesitation in her hips. The way she pressed her legs together like it might hold her intact.

Rage tracked deeper. Marking the vulnerable places. The pulse fluttering at her neck. The softness of her belly. The delicate moan trapped in her throat. His power didn’t want seduction. It wanted control.

Kaos stepped forward, shifting the pressure in the air.

He spoke, pushing his voice through her, slow and low.

“You wonder what I am.” He took another step, his wings stretching higher, wider behind him.

“I am the shape your ache reaches for.” He wrapped his fingers around his cock with his next step.

“The being that your fear never knew to hide from.”

Her gaze remained locked on his phallus, mouth parted with trembling breaths.

“You chase the source that longs to ruin you.”

Another step. Another stroke along his cock.

“You seek that which will utterly destroy you.”

Two more steps put her within his wing’s reach. They lowered, hovering inches around her naked body. “That which will complete you.”

He inhaled deep—her pure scent, tight, frightened, ready. “I am your ruin.” He swept a wing against her calves, and she collapsed onto it with a gasp.

He lifted her before him. His human delicacy. With his other wing, he expanded her throne. “I am your restoration.”

Her eyes locked onto his and he drew her deep into himself, their heat colliding in the space between them. “You ache to be understood…”

He lowered his gaze to her parted lips. The line of her throat.

“To be devoured…”

Her chest trembled.

He reached with one clawed hand—white and inhuman—pressing his palm against her jaw with exact pressure.

She gasped. Her skin warmed beneath his touch, pulling his restraint tight.

He tilted her face up, watching her mouth open more, breath ragged against his fingers.

Her throat made a low sound, something caught between a whimper and a moan.

His wings lifted her higher. Closer. Her every ragged breath beckoned him. Her silky nipples tight with a desperate ache, commanded him.

He inhaled her again. Slow. Deep. Every secret. Every unspoken need. Every filthy, human longing she buried under laughter and joy. Beneath pain and rage. On color and canvas.

He pressed his healing Lust into her skin through his palm. A slow, consuming monster that devoured darkness. Freeing light in its wake.

Her breath hitched under his power. A sound followed—half-muffled, tight. She tried to breathe again and failed.

He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. Her mouth opened wider and a soft noise spilled out. A needy hum, raw and unguarded.

“You want to be chosen so violently,” he whispered, black claws gliding over the silky swell of her breast. “And have it mark your skin forever.”

Her thighs pressed. Her breath turned to sound again—higher this time, more fragile. Her chest rose fast and shallow.