Page 15

Kaelen was vulnerable now, more exposed than he had been moments ago, and Thorne couldn’t help but feel the weight of that shift.

Kaelen leaned in closer, dropping to Thorne’s level, his expression blank as he rotated his newly stripped hand before his face.

Thorne made quicker work of the second gauntlet, his movements sharp, his breath coming faster.

He gathered both gauntlets in his hands, their weight heavy but necessary.

As he moved to set them down on the bedside table, Kaelen’s eyes followed the motion, his gaze lingering on the discarded metal, his lips parted as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“Thorne…”

Kaelen whispered, his voice laden with something Thorne couldn’t quite place.

That tone, that damned reverence, sent a strange shiver through him.

Thorne’s patience snapped, and unable to bear the weight of Kaelen’s unspoken thoughts, he grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close, snarling into his ear.

“Shut it.

Stop worrying about me and stop being dressed.”

His voice was harsh, demanding, and for a moment, it felt like he was finally regaining some semblance of control.

With a sudden motion, he hiked up a leg and planted his foot into Kaelen’s stomach, shoving him off.

The prince stumbled back, caught off guard, but only for a moment.

He glared at Thorne, but the glare quickly faded as Thorne pulled himself free of his shirt, tossing it aside with a violent shrug.

Kaelen groaned, a low, animalistic sound that stirred something dark and primal in Thorne’s gut.

He went to wrestle with his own outer layer, the stiff fabric catching around his head in a frustrating tangle.

Thorne’s hand flew to his boot, his fingers tracing the familiar shape of the toothed dagger strapped to his calf.

His mind sharpened in that instant, the familiar weight of the weapon grounding him, giving him purpose.

He lifted the dagger from its sheath, his fingers wrapping around the hilt with a familiarity that was almost comforting.

The room was charged with tension, every moment teetering on the edge of something explosive.

Kaelen’s head appeared out from his coat, and Thorne quickly shoved the knife under a pillow.

Freed once more, the beast’s eyes immediately sought Thorne out in the darkness, alighting upon him stretched out across the bed.

Thorne withdrew his hand from the pillow and made a show of lifting it to his lips, biting into the middle finger and tugging the glove free with his teeth, spitting the garment to the sheets.

Kaelen’s eye twitched.

Good, Thorne thought, repeating the motion with his other glove.

In a flash of black and gold, the wolf pushed him down.

He climbed atop him, bracketing Thorne’s body within and under his own.

His weight beared down, all the black midnight of him, knees on either side of Thorne’s thighs and dark hands roving skin like ravening carrion.

Their vice marauded over his hips, down his legs, pressing, feeling, over his calves to grab at Thorne’s boots.

Thorne let him, and he pulled them free in quick succession, one then the other hurled off the bed, and pressed atop him, Kaelen must have felt how Thorne’s stomach fluttered.

So close, so close, it’s almost over-

A gloved hand then came to cup at his chin, brushing away the strands that clung there.

Contrary to his earlier actions, his touch was gentle, and as he carefully guided Thorne to face him properly, Thorne felt as if something was being severed and ripped out of him.

Kaelen bowed his forehead to Thorne’s temple and whispered against his cheek, "Thank you for this wonderful evening.

I had a lot of fun."

"Don't...

Thank me.

For that." Thorne huffed, the words stuck in his throat.

He raked a hand through Kaelen’s hair, pulling it away roughly from his face.

It was damp beneath his bare fingers, warm skin against skin.

"Besides.

It's not over yet."

Kaelen smiled, sweet and serene.

"All the same.

Thank you, Thorne."

His long fingers trailed down and tucked into the waistband of Thorne’s pants, and for a moment all was still.

The pale skin of Thorne’s fluttering stomach and the black leather of Kaelen’s gloves, the hook of their elegant joints as they disappeared into the plunge between his hips.

The obscene bulge of his desire, hard and indisputable from within and so close to being touched.

More dizzyingly, Kaelen’s own pressed against the back of his thigh, the feeling a mockery of what it could be, what it will be- if Thorne is freed of his pants.

If Kaelen let himself out of his own.

This was all real.

Time fell back in.

There was no hesitancy- the fingers dug in and pulled and Thorne was stripped of his last layer, his last line of defense.

He watched the stark reveal of dark blue to skin and skin and skin, his hips, his thighs, his knees, scars and freckles and goosebumps.

Kaelen tossed aside his pants, putting his hands to better work running them softly down Thorne’s thighs before prying them apart.

Cold air assailed his sensitive skin, and Thorne shuddered, thighs tensing within his hands, but Kaelen held them open, hungrily gazing over Thorne’s body.

He shut his eyes, unable to stand it.

He was laid bare before the beast that could devour him, bone, gristle, claw, through to his core, down to his nothing.

He could allow him.

He could feast on him in return.

Kaelen kissed the top of one knee, then the other, and Thorne wanted to kick him but he felt the bruises forming under that ironclad grip, boring deep into his muscle, his bone.

He was caught, held, left to cling tight to the pillow behind his head as Kaelen continued to touch him, brand and bruise him to his pleasure; and the dagger laid suspended, just on the tip of Thorne’s fingers, there to seize at any moment.

Any moment-

Any moment—that didn’t come.

The world seemed to slow around Thorne, his thoughts spiraling faster than he could grasp them.

He had convinced himself, time and time again, that he couldn’t go through with this.

He had deluded himself, weaponized every encounter, every emotion he felt for Kaelen—the beast who had once been his enemy.

But the truth, no matter how much he fought it, was inescapable.

He was already lost.

From the moment the prince had unmasked himself, Thorne had been ensnared.

His heart, caught in the wild snare of Kaelen’s teeth, beat in time with the pull of something greater than both of them. Thorne could feel it in the way his body responded to Kaelen’s touch, in the heat that coursed through his veins like wildfire.

The worst part was that Thorne wanted this.

Not for anyone else, not for duty or obligation, but for himself.

He wanted it because, in the quietest parts of himself, he craved Kaelen’s touch, craved the prince in a way that terrified him.

Kaelen was so warm over him, engulfing him, his body pressing against Thorne’s in a way that left him breathless.

Thorne felt his heart wheel in his chest, flailing and drowning as Kaelen moved.

He pulled back, resting his head against one bent knee, his beautiful face flushed, hunger radiating off him.

It was a vision of want, a look that made Thorne’s chest tighten.

Then, Kaelen reached up, trailing a hand over Thorne’s arm, his thumb brushing over the pulse point there, holding tight.

Thorne could feel the heat of his skin where they met, the contrasting coolness of Kaelen’s fingers pressing against the warmth of his body.

Kaelen turned his head slightly, pressing another sweet, lingering kiss to the flat of Thorne’s thigh, and it was enough to send a flutter through Thorne’s pulse.

His hand—clutching uselessly onto the knife—felt like it belonged to someone else, and the weight of it in his palm seemed almost absurd.

He longed to drop it, to reach for Kaelen instead, to feel him more fully, to surrender.

But he couldn’t, not yet.

“Tell me…”

Kaelen whispered, his voice low, thick with something that Thorne could only label as need.

The advance came fast, too fast.

In the blink of an eye, Kaelen had one of Thorne’s arms pinned above his head in a vice grip, the other hand pulling Thorne’s own from beneath the pillow, dragging it out by the wrist.

The moonlight caught on the curve of the blade, black against the pale sheets.

And when it was over, Kaelen’s mouth twitched into something predatory, the satisfaction of the moment clear in his gaze.

He licked his lips, savoring the moment.

“Does the princess send her regards?”

Thorne’s breath hitched, his fingers flexing instinctively against the hilt of his blade.

It was as though his hand couldn’t close around it, no matter how hard he tried.

Kaelen pressed harder on his wrist, forcing the knife to remain at a standstill, its sharp edge a reminder of what Thorne had hoped he could do.

The realization washed over him like cold water—Kaelen knew.

Kaelen had always known.

Had he known this entire time? Had he seen through every lie, every attempt to disguise what they were becoming?

Thorne’s chest tightened with a mixture of humiliation, indignation, and raw fury.

“You—you knew—”

Kaelen’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as the glower in his eyes shifted into something more dangerous, more determined.

“I know Seraphina.

I know her well.”

His voice was measured, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something far more serious.

“I know she wants war.

It’s what they want too.”

Thorne’s mind raced to keep up with the words, but the gravity of them made his thoughts seize.

The whole damn night—the masquerade, the games, the tension between them—had been part of something much larger, something Kaelen had been planning, struggling with.

Kaelen paused, his gaze flickering to the dagger still clutched in Thorne’s hand, and there was a brief silence before the prince spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’ve been trying to divert it,”

Kaelen said, his voice softer, more vulnerable now.

“I was dissuaded from attending the Academy, but I hoped sending Eryndor in my place would protect him and deter Seraphina from enacting her plans there.

But she did something at the Academy, didn’t she? The fact that you are here now—it’s all but a declaration of war.”

Thorne’s breath caught, the pieces falling into place in a way he hadn’t expected.

The web of deceit, of manipulation, it had all been there, but Kaelen had been playing a much bigger game.

Kaelen’s eyes shifted to the dagger again, still so brazenly on display, and Thorne gritted his teeth, glaring defiantly up at the prince, refusing to let the realization settle too comfortably in his mind.

Everything had been a lie.

Every part of tonight, every moment of passion, every hint of affection—they had all been part of a larger ruse.

He had failed, and now, in the face of the beast, he was forced to acknowledge the failure.

But he wouldn’t give in.

Not now.

Not to him.

Kaelen narrowed his eyes, the storm rising in his expression, fury barely contained.

“I had no idea what my uncle was thinking—raising enlistment throughout the kingdom, especially if he knew this was coming.

Perhaps he intended to hand it over to Tarvela all along, or perhaps he was just desperate to get rid of me when the original plan to send me off failed.

Either way, it was clear he was courting war.

And I imagine insisting on the masque ball was just a tactic to get you in unnoticed.”

Kaelen’s lip curled in disgust.

“It was inevitable he would betray me, just as he betrayed them all with his negligence.”

Thorne couldn’t stop the hiss that escaped him, the frustration boiling over into something darker.

Kaelen continued, his voice dripping with disdain.

“I learned Count Rowe had a hand in the western rebellion all those years ago.

It makes sense that he’d align with Tarvela if it meant unseating me.

The Count was your access, wasn’t he?”

The words landed like a blow, the weight of everything crashing down on Thorne.

His mind scrambled, each new piece of information twisting his understanding further, breaking the fragile sense of control he had left.

He had been used, manipulated by forces far greater than either of them had anticipated.

But before he could react, Kaelen seized him by the jaw, forcing Thorne’s head back against the pillows.

The pressure from the prince’s knee replaced the grip on Thorne’s hand, still clutching the knife, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

“All that subterfuge was a waste, however,”

Kaelen continued, his voice low and filled with a strange mixture of bitterness and resignation.

“I had my suspicions ever since I laid eyes on you.

I was warned someone would be coming to kill me.

They said it was only a matter of time.” He let out a huff, a dark, self-deprecating laugh slipping from his lips, as if he found no other way to navigate the world but through this familiar irony.

It set something inside Thorne off, something hot and furious.

His blood boiled in his veins, the rage building like a storm within him.

Kaelen’s gaze softened for a moment, as though contemplating something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface.

“I could not help being enthralled, however.

Even when my advisor confirmed to me who you were, I found myself continuing to seek you out despite the danger.

I’ve never been particularly good at talking about myself,”

Kaelen admitted, his throat bobbing slightly as if the words themselves were difficult to get out, “but I thought—” He faltered, expression shifting, then shuttered completely, as if something closed off inside him.

“If I must kill him, what does it matter anyway? Even if it was an act, I still wanted to speak with you.

To believe you could have come back…”

The shift in Kaelen’s tone was palpable, from vulnerable to distant in a heartbeat, and Thorne could see the subtle transformation of the prince before him.

Then, Kaelen’s gaze hardened once more, cutting through the air like a sharpened blade, and he asked, his voice lower, tinged with something dark, “Why are you here, Thorne? Is it because I know her secret?”

Kaelen’s words struck a chord deep within Thorne, the question lingering like poison in the air.

Thorne tried to steady his breath, but the tension between them thickened, the space between them closing with each word.

Kaelen cut himself off, eyes locking onto Thorne’s with an intensity that felt like a physical weight pressing down on his chest.

The prince’s stare was piercing, cold, the mockery of his fangs sliding from his lips sending a shiver of something dark down Thorne’s spine.

“You didn’t know,”

Kaelen murmured, his voice dropping into a deadly, quiet cadence, “You haven’t the slightest what your mistress is really capable of, do you?”

Thorne’s heart skipped a beat, the truth of Kaelen’s words slowly unfurling in his chest like an anchor sinking deeper into the abyss.

His mind was racing, disbelief clashing against the realization that this man—this beast—knew more than he had let on.

He could feel Kaelen’s hand on his wrist tightening, his thumb brushing across the pulse there, the gesture so tender and yet suffused with a predatory fixation that made Thorne’s skin crawl.

“You too were fed lies,”

Kaelen whispered, his voice laced with something soft but dangerous.

“And for that, I am sorry.”

Thorne snarled, the sound raw and filled with frustration, struggling against Kaelen’s grip even though he knew it was futile.

“You’re mad,”

he spat, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief.

“I wasn’t fed anything.

I chose to come here.

I jumped at the chance.”

Every word he spoke felt like a desperate attempt to distance himself from the suffocating reality Kaelen had thrust upon him.

He couldn’t process it—couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that all of this, this madness, was somehow part of a bigger picture he had never seen before.

How had Kaelen known? How did he know any of this?

Kaelen hardly struggled to push Thorne back.

It was effortless, his strength inexorable, and soon enough, the beast was on top of him, chest to chest, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt both intimate and suffocating.

Thorne’s bare, flushed chest heaved beneath Kaelen’s, the stark contrast of Kaelen’s black tunic—so perfectly in place, every golden stitch and button unscathed—against the mess of Thorne’s exposed skin was obscene in its difference.

It was like they existed on different planes, Kaelen the predator, Thorne the prey, and Thorne could feel the undeniable truth of it pressing against him, inescapable and absolute.

Clever, clever beast, Thorne thought bitterly.

This was never going to be a fight, was it? Because Thorne would give in, and Kaelen would pull him like a marionette by the strings.

Kaelen’s voice came again, low and charged with dark intent, “Do you still intend to kill me, Thorne?”

His breath was hot in Thorne’s ear, the sweet promise of Kaelen’s teeth hovering near his jugular, sending an electric thrill through him.

Kaelen’s voice dropped to a whisper, “They’re telling me I should still kill you.”

Thorne’s heart raced in his chest, every instinct screaming at him to break free, to fight back, but he couldn’t.

Kaelen pulled away slightly, rising up to look Thorne in the eye, and there was no escaping the depth of the gaze that met him.

It was a gaze that drilled deep into his soul, cold, empty, and bottomless, the abyss that Kaelen seemed to carry within him stretching endlessly into darkness.

And Thorne, despite himself, found his eyes rising to meet that cold stare, every primal instinct screaming at him to look away, to break free of the madness, but he couldn’t.

He was trapped, lost in those dark, haunting eyes.

Thorne struggled against Kaelen, his body writhing beneath him, every muscle fighting against the overwhelming pressure.

His breath came in gasps, his chest tight with the need to escape, to move, but he felt like his limbs were weighted, as if the air itself was pressing against him, making it harder and harder to breathe.

“You’re insane!”

Thorne gasped, his voice breaking under the strain of the words.

“You’re—mad!”

Kaelen’s response was slow and deliberate, his forehead dropping to rest against Thorne’s in the midst of their struggle.

Thorne could feel the heat of Kaelen’s skin against his own, the warmth of his body so close, so overwhelming.

Kaelen was sweating, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and yet he remained so controlled, so unnervingly calm in the face of Thorne’s panic.

“I have divested you of all your weapons,”

Kaelen murmured, his voice a low growl as he pressed even closer, his body shifting to push against Thorne’s.

“And I possess none of my own.

Will you still fight me? I am still more than capable of defending myself, even like this.” A deliberate thrust of his hips drove his hardness into Thorne’s, the pressure unrelenting, and a groan slipped from them both, involuntary and thick with desire.

Kaelen’s hands grasped at Thorne’s wrists, pulling them up to pin them above his head.

His lips brushed against Thorne’s ear, his voice a warm, pleading whisper, “I am a killer too, Thorne.”

And in that moment, Thorne froze.

Thorne felt himself go rigid, bit by bit, as if he were slowly being petrified under the weight of some dark spell.

His body stiffened, a tremor running through him, from thrashing to shaking, then finally to the stillness of quiet surrender.

His breath came in short, ragged bursts, his heart hammering against his chest as though it, too, were struggling to hold on to some semblance of control.

The bedchamber was silent now, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound that could be heard above the thundering of his pulse.

Kaelen inhaled deeply, his breath warm against Thorne’s ear, and the beast’s heart seemed to bludgeon itself against Thorne’s own, syncing in an almost maddening rhythm.

Thorne could feel it, could feel the intensity of their proximity in every breath, every movement.

And in that moment, Thorne went still.

Thorne was quiet.

Thorne was calm.

His mind, at long last, finally completed its revolution.

The weight of all the revelations of the past few moments began to sink in, settling over him like the suffocating weight of a thousand secrets.

Seraphina didn’t trust him.

But then again, she didn’t trust anybody.

The thought hit him harder than it should have.

He could see it now—her sleepless nights at the Academy, the way she’d slip out of the dorm, the creaking of the old wooden floors that no one had ever noticed except for him, the late hours and the places she’d go that she would never tell him about.

He had been lying to himself, as much as she had lied to him.

He’d tried so hard to distance himself, to believe he was still in control, still in command of his choices.

But now, everything was clouded, twisted by this web of deceit that had ensnared them all.

"I am a killer, too," Kaelen’s voice echoed in his mind, and the words sent a shudder through him.

Kaelen was so close, so dangerously close now.

Thorne could feel the weight of him, heavy and suffocating.

Kaelen’s power, his strength, was undeniable, the kind of power that could break Thorne in an instant, bend him, shatter him apart.

Kaelen could snap every bone in his body, tear him open, destroy him.

But still—Thorne couldn’t stop himself from clinging to the fact that Kaelen had phrased it differently.

He had asked first, hadn’t he? He hadn’t just spoken of his own intentions, hadn’t simply declared his thoughts as if they were facts.

He had waited.

He had given Thorne the space to make the first move, to decide—to acquiesce or spurn, to make the choice.

Still hesitant, still waiting.

It was maddening.

Thorne had been lied to, over and over again.

He had been left in the dark, isolated in his own confusion, abandoned in the cold.

But as much as he knew he shouldn’t trust Kaelen, as much as he knew he couldn’t, Thorne found himself asking the same question again and again: why hadn’t Kaelen killed him? Why had he put up this charade, lured him to his side again and again, only to draw this moment out, to twist the knife with every touch, every word? What was the point? What was the endgame?

Where did the lie end?

Thorne’s thoughts spun faster, but despite the storm within him, despite the confusion and rage, his body betrayed him.

He drew in a deep breath, his chest pressing flush to Kaelen’s once more.

He did not shy away from the contact.

Instead, he felt it fully—every inch of it.

Sternum to ribs, hips to stomach.

Their bodies were drawn together by the simple rhythm of breath, as if they were two halves of the same whole, moving in tandem.

Kaelen was still.

And the silence that hung between them seemed to stretch, thick with the weight of everything unspoken.

The knife slipped back into Thorne’s hand, its cold steel pressing against his palm, the weight of it grounding him in the reality of what was unfolding.

He barely noticed the touch of Kaelen’s hand as it slid down his wrist, his fingers tracing the line of his arm, a fleeting, haunted remnant of the reassuring touch Kaelen had given him within the ballroom.

The touch was so gentle, so familiar, and yet it sent a shiver of something darker through Thorne.

"Will you kill me?" Kaelen’s voice was soft, sorrowful, almost pleading.

He asked the question again, as though it was the only thing that truly mattered now, as if Thorne’s answer would determine the fate of them both.

Thorne twitched his fingers, tightening them around the blade, the sharp edge digging into his skin.

The blood welled up around the steel, pooling in his hand, running down his wrist in slow, steady drips.

The sting of it was sharp, but it felt almost numb in comparison to everything else—the weight of Kaelen’s body against his, the words that kept circling in his mind, the haunting uncertainty that gripped him.

The blood ran freely, staining his skin, soiling the pale purity of the sheets beneath him.

It was a symbol of his choices, of everything he had been dragged into—by Kaelen, by Seraphina, by his own need to understand.

The heat of it, the warmth that spread through his hand, burned deeper than the physical pain, and Thorne could feel the emotions swelling within him—rage, confusion, sorrow.

His breath caught in his throat, and the weight of it all, all the lies, all the manipulation, all the despair that had led him here, crashed down around him.

“No,”

Thorne’s voice was a rasp, breaking under the strain of the moment.

He felt the heat of the blood running down his wrist, the warmth that swelled in his chest.

The answer was undeniable.

It was as much a truth as anything else. “No.”

Kaelen shifted, eclipsing him entirely.

The room, once filled with the cold, silvery glow of moonlight, seemed to dissolve beneath Kaelen’s presence, his darkness swallowing the light whole.

He drew Thorne into his orbit, into the crushing weight of his gravity.

There was no escape—no space, no distance.

Everything fell away, reduced to the weight of Kaelen's body above him, the heat of his proximity radiating outward until it consumed every thought, every breath.

Thorne's senses were drowned in the suffocating heat of the beast, the tension crackling in the air between them.

Kaelen's eyes locked onto Thorne, raking over his face with a deliberate intensity.

His gaze swept over Thorne’s features—his nose, his chin, his lips—each glance a study, every movement calculated, primal.

There was nothing restrained, nothing polite in the way Kaelen observed him.

This was a different kind of look.

This was something ancient, something far more dangerous, a look that was raw and consuming, like a wolf hunting its prey.

Thorne felt it in his gut, a tightening that made him feel exposed, laid bare, every blade and curse, every decision he had ever made, every dark deed he had committed.

In that moment, it wasn’t just Kaelen the prince, the beast—Kaelen was seeing him for everything he was. Every inch of his soul, every scar, every regret.

"Do you trust me, Thorne?" Kaelen's voice was softer now, no longer the harsh growl of the hunter.

It was almost a whisper, low and intimate, but there was something in it that cut deeper than any weapon could.

Thorne swallowed hard, feeling his heart thrum in his chest, his pulse racing beneath Kaelen's gaze.

He didn't flinch, didn't look away.

He met the beast's stare head-on, the weight of their connection suffocating him.

“No. I don’t.”

The words tasted bitter as they left his lips, sharp with truth, but the fight, the resistance, was already slipping away.

His hand trembled as it rose, as if moving on instinct.

He reached up to Kaelen’s face, the action bold, almost defiant, and placed his palm against the beast’s skin, offering it to him without hesitation.

A tear slipped down his cheek, unnoticed at first, but it fell quietly, tracing the curve of his jaw.

His words faltered as he spoke them, the truth tangled with something more complicated than trust or betrayal.

“I don’t trust you,”

he said again, the admission harder this time, raw with the weight of his uncertainty.

But despite it, he continued, the words breaking free of their own accord.

“But I don’t think you’re lying.”

He kept his hand there, against Kaelen’s face, feeling the heat of his skin, feeling the rawness of the beast beneath the layers of power and control.

He didn’t want to kill him.

He didn’t want to be driven by the lies, the manipulation, the violence of it all.

He didn’t want to be the instrument of destruction that his fate had set him up to be.

And yet, here he was, drawn into something more dangerous, more beautiful than he had ever anticipated.

Kaelen leaned into his touch, the subtle shift of his body moving closer to Thorne.

His eyes softened for a split second, and in that moment, Thorne saw something different, something human beneath the predatory exterior.

But the change was fleeting.

It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Kaelen’s lips twisted into a grin, sharp and dangerous, the kind of smile that sent a shiver down Thorne’s spine.

The wolfish grin, full of teeth, the kind that promised nothing but chaos and fire.

“What do you want, then?”

Kaelen asked, his voice thick with amusement, but there was something else there, something darker, a thread of anticipation that wound its way through his words.

Thorne narrowed his eyes, his fingers digging into the hard planes of Kaelen’s face, grounding himself, finding the center of this madness.

“I want you.”

The words were blunt, filled with a need that he couldn’t explain, something primal, something that only Kaelen could fulfill.

Kaelen’s eyes flickered with surprise, then darkened as his body pressed further into Thorne’s.

He didn’t pull back.

Instead, his voice lowered again, becoming a seductive rasp that brushed over Thorne’s skin.

“What do you want me to do?”

In that moment, Thorne felt the walls of the world crumbling around him.

All the weight of his choices, the lies, the manipulations, the forces that had dragged him here—it all melted away, and all he could feel was the intense pull of Kaelen’s presence, the magnetism that made it impossible to break free.