Page 12

Chapter

Eleven

The next time Araya opened her eyes, afternoon sunlight spilled across Jaxon’s bedroom, painting the rich fabrics with gold and casting intricate shadows over the polished wooden floor. She sat up slowly, her head pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Her power hummed under her skin—stronger than it had been, but a thick fog still clung to the edges of her mind, and even small movements made her head spin. She needed more rest—her body knew it, trying to drag her back into the warm cocoon of Jaxon’s bed.

But sleep wouldn’t fix this.

She had seen the prince in her dreams again. She had spoken to him— touched him. She couldn’t keep pretending that he was just a manifestation of her subconscious.

She had to tell Jaxon. Didn’t she? At least if she told him now, most of his fury would be directed at the prince instead of her. If she hid it and he found out…Gods. He could leave her like this indefinitely—drained to the point of exhaustion, a shadow of herself. No one would stop him. Most of his peers would probably applaud the decision .

Araya pressed her forehead to her knees, breathing deeply until the iron band around her chest eased.

It should have been easy to choose herself over the practical stranger who haunted her nightmares. But…she couldn’t. Loren had already survived decades of iron, pain, and solitude—he had suffered enough. He didn’t deserve to be punished for the connection neither one of them had chosen any more than she did.

She would keep it to herself. She had to. Jaxon had never asked about the dreams—never questioned the way she sometimes woke up trembling, breathless, staring into the dark. There was no reason for him to start now.

As long as she was careful… he’d never know.

Araya swung her legs over the edge of the bed, forcing her body to carry her to the bathroom. She washed her face and braided her hair back before stripping out of her sweat soaked nightgown and tugging on a chemise and a warm woolen dress. She needed to get out of the apartment, move her body, and feel the fresh air on her face.

She descended the carved marble stairs carefully, each step echoing softly in the hushed silence. The railing was cold under her palm—winter had crept inside, though the tall double doors were pulled shut against the chill, their dark wood and polished brass gleaming in the light of the chandelier that hung from the tall ceiling.

Jaxon had said this had been a seat of governance at one point—but after the Ascendancy, the Arcanum converted it to housing to meet demand. Most of the fae touches had been removed or covered up, but the sweeping architecture remained, as did the heavy, polished mahogany desk where the doorman sat.

“Miss Starwind,” Marcus greeted her, jumping to his feet as she stepped into the atrium. “Are you well? You’re quite pale.”

“Just a little woozy, Marcus. I’m sure I’ll recover quickly.” Araya forced a small smile, fisting her hands in her cloak against the urge to pull her hood and hide away from his scrutiny. That wasn’t how she lived anymore. “I’m just heading out to pick up some food.”

He frowned, glancing at the frost creeping up the tall windows. “Should I call you a carriage?”

“No, thank you.” Araya gave him a real smile this time. She liked the older man, with his steady demeanor and unhurried words. Humans were often hard to read, their layers of politeness and ability to lie masking deeper motives, but Marcus always radiated genuine care, going out of his way to make her feel welcome when she bonded with Jaxon.

“The fresh air will do me good,” she added, hoping to reassure him.

Still, she almost second-guessed herself when Marcus pulled one of the heavy doors open and the wind tore through the atrium. Her old, threadbare cloak would have been no match for the chill, but the one Jaxon had bought her—lined with plush, white fur and dyed a deep, stately gray—wrapped around her like a shield despite the cold.

The walk back to her old neighborhood took longer than she expected. She had gotten spoiled, riding everywhere in the black carriages Jaxon and his father always used. By the time she finally spotted the familiar wooden sign of the Crust & Kettle swaying in the wind, her cheeks were numb, and the fur around her hood was edged with frost. But the throbbing in her head had receded to a dull ache behind her eyes.

Inside, the smell of fresh bread and simmering stew wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. A blazing fire roared in the hearth, spilling light and warmth into the dining area. Araya had spent many cold nights at one of those worn wooden tables with Serafina, laughing and talking.

Araya approached the counter, letting the warmth seep into her bones as she scanned the chalkboard menu. She ordered far more than she needed—unable to force herself to choose between the creamy comfort of the potato soup and the hearty goodness of the lamb stew, then adding on the wild mushroom soup just for good measure.

“I’ll get this all packed up for you,” the young female behind the counter said. “If you want to have a seat, I’ll bring it over.”

Araya turned, scanning the tables for a quiet place to sit and rest—then paused mid-step, heat rising to her face as she spotted Serafina tucked into a shadowed corner. She leaned forward, catching the hand of a broad-shouldered man Araya didn’t recognize.

Araya flushed deeper and took a step back—intending to turn back toward the counter and pretend she hadn’t seen them. With the way their last conversation had ended, she doubted Serafina wanted to see her at all—but her sudden movement must have caught the Healer’s attention.

Serafina’s head jerked up, her green eyes widening before she masked her surprise, smoothing her expression into something unreadable.

“Araya,” she said, her tone perfectly neutral. “I didn’t realize you were coming out this way.”

“It wasn’t planned.” Araya stepped toward them, her gaze flicking between Serafina and the stranger. “Who’s this?”

Serafina hesitated, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. “He’s?—”

“Finn Greenvale.” He stood, extending his hand. “I’m a friend of Serafina’s.”

“Araya Starwind,” she returned, shooting another look at Serafina. “I’m…another friend of Serafina’s.” One who certainly should have known about him—seeing as they’d lived together for the better part of three years.

“A pleasure,” Finn said easily, though his sharp brown eyes were calculating, and there was a weight to his words, like he was filing away everything about her. He glanced at Serafina. “Thanks for meeting me—I’ll let you two catch up.”

He stooped, grabbing a familiar bag from under the table before sauntering toward the door. He moved too gracefully for a human, despite his rounded ears. A casual observer might have been fooled, but Araya had spent enough time around half-fae to recognize the way they carried themselves.

“That was subtle.” Araya slid into the chair across from Serafina, not bothering to wait for an invitation. “Who is he really?”

Serafina sighed, rubbing her temples. “It’s not?—”

“—anything I need to worry about?” Araya finished for her. “You realize that just makes it sound more suspicious, right?”

Serafina pressed her lips into a thin line.

Araya drummed her fingers against the tabletop. “Is he a Healer?”

Serafina tensed. “He’s a friend.”

“Right.” Araya let the word hang between them. “And am I supposed to pretend I didn’t see him picking up a bag full of supplies you stole from the Aetherium?”

Serafina’s flush deepened. “It’s not what you think?—”

“You don’t have any idea what I think,” Araya retorted. She shoved back her chair as the waitress approached, intending to take her food and storm out—but as she did, the room tilted sharply. Her vision blurred, the edges of her sight going dark as she grabbed onto the table to stay upright.

“Araya!” Serafina was on her feet in an instant, coming around the table to steady her.

“I’m fine.” Araya forced a small smile, waving off the concerned waitress. “Maybe I stood up too fast?—”

“Don’t try to deflect with me,” Serafina snapped. “You’re pale as death.” She caught Araya’s wrist, pressing two fingers to her pulse as her gaze sharpened with the same clinical focus she used on patients. “Are you in pain? What?—”

“No pain—” Araya closed her eyes, willing the room to stop spinning. “It’s just magic depletion. I’m fine , Serafina. I just needed a minute.”

“That’s a diagnosis, Araya—not an explanation.” Serafina scowled. “Magic doesn’t just deplete like this—not on its own. Tell me what happened. ”

Araya hesitated, biting her lip. But Serafina just stared at her, clearly prepared to stand there until Araya told her the truth.

Araya exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “Jaxon siphoned too much,” she admitted.

“He what ?” Serafina’s voice was too calm for the rage blazing in her eyes.

“It’s not usually like this,” Araya said quickly, already regretting saying anything at all. “I just… upset him last night.”

Serafina inhaled through her nose, holding the breath before letting it out slowly. “He drained you,” she said. It was a statement, not a question. “As a punishment.”

“It wasn’t—it’s just—” Araya shook her head, struggling to find words that didn’t stick in her throat as a lie. “He was upset. I pushed him too far. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He didn’t do anything illegal ,” Serafina said flatly. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t wrong .” She stood abruptly, picking up Araya’s bag of food. “Is your carriage outside?”

“I walked,” Araya stood, careful to move more slowly this time. “Really, I’m fine?—”

“I’m not letting you walk all the way back to Kingswalk alone in this state,” Serafina cut her off. She took Araya by the elbow, guiding her towards the door. “I’d be a bad Healer and a bad friend if I did.”

“Are we still friends, then?” Araya asked, the bitterness in her tone surprising even herself.

Serafina’s steps faltered, her boots scraping the frozen cobblestones as they stepped out onto the darkening street. She didn’t answer. The silence stretched, cold and heavy, pressing into the space between them. Araya swallowed hard, her throat tight, the ache in her chest sharp enough to steal her breath. Maybe she should have expected it…but it still stung.

“When you get home, you should make a tea blend with chamomile, nettle, and a pinch of dried valerian root,” Serafina said finally. “It will knock you out for the night, but it will help replenish your magic faster. ”

“Thanks,” Araya sighed, her breath freezing in the air in front of her as she exhaled. “I’ll try it. Does it help with dreams?”

“You shouldn’t have any with this one,” Serafina replied. “Has that been a problem lately?”

“Sometimes,” Araya said, ducking her head. Serafina had sat with her through countless nightmares when they roomed together at the Aetherium—but Araya couldn’t tell her about Loren. Even Araya wasn’t supposed to know he existed. It was safer this way—for Serafina, for Araya…even for Loren.

By the time Jaxon’s building finally came into view, Araya’s legs were aching, and she was more than a little relieved that Serafina had insisted on walking with her—at least until she recognized the imposing black carriage pulling up out front.

“Who is that?” Serafina asked, her steps slowing as the carriage stopped in front of the building.

“Garrick,” Araya said. “Jaxon’s father.”

“You call the High Magister Garrick ?” Serafina said. “What is he doing here?”

“He comes for dinner sometimes,” Araya said absently. She didn’t want to do anything but go inside, eat, and curl up in bed—maybe after a hot bath. “At least I got extra soup.”

By the time they reached the building, Garrick was standing beside his carriage, clearly waiting for them.

“Garrick,” Araya mustered up a smile from somewhere. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.

“Araya,” he greeted her smoothly, his tone clipped. “This is an unplanned visit.” His gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough to feel invasive, before shifting to Serafina. “Who is your friend?”

“Master Serafina Hart, Healer.” Serafina inclined her head in a smooth, practiced gesture—but Araya didn’t miss the way her jaw tensed, or how her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Garrick replied, his dark eyes bright as they assessed her. “Will you be joining us upstairs, Master Hart? ”

“No,” Serafina said quickly. “I was just making sure Araya got home safely.”

“Ah, a loyal friend,” Garrick said, his tone almost amused, though the faint smile on his lips never reached his eyes. “An increasingly rare quality.”

“Maybe you’re making the wrong friends, sir,” Serafina said blandly.

Araya’s breath caught. What was Serafina thinking? This was the High Magister—no one spoke to him like that. But Serafina didn’t so much as blink, holding his gaze with calm, unreadable eyes like she hadn’t just insulted one of the most powerful men in the New Dominion.

Araya cleared her throat. “I’m sure she didn’t mean?—”

Garrick held up a hand, his smile returning, cool and dismissive. “Healers often have… strong opinions. No harm done.”

Without waiting for permission—or perhaps choosing to ignore it—Serafina pulled Araya into a tight hug. “Make the tea,” she whispered, pressing the bag of food into Araya’s arms. Then she stepped back, offered Garrick a cold nod, and turned down the street, walking away with the same composure she’d worn the entire exchange.

Araya watched her go, shaken by the whole interaction—but she didn’t have time to dwell on the unease coiling in her chest, not with Garrick standing right there.

“Is Jaxon expecting you?” she asked.

“He’s not,” Garrick said, his expression unreadable as he gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

Araya nodded, forcing her legs to move as she followed him toward the door. The warmth of the atrium spilled out as the heavy doors swung open, enveloping her in the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers. She stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the gleaming marble floor.

Garrick’s measured footsteps echoed beside her, his silence pressing down on her like a weight. He said nothing until they reached the grand staircase, his hand closing around her elbow to support her as she faltered on the climb.

“Loyal friends can be invaluable,” he said smoothly. “It’s a relief when they know which questions to ask… and which to leave unspoken.” His sharp gaze lingered on her, the faintest smile brushing his lips. “Especially when it comes to sensitive matters my son is too reckless to take the proper precautions with.”

Araya’s breath hitched, the weight of Garrick’s gaze pinning her in place. He knew —he knew Jaxon had taken her down to that cell.

“I didn’t tell her anything about what I saw,” Araya whispered, fumbling for an answer that might appease him. She was suddenly very relieved she hadn’t told Serafina anything, letting her answer directly. “I didn’t know?—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Garrick said, his tone as smooth and pleasant as ever. “This certainly isn’t your fault, Araya. Now, let’s go find my son.”

“Jaxon is probably in his office,” Araya said, toeing off her boots in the entryway. Jaxon’s boots already sat neatly by the door, the warm light of the lamps glinting on the polished leather. His cloak hung on its hook, everything in its place. “Are you staying for dinner? I got plenty of soup?—”

“He’s not staying.”

Araya flinched at the sharpness in Jaxon’s voice. She hadn’t even heard him approach—but there he was, leaning against the wall. He glared at her, his dark eyes sweeping over her from head to toe as if assessing her for damage.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “Marcus said you left and refused a carriage.”

“I—” Araya stared at him, caught off guard by his anger. “I just picked up dinner. From the Crust & Kettle. I needed some fresh air and I thought some comfort food?— ”

“If you need fresh air, you go out on the balcony,” Jaxon snapped. He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them in two strides, snatching the bags from her arms before she could react. “You don’t walk to your old neighborhood.”

He set the bags down with a thud, the heavy tureens inside rattling. She’d paid extra for them—once, that would have meant going hungry. But tonight, she hadn’t even blinked at the cost. Because of Jaxon.

The thought settled uncomfortably in her chest as she lingered where he’d left her, unsure whether to move or speak.

“That’s an odd way of thanking your bond for bringing back dinner, Jaxon,” Garrick commented, taking his usual seat at their small table as he watched his son with narrowed eyes. “Araya, you should sit. You look like you’re about to collapse where you stand.”

“I—” She wanted to say I’m fine , but the words stuck in her throat. She looked to Jaxon, instinctively seeking direction—but he was in the kitchen, yanking open drawers and pulling out utensils with more force than necessary.

“Indulge an old man’s worry,” Garrick said, his gaze unwavering as he inclined his head towards her chair.

Araya sank into her chair, caught between Garrick’s cold anger and Jaxon’s simmering irritation.

“Eat,” Jaxon ordered, setting a bowl of creamy white soup down in front of her and a platter of bread in the center of the table. His hand lingered on her shoulder, heavy and possessive, before he turned to retrieve his own bowl.

“None for me, Jaxon?” Garrick asked.

Jaxon sighed heavily, a muscle in his jaw ticking before he masked it with practiced calm. “Now isn’t a good time, Father. I can come to your office tomorrow?—”

Garrick laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s not an option, Jaxon,” he said, his voice devoid of any of the usual warmth he had for his son. “Not when Magister Hale was in my office this morning howling about how my son brought an unauthorized fae into the lower cells.”

Jaxon stiffened, rage flashing through his carefully composed expression. “If that guard’s running to Hale with every report, then maybe he needs replacing. And if Hale has enough time to monitor a project he was removed from, perhaps he needs more to do.”

Garrick sighed, exasperation flashing in his eyes. “Hale is a Magister. You are not.” His gaze slid to Araya. “And now, because of your reckless behavior, he has turned his sights on her.”

Araya’s chest tightened, the soup turning thick and sticky in her mouth. She set her spoon down, her appetite gone.

“Was that your plan?” Garrick asked, his voice sharpening. “Or are you just careless? I taught you to take better care of your possessions than this.”

“She’s my bond,” Jaxon said tightly. “He has no authority?—”

“Owning her bond is a privilege, not a right, Jaxon.” Garrick cut in, his words razor sharp. “Do you think the Arcanum won’t take her back if Hale makes a big enough deal out of this? You know this isn’t what I meant when I authorized her to work with you.”

Take her back . The words struck Araya like a lash—clean and cruel. Everything she’d fought for was slipping through her fingers before she’d even had the chance to truly hold it. Her heart pounded, every breath sawing out of her lungs in jagged rasps. She would lose everything—Jaxon’s protection, the privilege of wielding her magic, the countless tiny freedoms she’d only just started to trust?—

She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t survive it.

“You said this was my project,” Jaxon snapped, his fists clenched at his sides. “My opportunity to prove myself. Hale has had twenty years to work on Loren with no results. But in just thirty minutes with Araya? He spoke— twice .”

“He spoke to her?” Garrick’s expression flickered, a hint of intrigue breaking through his composed mask.

“Spoke, touched—” Jaxon crossed his arms, staring at his father smugly. “How long has it been since he reacted or interacted with anyone Hale sent down there? He broke his chains trying to protect her from me.”

“He broke his chains?” Garrick asked sharply.

“Araya put them back.” Jaxon said, a note of pride slipping into his voice. “You should have seen his face when he realized she was there by choice.”

Garrick exhaled sharply. “She shouldn’t have been down there at all, Jaxon.”

“She deserved to be there,” Jaxon snapped. “You haven’t even heard her theory—Hale’s team has been stumbling around in the dark without results for years. But Araya came up with an actionable idea without even having all the information.”

Jaxon’s gaze flicked to Araya, softer for a heartbeat before hardening again as he turned back to Garrick.

“She’s the only one who’s produced anything actionable in years. She doesn’t just deserve access—she deserves credit. She deserves a seat at the table. Whether or not Hale or the rest of the Arcanum like it, she’s earned the right to work on this directly.”

Garrick pressed his lips together, considering. “You want me to grant her an official clearance.”

“If that’s what it takes.” Jaxon crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m far more concerned about results than I am about arbitrary rules.”

“What about her?” Garrick turned his sharp gaze on Araya, staring at her with an intensity that made her spine stiffen. “Have you asked her if this is something she can handle? To be intimately involved in the breaking of one of your own kind—it’s not an easy ask, Jaxon.”

“I don’t have any loyalty to the fae monarchy,” Araya whispered, her chest tight.

All she had ever wanted was to live the best life she could—to have a warm bed, enough to eat, the right to practice her magic, and the freedom to breathe without constantly looking over her shoulder. She’d never wanted to be the key to anything—yet here she was, a pawn being positioned for someone else’s victory in a war she wanted no part in.

“Of course you don’t,” Garrick said gently. “No one is questioning your loyalty, Araya. Any fool can see the devotion you have for my son. But even the most finely crafted tools can splinter under strain if they’re not handled properly. You’ve seen more than your share of darkness, Araya. I’d hate to see something so valuable ruined by carelessness.”

He glanced back at his son with so much disappointment that Araya squirmed uncomfortably.

“I know how difficult it must have been for you to see a fae in that condition—something Jaxon should have considered before he took you down there.” Garrick sighed. “I know it’s hard to believe, but Loren and I were friends once. What he’s been reduced to—even I find it sad. No one would think less of you if this wasn’t something you could do.”

Araya shivered as Jaxon’s hand fell heavily onto her knee beneath the table, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles. Maybe it was meant to be comforting. But all Araya felt was the leaden reminder of who she owed her privileges to.

“I’ll do whatever Jaxon needs me to do,” she said.

“Very well.” Garrick nodded slowly. “I’ll take care of the clearance, then.”

Araya sat silently as Jaxon walked his father out, staring down at her soup. It had cooled, its surface thick and congealed. Her appetite was gone anyway, replaced by gnawing unease. She should just brew the tea Serafina recommended and go to sleep?—

“Eat, Starling.”

Jaxon’s hands settled on her shoulders, warm and firm. Araya flinched under the sudden touch, the tickle of his breath on the back of her neck sending a shiver down her spine. “You need your strength.”

It wasn’t a request.

Araya picked up her spoon with trembling fingers, staring down at the cold, heavy mass of potatoes and cream. Bite after bite, she forced it down. Each bite coating her tongue in a thick, tasteless paste. By the time she set the empty bowl aside, her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a stone.

“Can the Arcanum really revoke our bond?” The question tumbled out before she could stop it, her voice trembling in a way that made her wince. She hated how small she sounded.

“They can,” Jaxon murmured, brushing a kiss against the back of her neck as he reached over her shoulder to pick up her dish. “But they won’t. Because you’re going to prove yourself. By the time you’re done here, they’ll be giving you a medal.”

His words weren’t a reassurance—they were a verdict.

The quiet thunk of the coldbox closing made Araya flinch. Jaxon moved like a shadow across the kitchen, washing the dishes and stowing away the leftovers. Finally, he tossed the towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter, studying her.

“You worried me,” he said.

Araya lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’re right—I shouldn’t have gone out like that. I thought I could handle it, but if Serafina hadn’t been there?—”

“You saw Serafina?” Jaxon’s voice sharpened, his expression darkening.

“I ran into her at the Crust & Kettle,” Araya said, choosing her words carefully. “She walked me home and recommended a tea to help me replenish my magic. I didn’t…I didn’t tell her anything.”

The tension in Jaxon’s shoulders eased—slightly. But the furrow in his brow lingered .

“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “I just remember how hurt you were when she pulled away because of our bond.”

“Oh.” The lump in Araya’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, the bitterness of that hurt still clinging to her. “It was… I’m fine.” She frowned as Jaxon turned away, rummaging through the cabinets until he pulled out the kettle.

“What are you doing?”

Jaxon glanced over his shoulder, that familiar smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m making the tea, Starling,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s the least I can do after pushing you so hard earlier. I shouldn’t have taken so much.”

Surprise flickered through her exhaustion. “You don’t have to?—”

“I do.” His tone brooked no argument. He moved with steady efficiency, pulling jars from the cabinet. “I was angry, and I took too much from you—that’s inexcusable. The least I can do is make you the tea that will help. What did Serafina say to put in it?”

Araya bit her lip, twisting her hands in her lap. First he drained her magic without flinching—and now he was making tea?

“Chamomile, nettle, and a pinch of dried valerian root,” she murmured.

Jaxon nodded, measuring each herb with practiced precision. The earthy scent of chamomile and valerian filled the kitchen as the water boiled, its soothing aroma curling around her, loosening the knot of tension in her chest.

Jaxon pulled the kettle off the heat just as it started to whistle, the high-pitched sound fading into silence. He poured the steaming tea through a strainer into a delicate mug, every movement careful and deliberate.

Finally, he crossed the kitchen. He leaned in, his arms bracketing her as he set the mug down, the warmth of his chest pressing lightly against her back. Araya automatically wrapped her hands around the steaming mug, letting the comforting warmth sink into her palms.

“You hurt me,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her fingers tightened around the mug. “I wasn’t trying to defy you, Jaxon. I was frightened.”

“I know, Starling,” Jaxon’s hands found her shoulders again. His thumbs moved in slow, practiced strokes, kneading at the tension there. His voice was just as soothing, smoothing over the jagged edges of her fear. “I didn’t consider what it would be like for you—and then I reacted badly. I’m sorry.”

Araya shivered as Jaxon’s thumbs traced slow, practiced lines over her shoulders, her wariness flickering under his comforting, familiar touch. She took a sip of the tea, its warmth spreading through her chest like a lazy tide as the bitter herbs settled her stomach.

“It’s just this project,” Jaxon sighed. “There’s so much riding on it. I need to succeed—for us.”

“You will.” Araya leaned into him, lulled by the comfort he gave so easily. “I know you will.”

“I will,” Jaxon echoed, his fingers slipping into her hair, gently unpicking her braid. The strands tumbled loose over her shoulders, his touch slow and deliberate. “Because I have you. You’re the solution right under the Arcanum’s nose, Starling.”

The words needled at the edges of her mind, a whisper of warning struggling against the comforting fog. But the tea’s warmth tugged her down, dragging her deeper into the haze. She was too tired to hold onto the thought.

Didn’t want to.

“Come on,” Jaxon murmured, guiding her to her feet with steady hands. His palm rested against her lower back, grounding her as he led her toward the bed.

Araya didn’t resist as he tucked her in. The bed’s softness cradled her, and Jaxon curled behind her, his warmth wrapping around her like a shield.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, his lips brushing her temple. “You’re always safe with me, Starling. ”

Her breathing slowed, her body melting into the mattress as her willingness to resist melted away, smothered by warmth and exhaustion. She succumbed to the pull of sleep, letting that dark tide pull her under.

She did not dream.