Page 5

Chapter

Four

The shadows started whispering before she even opened her eyes.

Their voices wove together, an eerie chorus of hushed tones forming words she might have once understood, but had long since lost. The sound curled around her, sinking into her very bones.

She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to see him—not tonight.

But the dream took her anyway.

The damp chill of the dungeon filled her lungs, the stench of decay curling in the air. She knew what she would see before her eyes fluttered open.

It was always the same.

The corridor stretched endlessly before her, lined with iron doors, each one scarred by time and cruelty. Runes, long dead, had been gouged into their surfaces—remnants of a history written in suffering. The Arcanum had used these cells to break any fae who refused to kneel. No matter how much magic they possessed, the Arcanum always found a way to make them beg.

The whispers coiled around her footsteps, swallowing the sound of her bare feet on slick stone. They had always whispered. But tonight, they were trying to tell her something .

She stopped in front of his door. It waited for her. It always did.

It was the only one still alive, pulsing with silver-blue runes that flared to life as her fingers brushed the cold metal. The magic thrummed beneath her touch, rising to a discordant buzz that set her teeth on edge. It rejected her, resisted her presence—but still, it let her through.

Whoever he was, the Arcanum did not want him getting out.

The shadows slithered across her hands as the door swung open, spilling in like smoke. Araya followed them, stepping over the threshold as they coiled up her arms, wrapping around her ribs, pressing at her skin.

They wanted her to understand.

Tonight, he sat on his moldy straw pallet, slumped against the wall with his eyes closed—sleeping, somehow. His wrists were raw beneath the manacles and the iron collar at his throat, as if he had worn them for years.

The shadows rippled at the edges of the room, their whispers turning frantic. They knew something she didn’t.

Araya sank to her knees in front of him, the cold stone biting into her skin. She had seen fae males fight the Arcanum’s power before, had watched them break and die at human hands—so why did seeing this one unravel her?

She reached out without thinking, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the sharp line of his cheekbone. She didn’t know what she meant to do—only that she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him.

She didn’t expect him to see her. He never had before. But this time when her fingers brushed his skin his eyes snapped open, freezing her in place for the heartbeat it took for his hand to close around her wrist.

Shock flickered across his face, followed by something even more frightening—recognition. He spoke, his voice so hoarse and cracked from disuse that it took her a long moment to realize he was speaking Valenya. A shiver raced down her spine, the air crackling around her as the shadows’ whispers fractured into desperate, pleading cries.

She opened her mouth to tell him that she couldn’t understand him—that he would have to speak common, but before a single word could leave her lips, the dream lurched around her. The male dropped her wrist and Araya stumbled back as he rose to his feet with lithe grace and the whispers around them rose to an earsplitting wail.

The shadows wanted her to stay—to listen and understand. But Araya couldn’t stop the dream from shattering, breaking into a thousand pieces as it collapsed around her. The last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her was his bright green gaze—burning and desperate.

And then—nothing.

Araya jolted awake, thrashing against the lingering remnants of the dream as it disintegrated around her.

A dream. Just a dream—a nightmare.

Araya took a deep breath, trying to ground herself in the waking world. But—this wasn’t her bed. Her bed was narrow and hard as rock, with rough, cheap linens and an old, patched quilt. This bed wrapped around her like a cloud, and the silk sheets tangled around her limbs smelled faintly of vanilla and sage.

Araya scanned the dimly lit room, her gaze catching on the glint of silver—Serafina’s dress, neatly draped over an overstuffed chair. Araya’s gaze snapped down to her body, taking in the oversized men’s shirt she was wearing.

She was in Jaxon’s bed. Wearing his shirt.

Araya dragged a pillow over her face. Reckless, stupid fool , she cursed herself. The last thing she remembered clearly was Jaxon guiding her out of the Gilded Lily—had he carried her in from the carriage? Changed her into his shirt and tucked her into his bed ?

Had they?—?

No. She would have remembered. Wouldn’t she?

A flicker of memory surfaced—Jaxon’s voice, low and amused, as he’d pulled the blankets over her. His fingers brushing her cheek before retreating. “Sleep, Starling. We’ll talk in the morning.”

The tension in Araya’s chest eased. Jaxon had done exactly what he promised—put her to bed untouched. Relief uncoiled inside her, warm and certain.

And yet…

She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease the dull ache behind her eyes. How much of last night had been her own choice, and how much had been carefully placed in front of her?

Did it even matter? She had what she needed—what she wanted. Jaxon would keep her safe. Forever..

So why did it feel like she had simply followed a path he’d already laid at her feet?

And, most importantly—where was Jaxon now?

Araya threw back the sheets, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and burying her toes in the plush rug. Jaxon’s shirt was long enough to brush her thighs—modest enough, she supposed, to go looking for the man she’d agreed to bond herself to after spending the night in his bed.

She wasn’t sure what she expected to find outside the bedroom, but it wasn’t the chaos that greeted her.

Trunks lined the walls in haphazard stacks—some shoved into corners, others gaping open, their contents spilling onto the floor. Books and loose parchment cluttered every surface, creating a maze of disarray.

In the middle of it all stood Jaxon, bent over one of the larger trunks, muttering under his breath as he rifled through its contents. His brown hair stuck out in all directions, making him look almost as frazzled as she felt.

Araya couldn’t help herself. She let out an involuntary laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth too late .

Jaxon straightened, his head snapping toward her. His expression was uncharacteristically open—so much so that her lingering worries faded. Whatever she’d done, he wasn’t angry.

“I’m glad my misery is amusing to you, Starling,” he said, gesturing helplessly to the chaos around him. “I think they rolled my trunks back from Elvanfal. Apparently, they wanted to make sure I never find anything again.”

“So, you’re really back?” Araya asked. She stepped cautiously into the room, picking her way through the mess toward him. “I think I had a dream where you said you’d requested a transfer back to Aetheris.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember,” Jaxon replied with a laugh. His gaze swept over her, lingering in a way that made her blush. “You were incredibly drunk.”

Araya winced. “I’m sorry?—”

“I was the one handing you drinks.” Jaxon waved off her apology.

“Kai gave me one,” she muttered, twisting the hem of his shirt in her fingers. “Did I—did we?—?”

Jaxon’s grin widened. “ I tried to put you to bed fully clothed,” he said. “You were the one who insisted on making yourself comfortable. I talked you into the shirt—you fell asleep as soon as I tucked you in.”

"And that was all?" she pressed, watching his expression. If he was lying, he gave no sign of it—just that same easy grin, full of amused fondness.

"That was all," he echoed. "The first time I have you again won’t be a night you can’t remember. You’ll have to take advantage of me sober, Starling.”

“Gods,” Araya groaned, heat flooding her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry?—”

“Stop apologizing,” Jaxon said. His bare feet padded across the floor, circling the trunk between them. His hand touched her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “I meant what I told you last night, Araya. I was always coming back for you. But I understand how you must have felt when I left.”

And just like that, Araya’s heart cracked open.

“Don’t look at me like I’m saving you,” Jaxon laughed, shaking his head. “This isn’t some noble sacrifice. I am obviously getting the better end of the deal. Now I have one of the best adepts on the Arcanum’s roster at my disposal.”

Araya lobbed the parchment ball at him. “I spend all day imbuing amulets.”

“You—” He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers like he used to when they had to sneak around in the dark corners of the Aetherium. “Are wasted on grunt work. It’s a crime to let your talent rot. I won’t make that mistake.”

Her heart stuttered as she met his gaze, their breath tangling in the space between them. “You’re really going to let me work?” she asked, disbelief and fragile hope warring in her chest. “Bonded fae females don’t get to work?—”

“Starling,” Jaxon murmured, his smile wicked. “I’m going to insist. Do you have any idea how many times I requested to have you transferred to my division? And those ridiculous old men refused every single time.”

“Because you work on fae curses,” she whispered. “No one over a third is supposed to touch them. I’m not supposed to?—”

“Well, now I make the rules,” Jaxon murmured with a low chuckle. “And I have no intention of wasting you locked up in some workshop. Or in my bedroom—though, just to be clear, I want you there, too.”

Her heart gave a sharp, uneven thump as his hands settled on her waist, sliding down to her hips. His fingers brushed her bare skin where the shirt ended, sending sparks up her spine.

“They won’t let me work on fae curses,” she whispered. “There are laws.”

Jaxon laughed softly, indulgently. “Starling,” he said, his lips brushing hers, “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten—but I’m the High Magister’s son.”

The words dripped with privilege and arrogance—but Jaxon was one of the few people who might actually have the power to back them up.

He stayed perfectly still as she ran her fingers over the rough stubble that dusted his jaw, tracing his features with a featherlight touch. Finally she wound them into his dark waves, her heart stuttering as she pressed her lips to his.

Jaxon kissed like he owned her. Lips, teeth, and tongue—they all worked to coax gasps and moans from her, his fingers leaving a trail of heat as they swept over her skin. It may have been years since they touched each other, but their bodies remembered. He groaned into her mouth when his hands slipped up, finding her bare under his shirt.

“Gods, Starling,” he growled. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“I think I have an idea.” She nipped at his lip with one of her sharp canines, careful not to break the skin as she slid her hand between them to trace the hardness pressing against her hip. She squeezed, his startled curse like music to her ears.

Jaxon swept her off her feet, her shriek of laughter echoing through the cluttered room. He crossed to the bedroom in a few quick strides, knocking over more than one pile of books in his haste to kick the bedroom door open. She actually bounced on the absurdly soft bed when he dropped her onto it, but Araya didn’t get the chance to giggle before he was yanking the shirt over her head.

Araya gasped, arching into his mouth as Jaxon captured the peak of her breast. She tugged at his clothes, urging him without words to get them off.

“My greedy Starling,” he said, his lips curling into a smile against her skin. “You were always mine—I just needed you to see it.”

The words should have unsettled her. But the way he said them— the certainty, the warmth—made them feel like a promise instead of a snare. Maybe this was just what safety felt like.

Araya ran her fingers over his chest, tracing the lean contours of his muscles with her nails until his breath hitched, a shudder running through him. By the time he finally pressed against her entrance, his voice had dropped to a growl, low and rough with want.

"Tell me, Starling," he coaxed, his lips ghosting over hers. "Tell me you're mine."

“Jaxon—” Araya swallowed, the words catching in her throat as his fingers flexed against her hips. But when his thumb brushed over the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs, her resolve melted into heat and hunger.

“I want to hear you say it, Starling,” he laughed as she nodded frantically, but it came out more like a groan as she arched against him.

"I'm yours," she gasped, her breath hitching at the raw hunger in his eyes. “I’m yours!”

Jaxon hummed in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “Good girl,” he said, his voice all silk and steel as his lips trailed fire across her skin.

He took his time, relearning every way she unraveled beneath him. Araya clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as tension coiled inside her, growing into a wildfire that threatened to consume her entirely.

“You’re safe with me, Starling,” he whispered, his lips trailing like fire over her skin. “I’ll protect you, I promise. Now let go for me.”

Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up. The tension inside her snapped, release flooding her in waves of heat and pleasure. He swallowed her cry with another brutal kiss, a guttural groan escaping him as he found his own release.

Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the room. Araya stared at them absently as her fingers drifted over the hard planes of Jaxon’s chest, mapping the new scars he carried now.

Jagged slashes marred his skin, some thin and faded, others deep and brutal. A burn stretched across his ribs, paler than the rest, like a brand long since cooled. But it was the smallest one that held her gaze—a silvery line just above his ribs, barely the width of a knife’s edge.

Jaxon caught her wrist before she could ask, pressing a kiss to her palm. “It’s in the past, Starling.”

He couldn’t seem to stop touching her either. His fingers combed through her hair, the gentle scrape of his nails against her scalp sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

“So what happens now?” she asked. “Is that really all there is to bonding?”

Jaxon shifted, amusement glinting in his dark eyes as he glanced down at her. “You wanted something more?”

“No…but your father just—” She propped herself up on one elbow, mimicking a flourish with her hand. “And it’s done? Is that how it works for everyone, or is it just because you’re the High Magister’s son?”

“It does have its perks.” He laughed, giving her a wicked smile. “You know, he’ll probably ask you to call him Garrick?—”

“Gods.” Araya buried her face in Jaxon’s chest. “You’re not serious.”

“He’s not as terrifying as he looks,” Jaxon said. He ran his hand down her back, his fingers brushing over each bump of her spine. “He’ll be here later—Kai will come by too, to adjust your runes. Your papers need updating, your privileges have to be upgraded...”

He tilted her chin up, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “All good things, Araya. Things you deserve.”

She stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily in her chest. “And that’s it?” she asked softly .

“That’s it.” Jaxon pulled her back down into his arms. “No more Arcanum oversight, no more waiting or worrying—just the two of us.”

“It doesn’t feel real,” Araya murmured, letting her head drop back to his chest. “Like I skipped the part where I actually earned it.”

Jaxon chuckled. “You’ve earned this a hundred times over,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “This is just the official part.”

Araya closed her eyes, letting his warmth surround her. “If you say so.”

Jaxon’s fingers drifted across her back in lazy circles. “Trust me, Starling,” he murmured, breath warm against her ear. “This is only the beginning. The Arcanum wants me to lead a new project—something I think you’ll find interesting.”

Araya lifted her head, her interest piqued. “What kind of project?”

“The fun kind,” he said, flashing her a mischievous grin. “But I have to step out for a bit to get things set up for it. Will you be alright here by yourself?”

The question brought her up short. This was going to be her home—or maybe it was already. But the thought of being here by herself, in a neighborhood where she couldn’t even walk freely, made her stomach twist.

“Will you be gone long?”

“Not too long,” Jaxon assured her, his dark eyes studying her carefully. “You should get some more rest.” He pressed a tender kiss to her temple before sliding out of bed and reaching for his clothes.

“I need to return Serafina’s dress,” Araya said.

“I’ll have the courier handle it,” Jaxon replied, lacing up his breeches. “They’re already going there for your things today.”

Of course, he’d already thought of everything. That was Jaxon—always ten steps ahead. But instead of feeling cared for, something about it sat uneasily in her chest, leaving her feeling…boxed in.

“I should be the one to return it,” she argued. “I need to talk to her anyway—about why she didn’t say anything about you asking for my bond.”

Jaxon sighed, turning back to her. “I don’t suppose you’d just accept that I asked her not to tell you? I didn’t want you worrying about something I was already handling.”

Araya’s throat tightened. It sounded so reasonable when he said it like that.

"We tell each other everything," she insisted, though her voice lacked the conviction she wanted. "I told her you were here—and she acted surprised. Even though she knew. She lied to me, Jaxon.”

“I understand why you’re upset, but can you really blame her for listening to me, Starling?” Jaxon cupped her face, stroking his thumb over her cheek before trailing down her neck and curling around her waist to pull her close. “She might not like me very much, but she loves you. I’m sure you’ve kept a secret from her before, haven’t you?”

Araya swallowed hard, guilt blooming fast and bitter in her chest. She had kept her own secret—but it wasn’t like her cycle arriving affected Serafina. At the time, it hadn’t felt like a betrayal. But now… maybe it had been. Serafina didn’t know how desperate Araya had been—how afraid. How close to the edge.

If she had, maybe she would have told her.

Jaxon sighed. “I’m not saying no, Starling,” he said. “But have you thought about what you’re going to wear? All you have here is that dress and my shirt.”

Her cheeks flushed as her eyes landed on the shirt—still crumpled on the floor, right where they’d left it. She opened her mouth, but the protest didn’t come.

Maybe he was right. Either way, fighting over it was pointless.

“I’ll have the courier take care of it,” she conceded, her voice subdued. “I need to think about what to say to her anyway.”

Jaxon’s eyes softened, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as she brushed her hand along his cheek. She rose up on her toes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything. ”

Jaxon pulled back, his smile wide. “Get some rest,” he told her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “I won’t be long.”

Araya nodded, the cold space left in Jaxon’s absence already feeling too large. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I know you will, Starling.” Jaxon leaned forward, pressing one last lingering kiss to her forehead. “Because this is where you belong.”