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8

RHAEGAR

S he is different now.

I feel it as her magic tangles with mine , sharp and electric where before it had been soft, hesitant. I see it in how the wind moves around her , bending to her presence, as if it knows what she is becoming.

And I smell it, t he change , the quiet, insidious shift in her blood.

I have seen creatures be reborn in power before. But never like this.

Never because of me.

She does not look at me with fear anymore.

Not like before.

Now, her gaze is steady. Too steady. As if she is searching for something she does not fully understand yet.

I watch her closely, the way her fingers curl in the damp air, feeling the shift of magic beneath her skin. The ruins around us are silent , as if the world itself is waiting.

She has changed.

But so have I.

And I’m not sure if I should be pleased or concerned.

"You feel it, don’t you?" I murmur, keeping my voice low, dark.

She lifts her gaze to mine, violet eyes now flickering with silver light. The remnants of what I have given her. The mark of something forged in hunger and desperation.

"I don’t know what I feel," she admits. "But it’s… different."

Her voice is softer now, lacking the sharp edges of accusation from before. But beneath it, there is something dangerous. Something she is not ready to name.

A slow smile tugs at my lips.

"Good," I say.

She shivers.

Not from cold.

She notices it immediately, the way the bond hums between us, not just a tether now, but something else. Something alive.

For the first time, I wonder if I should not have saved her.

Not because I regret it.

But because I do not know if she will regret it.

Her magic is wrong now , twisted with something old, something primal. It flickers at her fingertips when she moves, responding to her emotions in ways she does not yet comprehend.

I want to push her.

To see what she can do.

To see if she will break.

"Show me," I murmur.

She stiffens slightly. "Show you what?"

"What you are now."

She hesitates.

She does not know what she is capable of, not yet. But I see it in her—the way the power coils at her spine, waiting to be released. She is afraid of it.

She should be.

But I am not.

"You need to learn," I say, circling her slowly. My steps are measured, deliberate. Like a predator waiting for its prey to move. "You will either master it or it will master you."

She exhales, shaking her head. "It’s too soon?—"

I move before she can finish the thought.

A test.

A taunt.

I am upon her in a breath, reaching for her, watching the exact moment her body reacts.

The air explodes.

A sharp, uncontrolled pulse of energy erupts from her skin, knocking me back.

I catch myself against the ruins, landing in a crouch, heat licking at my chest.

She is breathing hard, startled , staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

I brush a hand over my chest where her power struck me, smirking.

"Not bad, little healer," I say, amused. "But next time, aim."

She glares.

"That wasn’t—" She stops, swallowing. Her hands tremble at her sides, fingers twitching as if she can still feel the magic pulsing in her veins.

"It wasn’t intentional," I finish for her. "I know."

That’s what makes it more interesting.

Magic, especially something like hers, does not simply lash out unless it is responding to something else.

To something deeper.

I stalk toward her again, slower this time, testing her, measuring the shift between us.

She does not move away.

Instead, she lifts her chin , meeting my gaze with new defiance.

A mistake.

I step into her space, so close I can feel the way her pulse stutters, the sharp intake of her breath.

The bond tightens , threading heat between us. Alive.

"Do you feel it?" I ask, voice dropping into something dark, something meant to crawl beneath her skin.

She exhales, unsteady.

Her scent changes , sharpening, her magic rolling through the air like a silent challenge.

She wants to move.

But she does not.

The tension coils , thick and heady. A breath. A heartbeat. A waiting game.

I lift a hand, slowly, tracing just barely along the edge of her arm.

The magic responds.

Not just hers. Mine.

A sharp inhale from her lips, too soft, too unsure.

I should stop.

I should push her further.

I do neither.

Instead, I let the moment hang between us, let her feel the weight of the bond , the truth of it.

"You are not the same," I murmur.

Neither of us are.

Her lips part, but she does not speak.

We have stepped into something neither of us fully understand.

And we are past the point of turning back.