Dion's POV
The air reeked of magic. Not the kind that shimmered with promise or beauty, but the kind that clung to the skin—bitter, oily, and old. Dion stood still, boots planted on the charred forest floor, his breath shallow. He could feel it—her. A distant, pulsing thread humming low in his bones.
"She's close," he muttered.
Grimm padded beside him in his feline form, fur bristling with unease. "She's fading."
Dion clenched his fists. The bond was still there, but it flickered like a dying flame. Each beat of his heart chased the ghost of her presence, but the signal was faint—twisted through veils of shadow. She'd gone deep into the dark, somewhere no light dared follow.
"How long has she been gone?" he asked, voice rough.
"Long enough that I should've felt more," Grimm said, his mismatched eyes narrowing. "She's blocking parts of it—or something is. Her magic is still present. But she's not the one steering it anymore."
Dion didn't respond. He was already moving.
The trees were thinning, warping the deeper they walked. Trunks twisted unnaturally, leaves blackened as though poisoned from the root. The moonlight didn't reach here—it was swallowed before it touched the ground.
And yet, that thread… that cursed, beautiful bond—still sang beneath his ribs.
She's alive. Hurt, but alive.
He had to believe that.
A sharp pulse struck him in the chest. He staggered.
Grimm halted. "You felt that?"
The deeper he went, the louder the bond pulsed—until it wasn't a whisper anymore, but a moan.
Not hers. His.
Dion gasped and stumbled, one hand slamming against the stone wall to steady himself as the sensation slammed through him like a wave of heat.
Her pleasure—raw, writhing, so intense it ached.
It flooded through the bond like wildfire. He felt her hips arch, her thighs tremble, her spine bend back in surrender. The echo of shadows kissed every inch of her, not cruel but consuming. And she took it. Welcomed it. Wanted it.
The air around him crackled with jealousy—no, with something darker. Something primal.
He grit his teeth, choking on the sound that nearly left his throat.
That wasn't his touch making her whimper. That wasn't his magic curling around her throat, pulling cries from her lips.
"Ciaran," Dion hissed, spitting the name like venom.
His knees nearly gave when a fresh wave of sensation hit.
She'd just—
Goddess, the bond almost shattered with it.
He felt her release like it was his own. The aftershocks. The pain-laced bliss. The tremble in her limbs. Her broken, grateful gasp of, "Yes—yes, more—please."
Dion pressed his palm flat to the wall, panting like he'd run for hours.
"She accepted it," he whispered.
"Yes," Grimm said from behind him. "She didn't fight it. Not once."
Dion's head dropped.
It wasn't the betrayal that broke him. It was the way her soul reached through the bond in that moment—not afraid, not ashamed, but sated. Still aching. Still burning.
And through all that, buried beneath the layers of sensation, was her love for him.
Fractured. Fragile. But still there.
"She's alive," he breathed, voice hoarse. "She's hurting, but not broken. I can still feel her."
"She'll be more than hurting when this is over," Grimm muttered darkly. "Ciaran might've opened something in her that never closes again."
Dion didn't respond.
He stepped into the final corridor, forcing himself forward despite the way his chest burned. He felt her with every step. Her skin, her shivers, the way the shadows curled possessively around her wrists even after release.
She was still bound.
Still floating.
Still his, damn it.
"I don't care how deep the shadows reach," Dion said, voice deadly quiet. "I'm dragging her out."
"Therrin…" his voice cracked.
Her head twitched.
He stepped forward, and the shadows surged.
They didn't want to let her go.
But Dion wasn't asking.
He drew his blade—not metal, but pure soul-forged light—and swung. The shadows recoiled. Snarling. Furious.
He advanced, slicing through the writhing mass, carving a path to her. A shadow lunged. He dodged and drove his blade through it, feeling its scream echo in his mind.
Another came at him, then another. They were overwhelmed.
He screamed her name.
"THERRIN!"
And in that moment, her eyes snapped open.
Pale. Glowing. Beautiful.
"Dion?" Her voice was a breath of wind—fragile but real.
He reached for her. "I'm here. I'm getting you out."
The shadows shrieked in rage and began to collapse the chamber.
"Grimm!" he shouted up through the bond. "Collapse incoming!"
"I see it. I've got you a portal open, but you have ten seconds. Move!"
He cut through her restraints with trembling hands.
She fell into him.
"Hold on to me."
She did.
He turned, running, the tunnel behind them collapsing in bursts of stone and magic. The air screamed with dark energy.
Grimm's portal shimmered ahead.
Five steps.
Three.
One.
They dove.
The world twisted.
And then—
They were out.
Outside. Under the stars again.
Dion collapsed to his knees, Therrin in his arms, clutching her to his chest like she might vanish.
She was shaking. Whispering things he couldn't understand.
He held her tighter, brushing her hair back from her damp face. "It's over. I've got you. You're safe now."
But even as he said it, he knew—
Whatever had touched her in that spire had left a mark.
And the war for her soul was just beginning.