Dion's POV
The moment the veil settled over her eyes, I felt it—how her world shrank to nothing but the space around us, the pulse of my magic, and the heat of my presence. The silence wasn't empty; it was heavy, almost sacred, pressing against the edges of my mind.
Her breath hitched—soft, uneven, raw. Vulnerability carved into her like a sculpture I'd never stop shaping. Yet beneath it all, I sensed something fiercer—an ember smoldering, daring me to fan it into flame.
She was adrift, blind, and yet she did not retreat.
Her body jolted at my touch, every nerve exposed and screaming for more. The blindfold wasn't just fabric—it was a tether, binding her to me, to this moment, to the power I was finally willing to wield without mercy.
I lowered my hand, letting my fingers trace the line of her jaw, the swell of her throat, the curve of her collarbone—watching her pulse race beneath my skin. She was silent, but I heard everything in the tremor of her muscles, the quickening of her heartbeat beneath my palm.
The world outside was gone for her now, and for the first time, I was determined she'd never forget whose hands held her fate.
"Therrin," I murmured, voice rough, the steel behind it tempered by something darker—possessive and absolute. "You don't have to see me to know I'm here. To know that this is your home, no matter how far you wander."
Her breath caught again, closer now, a whisper in the quiet between us.
I knelt down beside her, the flowers soft beneath my knees, and felt the raw honesty of her trembling as she floated, suspended between fear and desire.
"You think you chose him. You think the shadows were yours to command. But they were only the beginning. The dark? It's mine to give. And tonight, I'll show you what it truly means to surrender."
Her body tensed, then relaxed—a surrender not of defeat, but of fierce trust.
I drew closer, the scent of earth and wildflowers mingling with the sharp, intoxicating pulse of magic. My hands slid to her wrists, gentle at first, then firmer as the vines unwound, freeing her without breaking the fragile balance.
Her skin was fire beneath my fingers, alive with want and hesitation. I brushed a strand of hair from her face and whispered against her temple, "You don't need to see. You only need to feel."
A soft sigh escaped her lips—unseen but unmistakable.
This was no longer about possession alone. It was about awakening something deeper—her power, her choice, her surrender on her terms. And maybe, just maybe, it was about healing the fractures between us.
I pressed my forehead to hers. "I'll be gentle where you need it. Fierce where you crave it. But always yours."
She was still beneath me—still but not calm. Her breath trembled, shallow and sharp, her body caught between anticipation and awareness. Every inch of her was listening now, though she couldn't hear a single sound. Her world had narrowed to sensation and scent—her skin was the only way in.
And I had every intention of worshiping it.
I didn't touch her with my hands this time.
Instead, I let my magic unravel through my fingers, threads of raw Fey energy rippling into the air like mist—shimmering, silent. With a simple thought, I wove it into shape: delicate strands, thinner than hair, drifting across her body like wind-drawn feathers.
The first touch ghosted across her collarbone—so light she flinched.
Her lips parted, chest rising in a slow arch as the sensation curled downward like a question whispered against bare skin. I kept it there for a moment, letting it stroke the delicate hollow between her breasts, a ticklish brush that made her thighs tense and her hips shift.
A satisfied hum rose in my throat.
She couldn't see me. Couldn't hear me. But Goddess, I could feel her.
I moved the phantom feathers lower, over the slope of her stomach, where the muscle jumped beneath the teasing trails. They danced there, circling her navel, spiraling outward in soft, rhythmic pulses—just enough to make her arch into it and then retreat.
Still not touching her with my hands. Not yet.
She gasped—one hand flexing against the vines and flowers beneath her as the magic lifted again and brushed just beneath the curve of her ribs.
Ticklish.
Deliciously so.
I leaned closer, lips almost grazing her ear, and whispered with my breath instead of my voice. "Feel me, Therrin. Everywhere. In every shiver. Every breath. I'm inside your silence."
Her mouth opened, her body twisting slightly, as if trying to chase the sensation down.
She didn't even realize she'd moaned.
The magic curled upward now, feather-soft across the underside of her arms, brushing the sensitive skin there as though dragging silk along the nerve endings. She trembled.
A flush began to rise along her throat—rosy and raw—spreading like fire beneath porcelain.
I drew back just a little, watching her. Studying the way she responded with only her body. No words. No protest. Just the truth of sensation, spoken in shivers and gasps.
And still, I didn't touch her.
Not yet.
Instead, I shifted the magic again. I made it breathe—like warm air dancing across her thighs, coiling along the inside of her knee, then drifting higher… higher…
But not quite there.
Not yet.
She writhed in the bed of vines, the forest hushed around us, the flowers blooming wider in the dark like they, too, were drinking in the magic between us.
I let the feathers brush her lower lip.
She licked it. Slowly. Unconsciously.
And I exhaled a curse I hadn't meant to say aloud.
I reached out—finally—cupping her cheek, grounding her as her senses spun. "You don't need to hear my voice," I said softly, "because your body's already listening."
The magic curled once more, this time trailing behind her ear and down the sensitive line of her neck.
She cried out.
The sound was small and wild, half-choked by the silence imposed by the veil.
But I heard it in my soul.
And I wasn't done with her.
Not even close.
I let my fingertips finally graze her skin — a whisper, a confirmation that I was real and here and watching. She shivered at the contrast between the weightless teasing of my magic and the heat of my hand. Skin-to-skin, her reaction was instantaneous — like lightning pulled toward the ground.
I didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The trail of magic I'd conjured shifted with my will — now warmer, denser, wrapping around her thighs like invisible hands. I parted them with a thought. Gently. Slowly. And the vines beneath her shifted, opening beneath her body, giving space. Inviting. Displaying.
Her breath caught, chest rising, lips parting in a voiceless moan that I felt through the bond like the first crack of thunder before a storm.
"You're trembling," I murmured, though she couldn't hear me. "And it's not fear. It's not doubt."
I leaned over her, letting my magic continue its slow assault — feather-light strokes now tracing up her inner thighs, pausing just shy of where she ached most. The anticipation was a flame between us, and I fed it.
"You like this," I said against her throat. "Being undone. Not knowing what I'll do next."
Her hips arched up — answering in the only way she could.
The smirk that rose on my lips felt sharp and primal.
I took my time with her mouth next — the only part of her fully exposed. My thumb brushed over her bottom lip, coaxing it open. She kissed the pad of it like a plea. No sound. Just heat and need and desperation written across her tongue.
"You're so loud like this," I whispered, dragging my mouth across her cheek, her jaw. "Without ever saying a word."
And then I let the magic change again.
No longer feathers.
Now it was like breath — mine — drifting across every inch of her as if I were tasting her all at once. Soft and warm and maddening. It caressed her collarbone, circled her breasts, traced the shell of her ear, pulsed over her hips and the curve of her waist — a lover's mouth pressed to a thousand places at once.
She writhed beneath it, hands fisting in the petals and vines, her thighs twitching under the teasing, the maddening almost-there pressure that never gave her what she wanted.
I whispered at her ear — not words this time, just sound. My voice, low and primal, laced with Fey magic, vibrating against her skin like music she could feel but not hear.
She gasped again — louder now. The silence around her made it echo inside the bond. It thundered through me like a war drum.
Her scent had changed — deeper now, thick with want.
I needed to taste her.
But I wasn't rushing anything. Not this time.
Instead, I slipped a hand beneath the arch of her back, lifting her just enough so I could press my mouth to the pulse fluttering in her throat.
Then I whispered against her skin—dark, possessive, and almost cruel in how much I meant it:
"You let him touch you like this?" My voice was fire against her skin. "No. He doesn't get to keep that part of you".
She squirmed — not in denial.
In challenge.
And I met it.
I moved lower, kissing down the center of her chest while my magic continued to stroke every inch of her in phantom waves, now mimicking fingertips, now lips, now the heated press of a thigh against hers.
She bit her lip until I thought she'd draw blood.
Her silence made her pleasure sacred.
I rose above her again, both of us flushed and undone, and reached down between her wrists.
The vines there began to twist and coil up her forearms — not to bind, but to cradle. To keep her still while I consumed her.
And then—
In a voice low, rough, and laced with every ounce of primal need I'd kept buried since the moment I first saw her, I said:
"Lay perfectly still for me, Therrin. Let me show you what he could never reach"
She quivered when I said her name like that. I didn't wait.
The magic at her thighs grew heavier, more precise — no longer merely teasing, now guiding, pressing, claiming. I used it like a painter's brush, drawing invisible strokes over her body, watching the way she arched, helpless to the anticipation.
Her mouth fell open, and the sound that tore from her lips was raw — a broken moan, high and desperate.
But she didn't flinch at its pitch. Didn't react to her own cry.
Because she couldn't hear it.
Not the gasp, not the pleading whimper, not even the way she sobbed his name into the air.
The Whisper Veil had severed her from sound. Left her stranded in silence while her body sang.
And gods, she was singing for him.
"I could listen to the sound you just made for the rest of my immortal life."
"And you'll never know how perfect you sound begging for more."
My hands followed the path of my magic now, one sliding beneath her knee, lifting it, spreading her wider. The other flattened against her stomach, holding her still while the phantom strokes brushed lower, lower, until—
She shuddered violently.
I felt it through the bond like wildfire tearing through my chest.
And I kept going.
My magic morphed again — a thousand soft kisses, then hot pressure like a tongue dragging over flushed skin, then a sudden sting of cold like a breath in winter, only to be replaced by a rush of heat so intense her entire spine bowed off the forest bed.
She was shaking.
Glistening.
Completely at my mercy — and loving it.
"I feel what you want," I whispered into her skin, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, the only place she might still be able to imagine my voice. "You want me to be cruel. You want me to take. You want me to burn you into ash."
My fingers curled against her inner thigh.
The magic pulled away just long enough for her body to scream at the loss.
I didn't give her a reprieve.
Instead, I pressed my mouth to her throat again and let my canines drag — not enough to break the skin, but enough to warn her.
She bucked, her wrist straining against the vines — not to escape, but to reach.
Desperate.
Wrecked.
Needing.
My mouth found hers at last, and I kissed her like I wanted to swallow her whole.
All of her silence. Her sins. Her surrender.
The vines below pulsed with my power, blooming as my magic surged into them. The entire forest seemed to shiver in response — a living thing reacting to our joining.
And then, voice thick and guttural, I growled in her ear:
"You're going to take what I give you you. Every inch, every every kiss, until these no pay of you he ever touched that I haven't claimed back".
She writhed beneath me, her skin damp with heat, her limbs trembling from pleasure that had already begun to consume her. The Whisper Veil still cloaked her ears in silence, but her lips were parted in breathless abandon. Her moans, raw and unrestrained, were music only I could hear — and I devoured every sound like a starving man.
The vines beneath her shimmered, laced with the threads of my magic, shifting to cradle her more securely as if even they hungered to touch her. My hand hovered above her navel, and I let a soft hum of power ripple outward — slow and teasing. The spell danced over her skin like a feathered caress, whispering against every nerve ending, brushing just enough to stir goosebumps, never quite enough to satisfy.
Her thighs twitched. Her back arched.
The spell was working.
I painted her with sensation. Not with fingers, but with invisible strokes of elemental magic — fine as silk, sharp as craving. My power curled over the curve of her ribs, tracing upward with the delicacy of breath on bare flesh. I watched her stomach quiver as the spell tiptoed higher, swirling across her sternum, then gliding over the soft slopes of her chest. Some traveling lower, below her belly, into the most sensitive part of her aching to be touched.
And then I focused — letting the magic tighten in, sharper now, more intense.
She gasped, her mouth dropping open in soundless bliss as the currents honed in on her nipples and her bud.
Her entire body snapped taut like a bowstring. Fingers clawed at the moss and flower-laced vines beneath her, dragging lines through the earth as if she could anchor herself to reality through sheer force. Her hips jerked violently — not away, but upward, chasing the sensations, desperate for more.
Her lips formed a scream. Her head thrashed side to side, silver-streaked hair fanning wildly around her like she was caught in some storm of her own creation.
The magic rippled through her again and again — featherlight and maddening, then deep and pulsing, tugging her higher with no rhythm she could predict. Her chest heaved, breasts rising with every shuddering breath as the spell teased, flicked, and rolled across her sensitive peaks. Her thighs trembled, muscles spasming, straining against the pleasure as if it might tear her in half.
I'd never seen her like this.
Wild. Feral. Consumed.
And yet, beautiful.
Like chaos wearing her skin.
A growl built in my throat. I didn't release it — I let it coil in my chest, feeding the hunger that only she could evoke in me. She looked ruined already, but I knew better. She hadn't fallen yet. She was riding the edge like a creature born to dance on the rim of madness.
And I was going to push her over.