Therrin
The forest had gone quiet. Too quiet.
Therrin stood still beneath the canopy, her breath catching at the sound of Dion's voice behind her. She could feel his presence before he spoke, his energy distinct—warm, steady, familiar.
"Therrin…" he said gently, approaching like he was afraid she'd vanish into the shadows.
She didn't turn around.
Her fingers clenched at her sides, trembling. Not from fear, not even from anticipation. But because the moment she'd sensed him, something darker had stirred beneath her skin.
Ciaran.
His voice slithered through her mind like smoke. "Don't let him touch you. Not when your body already remembers me."
Dion moved closer, his footfalls deliberate, trying not to spook her. "I need to talk to you. Please… just listen."
"He thinks you're listening," Ciaran murmured, a slow, satisfied laugh curling around her nerves. "But I know better. I know how close you are to coming undone. You feel me, don't you? Even now."
Therrin gasped as an invisible hand—no, not a hand, but the sensation of a hundred velvet strands of shadow—brushed up her inner thigh. Her knees nearly gave out.
Dion was in front of her now, reaching for her arm. "Therrin, I—"
Her eyes flew open, but she couldn't speak.
Because the second his fingers grazed her skin, Ciaran's command pulsed like a jolt of electricity through her limbs. The shadows inside her obeyed him without hesitation.
Pleasure hit her like a wave crashing against rock—sharp, overwhelming, merciless.
She stumbled backward, clutching the nearest tree, lips parting in a silent moan.
Dion's hand hovered near her shoulder, guilt and confusion flickering across his face. "What's happening to you?"
"He touches you like he has a right to. But only I make your body sing," Ciaran growled, his voice now laced with possessive delight. "Let me show him."
Another surge of heat rippled through her core—more intense this time, and cruelly precise. Her spine arched, mouth open in a gasp she tried to muffle.
Dion tried again. "Therrin, please—"
"Say something to him," Ciaran cooed. "Let him think you're still his. Let him feel hope before I tear it from him."
But she couldn't. Her voice was gone, swallowed by the mounting ache. It twisted through her stomach, pooled between her legs—need, raw and hungry.
"You need relief," Ciaran whispered. "Say the word, and I'll give it to you."
She sank to her knees.
Dion lunged toward her, panic rising. "Therrin!"
But before he could reach her again, a tendril of shadow lashed out—not at him, but at her senses. It was like Ciaran had touched her soul, dragging her into ecstasy with a single thought.
"Now," he breathed inside her. "Get up. Go somewhere private. You know what you need. I won't let you take it from him—not even a secondhand taste. Go. Now."
Therrin blinked, dazed, aroused beyond reason, the world blurring at the edges. She forced herself to her feet, staggering backward.
"I—I have to go," she choked out, barely able to look Dion in the eye.
His mouth opened, ready to follow her, but the shadows hissed around him in warning.
Therrin turned and ran, her body aflame, every step sending friction through her trembling muscles. Ciaran's voice purred through her again:
"That's it, my greedy girl. Find someplace quiet. And then beg me for release."
The forest blurred around her as she ran—barefoot, breathless, burning. Tree limbs whipped past her cheeks like warning slaps, and the cool wind did nothing to soothe the molten ache deep inside her.
Therrin didn't know where she was going. She only knew what Ciaran wanted. What she needed.
"That's it, darling," his voice hummed through her blood. "Farther. Deeper into the trees. No one will find you there. No one but me."
She stumbled over a root, caught herself on a branch, and hissed as the bark scraped her palm. The sting grounded her, briefly—but the shadows inside her pulsed in protest, eager to drown the pain in pleasure again.
Finally, she found a narrow clearing tucked between two stones covered in moss. The shadows pooled there like they'd been waiting. Familiar. Almost… sacred.
She collapsed to her knees in the center of it.
"Ciaran," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest, "make it stop or—"
"Or what?" he teased, his voice thick with velvet and smoke. "You'll cry for Dion? You'll beg him to kiss it better? No, little witch… I know what you want."
And her body betrayed her again. A tremble worked its way up from her thighs as the shadows coiled around her hips, brushing her skin like a lover's fingertips. She cried out, half in frustration, half in desperate, blinding want.
"Touch yourself," he murmured. "But only as I tell you."
She whimpered, head bowing forward.
Pleasure surged again. White-hot. Punishing.
Her hands trembled above her thighs.
"Do it," Ciaran said. "Now. Show me who owns you."
She obeyed.
Her fingers slid against fevered skin, and the moment she touched herself, his voice darkened—growling, possessive, ravenous.
"Good girl."
The praise made her gasp, a moan ripping through her throat. The shadows responded in kind, tightening around her wrists and ankles—not holding her down, just reminding her. Who she belonged to. Who her body obeyed.
Each movement of her hand echoed with Ciaran's encouragements. "Slower. That's right. Feel me there. Don't pretend it's anyone else."
Tears slipped down her cheeks as her breath hitched, muscles tightening. Her climax built slowly, torturously. Not hers alone. It belonged to him. Every tremor, every gasp—it was his.
"Say it," Ciaran whispered.
"I'm yours," she sobbed, falling forward on one arm. "Only yours."
The release came fast—crashing through her like a storm shattering glass. And the shadows sang. So did she.
In the aftermath, the ground cradled her body, slick with sweat and grass and shame she no longer understood. Her heartbeat was a war drum against her ribs. She tried to gather herself, but the darkness wouldn't let her go—not fully.
She could still feel Dion somewhere close—his worry, his confusion, maybe even his pain.
And then, suddenly, she heard him.
"Therrin… gods, what has he done to you?"
The voice didn't come from her ears—it was in her chest, her mind, like a bond straining to hold.
She flinched. "Ciaran," she whispered aloud, curling into herself. "I can hear Dion. He's still… inside me somehow."
The shadows stirred.
"Tch," Ciaran hissed, annoyed but amused. "Persistent, isn't he? Like a flea in your fur."
Then his voice sharpened, laced with menace.
"Dion."
His name rang like thunder in Therrin's skull, so forceful she thought it might split her open.
"You listening, little prince?" Ciaran purred. "You can speak into her head all you want. Whisper your apologies. Promise your forever. But let's get something very, very clear—this body? It doesn't come when you call. It comes when I say so."
Therrin shuddered violently. Shadows coiled tighter around her chest like a lover's embrace or a predator's cage.
"So keep watching, golden boy," Ciaran growled. "Feel every sound she makes. But don't you dare think they're for you."
Therrin tried to breathe, but her lungs felt heavy. The shadows curled around her ribs like fingers pressing gently—always reminding, always present. Ciaran's voice hummed through her blood like a second heartbeat.
"That's better," he murmured, pleased. "Now that he knows his place."
But Dion wasn't quiet.
"Therrin, please—"
She gasped. His voice again, fainter now, like wind through cracks in the stone.
"You don't have to let him own you like this."
Her hands curled into fists.
"I didn't let him," she whispered. "I just—he won't leave. He's in me. In my head. In my—"
"In your soul," Ciaran finished darkly. "And that's where I'll stay."
Her skin pulsed with heat.
"He thinks you're still his."
Ciaran's laughter was low, thick with venom and victory. "But he can't reach you, Therrin. Not the way I can."
A flash of gold shimmered at the edge of her vision.
She turned her head toward the feeling, toward where she knew Dion stood—unseen, untouched, but present. Watching.
"Dion," she whispered. The name tasted like guilt.
The shadows hissed.
Pain—not sharp, but deep and dull like a bruise—spread across her chest. And then Ciaran's voice again, no longer amused.
"Say that name again and I'll remind your body who it moans for."
Her lips parted. She didn't say it.
Her fingers twitched against the moss.
She could feel Dion's emotion pressing in—like light trying to burn through a locked door. Not lust. Not possession. Just… ache. Real, raw ache.
She wanted to cry.
But Ciaran's grip didn't waver. He was still there, wrapped around her like smoke in her lungs, pleasure still simmering beneath her skin. She couldn't tell if it was over—or if it would ever be.
"Therrin," Dion tried again, quieter now, "If you can hear me—fight him."
She pressed her forehead to the earth.
"I don't want to," she whispered.
It was a lie. And it wasn't.
Because part of her did want to fight. Wanted to claw her way back to light, to safety, to Dion's steady warmth.
But the other part—the darker one—the hungry one… she wanted to sink deeper into Ciaran. Wanted to be ruined. Claimed. Obey.
And that part was stronger now.
The shadows purred at her confession.
"You're learning," Ciaran said with cruel affection. "You'll stop lying to yourself soon enough."
She closed her eyes.
Her body was sore. Her lips swollen. Her thighs still trembling.
But her soul?
It was split—tugged between golden sunlight and ravenous shadow. Between the man who loved her and the creature who possessed her.
"Say that name again," Ciaran growled, "and I'll remind your body who it moans for."
Her breath caught. The air between her thighs still pulsed, still slick with his shadowed touch. Her lips trembled—
But then she lifted her chin.
"Dion."
The name was a whisper. But it echoed like a scream through the bond.
Instantly, the shadows reacted. A violent shudder bolted through her spine, her thighs clenching with uncontrollable pleasure as tendrils of darkness wrapped tight around her nerves. She cried out, arching off the ground, back bowed.
"Oh gods—" she gasped, the orgasm ripping through her without mercy. The pleasure was blinding, overwhelming, punishing.
Ciaran's eyes glowed, not with rage, but twisted delight.
"There it is," he hissed. "Say it again, darling. Let me watch you break from it."
She whimpered, tears burning in her lashes, body twitching beneath the aftermath.
"Dion," she choked again, even as her vision blurred.
And again, the shadows surged.
This time, her knees buckled inward. Her hips lifted off the moss with a cry so raw it barely sounded human. The sensations burned—pleasure and pain laced into one, and still, she didn't stop.
"Dion," she moaned, even as her body trembled violently.
Ciaran knelt beside her, his expression unreadable.
But inside, his magic twisted cruelly, deeper, sharper.
He grabbed her jaw. "You want him so badly?" His voice was velvet and knives. "Then feel what it costs."
Pleasure hit her again—wave after wave until her thighs were shaking, her hands clawing at the moss, sobs breaking from her throat.
"Still think you belong to him?" he growled.
She couldn't speak. Couldn't think.
He leaned in, shadow fingers curling around her neck like a collar, possessive and pulsing.
"You'll come until you forget his name," Ciaran promised, "until only mine remains on your tongue."
But through the haze, through the gasps and the tears, she whispered one more time:
"Dion…"
Her body shook, slick with sweat and shadows. Ciaran's grip on her jaw was tight, but not cruel. Not yet. His eyes blazed — not with fury, but with desire so dark it could drown kingdoms.
"Still think you belong to him?" he growled.
Therrin's breath came in ragged bursts. Her thighs still trembled from the aftershocks, her lips parted with soundless moans.
But her eyes — stars-drenched and stubborn — met his.
"I belong to me," she panted. "And if saying his name makes you do this to me… maybe I'll say it again."
Ciaran's nostrils flared.
"You greedy, wicked thing," he snarled.
He didn't even need to move. The shadows inside her obeyed his rage. Pleasure erupted again, sudden and uncontrollable — her hips jerking upward as though possessed. A cry ripped from her throat as another orgasm crashed through her without warning, more intense than the last.
She tried to close her legs, tried to resist — but the shadows held them wide.
Ciaran leaned in, brushing sweat-damp hair from her cheek. His lips ghosted hers.
"Say it again, and I'll make sure Dion feels every shudder, every helpless moan you give me. You think he wants to know what I've done to you?" His grin was all teeth. "He does. He always does."
Therrin whimpered — not from fear, not even from pain. From the way her body betrayed her, melting under his command, slick and spent and still aching.
And then — like a breath carried through ash — she heard Dion.
"Therrin?" The voice was distant but inside her. "Please. I can't reach you. I can't—gods, what is he doing to you?"
Her fingers dug into the moss. Her chest heaved.
"Ciaran…" she breathed. "I can hear him."
Ciaran stilled for half a beat. Then, slowly, a shadow-curved smirk rose on his face.
"Good," he said silkily, brushing two fingers down her stomach. "Let him listen."
He raised his voice — not loud, but precise, knowing Dion would hear it echo through their fractured bond.
"Do you feel that, Dion?" Ciaran said, slipping a hand between her thighs again. "This is what it sounds like when she chooses me. When she begs for me."
Therrin gasped as his touch ignited another surge of pleasure, her legs twitching.
"She's mine," Ciaran murmured against her throat. "Her moans, her trembling, the way her body blooms for me — it's all mine. And now, Dion, you know it too."
Therrin's head tipped back, overwhelmed by sensation — but somewhere inside, something in her burned brighter.
Not rage. Not regret.
Possession. Hunger.
And power.
Ciaran's hand didn't leave her.
His fingers, half-shadow, half-skin, slipped lower — slow, deliberate, knowing she was still trembling from the last release. And yet he didn't ease. He pressed in, dragging another gasp from her throat, her body arching like a bow strung too tight.
"Such a sweet, ruined thing," he murmured. "Still so eager, even after everything. Tell me, Therrin… do you want me to keep touching you?"
She nodded, breathless.
He pulled his hand away instantly.
"Words," he said coldly, voice slicing through her haze. "Or you get nothing."
"I want it," she whispered, too fast. Then again, louder. "Please, I want your touch. I want you, Ciaran."
That earned her a sound — low and dark, somewhere between a groan and a growl. He kissed her, claiming her mouth with the same ruthless hunger that burned in his touch. His tongue slid against hers, shadows curling around their lips like smoke.
When he broke the kiss, her lips were bruised and breathless.
"Spread your legs for me," he said.
She did. No hesitation.
The shadows helped, curling around her thighs like black silk, keeping her open for him as he descended — not with haste, but reverence. His mouth met her skin, lips brushing along her inner thigh. He kissed her slowly, cruelly, biting and soothing in equal measure.
Therrin writhed beneath him, moaning shamelessly now. The pressure built again — impossibly soon, too soon — but her body didn't care. It wanted more. Him. Always him.
Ciaran paused, mouth poised at her core. He looked up at her, eyes glowing molten red.
"Let him feel this too," he said darkly. "Let Dion ache for what he lost."
And then his mouth was on her — tongue and shadow, heat and hunger — and Therrin screamed.
The orgasm crashed through her like fire. Her spine bowed. Her fingers clawed at the moss. Ciaran didn't stop. He held her through it, savoring every quiver, every broken sob of pleasure.
She heard Dion again — not with her ears, but deep inside her mind.
"Therrin—stop. Please. You don't know what he's doing to you—"
But she did.
And gods help her — she loved it.
She let the shadows pull her deeper, let Ciaran kiss her with the kind of hunger that made her feel more than human — more than witch — something holy and desecrated all at once.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his voice wrecked.
"You'll never want anything else again," he said.
And Therrin, still panting, still trembling, met his gaze with a fire of her own.
"I already don't."
Dion
He shouldn't have come.
He knew it the moment his feet left the mossy trail and entered the clearing where the air reeked of lust and shadow. Where the light bent unnaturally around the two figures tangled together like something divine and damned.
But he came anyway.
Drawn.
By the bond.
By her.
Ciaran was crouched between her legs, head buried between her thighs, while Therrin — his Therrin — moaned like a creature possessed. Her body arched with each flick of Ciaran's tongue, every pulse of shadowed pleasure that Dion could feel through the tether they still shared.
He wasn't supposed to feel it. Not anymore.
But he did.
And gods forgive him… he liked it.
It hit him like a tidal wave, the echo of her ecstasy. The way her soul trembled, the way her pleasure spilled into him — unwanted, uninvited. It didn't matter. His knees buckled. His vision blurred. Every part of him caught fire with the ache she tried to drown in Ciaran.
He tasted it on his tongue, heard her voice through the tether:
"Please, more—more of you, Ciaran…"
Something inside him broke.
He should've turned away. Should've shielded his mind, shut down the bond. But instead, he watched.
Watched as Ciaran lifted his head, lips slick with her desire, and whispered something that made her shudder again.
Watched as Therrin said things Dion never thought he'd hear from her — not like that, not to someone else.
His fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked so tight it ached. Rage burned in him like wildfire. But under it — beneath it — was a sickness. A need he didn't want. The shameful, unbearable arousal that came from her, not him. A twisted, secondhand pleasure that curled around his gut and gripped him with invisible claws.
Ciaran looked up, slowly — eyes glowing like twin embers. He smiled.
"Enjoying the show, little prince?"
Dion's breath caught.
He hadn't spoken. He hadn't moved.
But Ciaran knew.
Therrin didn't see him. Not yet. She was still panting beneath Ciaran's touch, hair spread like ink across the moss, skin glowing with sweat and magic and sin.
But she felt him.
Her back arched again.
And Dion felt it too.
Another blast of raw, aching pleasure hit him so hard he nearly collapsed. It wasn't his — it was hers — but gods, it felt like it belonged in his blood.
Ciaran laughed darkly. "That's right. Let him feel every second of this, darling. Let him drown in what he can't have."
Dion couldn't take his eyes off her.
He hated himself for it.
He hated Ciaran more.
But what he hated most… was that a part of him was still hers — bound by a thread she hadn't severed. Not completely.
And as her moans rang out into the shadows, echoing through the bond with unbearable clarity…
Dion finally understood.
Ciaran hadn't just taken her body.
He was unmaking her.
And Dion… was helpless to stop it.