Dion's POV
He should've turned away.
He told himself that with every breath. Every shuddering exhale as he crouched behind the thorns, watching the shadows writhe around Therrin's bare form like they owned her. Like he never had.
But he didn't move.
He couldn't.
Her pleasure flooded him, relentless and punishing. Every moan that slipped from her mouth struck him like a spell, vibrating down his spine, coiling in his gut. He didn't just hear her. He felt her. The grip of her need. The pull of her muscles. The breathless gasp when Ciaran whispered her name like a curse and a prayer in the same breath.
It was killing him.
She arched again, thighs trembling as the shadows danced along her skin in tendrils of aching seduction. And Dion — helpless, furious, shaking — felt her climax tear through him like it was his.
He choked on it.
Collapsed to his knees, one hand bracing the ground, the other—
Gods help him.
He was touching himself.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't even conscious. Just instinct. Desperation. His body reacting to hers like a mirror warped by magic and longing and everything he never wanted to admit.
He groaned through clenched teeth, sweat beading at his temples as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Make it stop.
But it didn't.
The bond was still there. Weak, yes — but open. A thread she hadn't cut. And now… he could feel everything.
His breath turned ragged.
He imagined it wasn't Ciaran between her thighs. That the groans weren't someone else's. That he was the one making her cry out. The one touching her where she ached the most. The one she'd once whispered dreams to in the dark.
But then—
She gasped his name.
Not his.
Ciaran's.
"More," she moaned. "Please—more, Ciaran—"
Something snapped in Dion's chest. His fist struck the dirt. His other hand stilled.
But the arousal didn't leave. It worsened. Ciaran must've felt him again — knew he was still watching.
"Why don't you enjoy it with us, princeling?" Ciaran's voice echoed across the clearing like smoke, low and taunting. "You already are."
Dion's heart thundered. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
But his body betrayed him. His hips lifted. His breath quickened. His skin flushed.
And when the next wave hit — another climax from Therrin, channeled through that cursed tether — Dion came.
Right there in the forest. On his knees. Hidden. Alone.
And utterly ruined by someone else's pleasure.
His breath caught in his throat. Shame and lust warred in his veins. He hunched forward, forehead pressed to the cool earth as the last tremors rolled through him.
This wasn't just magic.
It was possession.
Then Ciaran's voice slid through the trees like smoke and silk:
"Oh Dion…" A chuckle followed, dark and amused. "Did it feel that good, just watching?"
Silence.
Dion didn't answer — couldn't. His throat burned with shame.
Ciaran's tone sharpened into a smirk. "Careful. Watch long enough, and you might start begging next."
Dion's knees pressed against the cold earth as the waves of pleasure still hummed beneath his skin, shadows of what he'd felt rippling through him. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms, trying to ground himself in a reality slipping further away.
"Ciaran," he whispered, voice hoarse, trembling. "Please… just—please let me have her. Just a moment. Just one chance to show her… to prove that I'm the one she needs."
His heart thundered in his chest, equal parts rage and pleading swirling inside him.
"I'm begging you," Dion breathed, head bowed, eyes burning with desperation. "Don't keep her from me. Don't… don't take her away."
The shadows around the clearing flickered, responding to the tension, and for a heartbeat, the forest seemed to hold its breath.
Ciaran's voice cut through the silence, low and amused, yet laced with authority. "Beg all you want, Dion. But Therrin belongs to me as much as to you."
Dion's breath hitched, but he forced himself to meet that voice head-on.
"Then let me earn her back. Let me fight for her."
The shadows writhed, a faint pulse of dark energy rippling through the air — a silent warning, or a promise. Dion didn't know which.
But beneath it all, his desire burned hotter than ever. He was lost in the ache of what he could not have… and terrified of what he might lose forever.
Ciaran's eyes glinted like dark embers as he stepped forward, the shadows curling and twisting around him like living things. His voice was low, teasing, but with an unmistakable edge of command.
"Therrin," he said, voice smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade, "tell me—what do you want? Speak clearly. I'm listening."
The air thickened with tension as all eyes—Dion's, the shadows', and Ciaran's—focused on her. The weight of the question hung between them, heavy and electric.
Therrin's gaze flickered from Dion to Ciaran, her chest rising with a steady breath. The moment to claim her desire was hers, and she knew it.
Therrin's eyes sparkled with fierce clarity as she met Ciaran's gaze without hesitation.
"For this moment," she said, voice low and steady, "I want both of you. I want your hands, your touch, your fire—all of it. I want to feel the pull between you, to be the center of it. No divides. No limits."
She took a slow breath, her chest rising and falling with quiet strength. "Right now, I'm mine… but I'm choosing this. Choosing you both."
The shadows around them seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat, a living echo of her desire.
Ciaran's lips curved into a satisfied smile, dark and dangerous. "Good girl. You speak with the fire I knew you had."
He glanced at Dion, a challenge burning in his eyes. "Then, Dion… are you ready to earn her tonight?"
Dion's jaw clenched, a storm raging behind his eyes. The challenge ignited every nerve, every flicker of desire and frustration coursing through him. He took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to steel himself against the whirlwind of emotions.
"I'll earn her," he said, voice steady but fierce, "every inch, every moment. Not because I have to—but because I want to. Because she's worth the fight."
His gaze locked with Therrin's, raw and unwavering, and then shifted to Ciaran, a silent promise—and a warning—wrapped in the depths of his stare.
The tension in the air thickened, electric and heavy, as the shadows watched, waiting, hungry.
Ciaran smirked, eyes glittering with dark amusement. "Very well. Then let the night decide who she truly belongs to."
Dion's resolve shattered the moment he stepped forward, the magnetic pull to Therrin too strong to resist. His hands found her, light at first—tracing the curve of her waist, the hollow of her throat—while Ciaran's touch continued its intoxicating dance.
The two men moved in a seamless, unspoken rhythm, their fingers and lips claiming and cherishing every inch of her skin. Therrin's breath hitched, caught between the softness of Dion's caress and the dark fire burning in Ciaran's touch.
Her body responded, arching toward them, craving the completion only their combined presence could bring. Every touch, every sigh, every shared glance wove them tighter—an unbreakable bond forged in shadow and flame.
Dion's voice, rough and urgent, whispered against her ear, "You're mine, too. Every part."
Ciaran's grin deepened, low and possessive. "But she's ours… in every way that matters."
Together, they held her, worshipping and claiming, a perfect storm of passion and power.
Therrin's POV
Therrin's skin felt alive beneath their touch, each stroke a wildfire kindling deep within her. Dion's hands were gentle but insistent, tracing the delicate planes of her ribs and the curve of her hips, grounding her even as Ciaran's shadowed fingers sent shivers racing down her spine. The contrast—the warmth of Dion's fingertips and the cool, elusive caress of the shadows—made every nerve ending tingle, her breath catching with each deliberate movement.
She arched toward them instinctively, the ache coiling tighter, a delicious tension pulsing through her core. Her eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the swirling sensations, the whispered promises that felt like both chains and wings. The shadows wove around her like silk threads, binding her in a cocoon of sensation—every caress, every glide a note in the dark symphony that only she could hear.
Dion's lips brushed against her jaw, trailing down to the hollow of her neck, his breath warm and intoxicating. She shivered, trembling on the edge of something fierce and wild, her heart pounding a fierce rhythm in her chest. Ciaran's voice, low and rough, murmured into her ear, stirring something deeper still, wrapping around her like smoke and flame.
She felt the weight of them both—strong, demanding, possessive—and yet in that moment, it was hers to command, hers to hold. The hunger inside her was raw and unyielding, a dark tide that crashed and receded with every whispered word and every heated touch.
Her fingers curled into the air, searching for something solid, something real amid the haze of pleasure. She wanted this—wanted them both—their fire and their shadows, their strength and their softness. And as the sensations swelled, as the boundaries between pain and pleasure blurred, she found herself letting go completely, surrendering to the night, to the touch that claimed her without reservation.
Therrin gasped as Dion's mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat down her body, and Ciaran's shadows followed, curling like smoke around the same path. She was caught in the center of their hunger, suspended in a storm of sensation—one made of devotion, the other of domination.
Her breath hitched when Ciaran's hand closed gently around her throat—not to threaten, but to claim. His thumb caressed the rapid pulse beneath her jaw, a silent reminder of who had awoken this fire. But Dion—Dion gave it shape. His fingers splayed across her stomach, grounding her, reminding her that she wasn't falling but rising into something new.
The moment felt like worship. Not the quiet kind sung in temples, but a ritual written in shadow and skin—each motion a verse, each sigh a sacred vow.
"You feel it, don't you?" Ciaran rasped against her temple, his other hand sliding down her side, shadows tracing in tandem. "Two souls. Two men. And only one body to bear it all."
"I feel everything," she whispered, head tipping back as Dion's mouth grazed the inside of her thigh. She trembled, her legs falling farther apart under the weight of their combined presence.
"You're perfect like this," Dion murmured, his voice reverent. "Open. Needing. Ours."
She whimpered, caught between a moan and a cry, as the shadows teased places that made her hips jerk, her thoughts scatter. Her hands found Ciaran's chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath her palms, while Dion's tongue moved with unrelenting skill, drawing out every pulse of need until she was vibrating with it.
The pleasure was a loop, each touch amplifying the last—Ciaran's darkness feeding Dion's devotion, Dion's patience sharpening Ciaran's hunger. And she, caught in the eye of it, felt herself come apart and reassemble again and again.
She arched against them, against everything, and let herself be undone—not by force, but by the truth of what she'd whispered earlier:
She wanted them both.
And now, they were giving her everything.