Ciaran's POV
The forest was quieter now. Not just in the absence of sound, but in energy. With Dion gone and his bond with Therrin severed, the air no longer trembled with tension whenever Ciaran was near. Still, that didn't mean it was calm. Not exactly.
Therrin moved differently now. She was still fierce, still sharp as broken glass in the moonlight, but there was a new weight to her steps—something hidden beneath her skin. She'd return from short walks alone, claiming she needed air, but Ciaran could feel it.
Something was changing inside her.
And yet, despite the pulse of shadow magic he sometimes caught lingering faintly around her, she was more open with him than she had ever been.
He sat on the mossy ledge outside the hollow they'd claimed as temporary shelter, sharpening one of his curved blades out of habit rather than need. The rhythmic scrape of stone against steel soothed the rising storm in his chest. He didn't like not knowing. But what he did know… was that Dion was gone.
And the bond?
Fractured. Snapped. Dead.
He should have felt triumphant. Possessively victorious.
But all he could think about was the way Therrin had cried when she woke up the next morning after it happened—tears silent but relentless, as if grieving a part of herself she'd never get back.
He didn't interrupt her. Just sat close, let her lean on him, and held her until the shaking stopped.
Now, days later, things had shifted.
For the first time, she let him braid her hair. That morning. Simple, quiet, as they sat with the first fingers of dawn creeping through the trees. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The way she tilted her head forward and exposed her nape was enough.
He watched her now, just ahead of him, her bare feet brushing against the forest floor. She was talking to Grimm—softly, lightly—but every so often, her eyes flicked to him. Testing. Tasting the quiet between them.
Ciaran rose, slipped his blade into its sheath, and followed her.
"You're too quiet," Therrin said without turning.
"I'm always quiet," he replied.
"Not like this."
Grimm gave him a lingering glance before muttering something about hunting and disappearing into the underbrush.
Smart cat.
"You miss him?" Ciaran asked once they were alone.
She froze, her hand reaching for the low-hanging branch above. "You mean Dion?"
He nodded.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned against the trunk of a tree and stared into the dappled light that filtered through the canopy. "I miss the bond. Not what came with it."
Ciaran stepped closer, slow. Careful. Testing the edges of this fragile, shifting space between them.
"And what comes with this?" he asked.
Her gaze flicked up. "This?"
"Us."
"You tell me," she said, voice softer than he expected.
He moved until they stood only inches apart. Close enough that he could smell the earth on her skin, the lingering sharpness of shadow magic threaded through her scent like smoke.
"I don't want to take anything from you," he said.
"You already have," she whispered.
His fingers brushed her cheek. "Then let me give you something back."
She leaned into his hand without hesitation this time.
"You don't feel like a thief," she murmured. "You feel like… a storm I walked into willingly."
"Then why are you still holding back?"
"Because I hear her in my head every time I look at you."
"Ari?"
Therrin nodded. Her expression twisted, conflicted. "She doesn't trust you. Not entirely. She says you're dangerous. That if I fall too far into you, I'll lose the part of me that still sees clearly."
"And do you think that?"
"I think you already have a piece of me I can't take back."
His heart kicked once—hard—in his chest. He didn't show it.
Instead, he stepped even closer and lowered his head until their foreheads touched.
"You could burn this forest down with a single thought, and I would still kneel in the ashes for the chance to touch you," he said. "But I'll never take what you don't offer."
She reached up and curled her fingers in the collar of his shirt. "I don't think I've ever offered this before."
He swallowed. "Then let me earn it."
A pause.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn't fierce. It wasn't desperate.
It was slow. Searching. Like she was asking him something with her mouth that she didn't know how to say with words.
And he answered.
He answered with his hands at her waist, pulling her close.
With the quiet groan in his throat when she deepened it.
With the way he didn't press her further, just held her like she was something precious.
They stayed there, wrapped in that forest hush, until Ari screamed inside Therrin's mind.
He's not who you think he is! You're letting yourself be led, Therrin!
Therrin staggered back, gripping her head. "Stop it."
"You okay?" Ciaran asked, reaching out.
She stepped away.
"I'm fine," she muttered. "Ari just doesn't know how to shut up."
"She still hates me."
"She still loves Dion," Therrin corrected. "She still misses him."
"And what about you?" Ciaran asked. His voice was rough, restrained. "Do you?"
"I told you," she said. "I miss what we had. Not what it became."
"Then what are we becoming?"
She didn't answer at first. But her eyes—golden, haunted—locked onto his, and for a brief second, all the walls fell.
"I think we're becoming something I can't survive," she whispered.
"Then I'll make sure you do."
A flicker of disbelief passed across her face. "You say that like it's simple."
"It's not. But it's mine to prove."
She closed her eyes. "Ari's going to make this hell."
"Let her try," he said. "I've walked through worse."
They stayed there in silence for a while, side by side. No more kisses. No more sharp words. Just the weight of everything unsaid pressing down around them.