Chapter 19
Merrit
Iwoke to warmth—not the oppressive heat of too many bodies in my bar, but the specific, deliberate warmth of him. Kieran's chest rose and fell against my back, his arm a heavy band across my waist, his breath stirring the hair at my nape.
For a moment, I didn't move. Couldn't. Because beneath the physical tangle of our bodies, something else hummed—a thread of awareness that wasn't quite thought, wasn't quite feeling. It pulsed between us, steady as a heartbeat, undeniable as breath.
The Whisperbound bond.
I could feel him. Not just his body pressed against mine, but something deeper. His contentment, warm and drowsy. A flicker of awareness as he began to wake. The ghost of concern threading through it all, worry he was trying to bury.
Mine, the bond whispered. Not possessive—just true.
His arm tightened fractionally, and I felt the shift in him as consciousness fully returned. Not panic, exactly, but a sudden awareness that cut through the drowsy peace.
"You're awake," he murmured against my shoulder, voice rough with sleep.
I turned in his arms, the sheets tangling around us. Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, painting his face in soft gold. His hair was mussed, eyes still heavy-lidded, and there was something unbearably vulnerable about seeing him like this—unguarded, unpracticed.
"So are you," I signed, then hesitated. My hands hovered between us, uncertain. "I can feel you. Through the bond. Is it always like this?"
His expression shifted, something raw flickering across his features. "I don't know. I've never been Whisperbound before." His hand came up to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "What do you feel?"
How could I explain it? It wasn't like reading minds—that was invasive, sharp, often unwanted. This was... softer. Like standing in the same room and knowing someone was there without seeing them. Feeling the warmth of another person's presence.
"You," I signed simply. "Your worry. Your..." I paused, heat creeping up my neck. "Your desire."
His pupils dilated, the bond between us suddenly thrumming with heat. "Can you feel this?" he asked, voice dropping lower.
The wave of want that rolled through him made my breath catch. It wasn't just his—it fed into mine, amplifying until I couldn't tell where his hunger ended and mine began.
"Yes," I mouthed, and then his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was different from last night's desperation.
Slower, deeper, exploratory. Every slide of his tongue sent pleasure rippling through us both, doubling back until we were both gasping.
When his hand slid down my side, I felt his satisfaction at my shiver and the shiver itself, sensation multiplied until it was almost too much.
"Saints," he groaned against my mouth. "I can feel what you feel. When I touch you here—” His palm cupped my breast, thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric of the shift I'd apparently put on at some point. "I feel your pleasure and mine."
I arched into his touch, dizzy with the echoed loop of sensation. My hands found his chest, mapping the planes of muscle, and through the bond, his sharp intake of breath, the way his cock hardened against my thigh.
An impulse struck me—reckless, desperate. What if the bond could do more than just share feelings? What if...
I focused on the thread connecting us, that humming awareness, and pushed a thought along it. Not words, exactly, but meaning shaped into something he might understand.
“Good morning.”
Kieran went rigid, eyes flying wide. "Did you just—" He stared at me, something like wonder crossing his features. "I heard you. Not out loud, but... in my head. Your voice."
My heart hammered against my ribs. “You can hear me?”
"Yes." His hand came up to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with something approaching reverence. "Saints, Merrit. I can hear you."
The magnitude of it crashed over me. For the first time since my throat had been cut, since I'd lost my voice—I could speak. Not to everyone, maybe not even to anyone else. But to him.
“Is it my voice?” I asked mentally, curious. “Or just... thoughts?”
"It's you," he breathed. "Your voice. I don't know how I know what you sound like, but I know it's you."
Something hot lodged in my throat. I had no memory of ever having a voice. That part of me had been stolen along with everything else before the orphanage.
“What do I sound like?”
His smile was soft, intimate. "Like smoke and honey. Rough at the edges but sweet underneath." He pressed his forehead to mine. "Like you."
I had to blink back the sudden sting of tears. This bond—this impossible, mythical thing—had given me back something I thought I'd lost forever.
“Can I always do this? Talk to you like this?”
"I don't know." His thumb brushed away a tear that escaped. "But I hope so. I want to hear everything you have to say, every thought you've kept locked away."
“Be careful what you wish for,” I projected, trying to lighten the moment, even as emotion threatened to overwhelm me. “I have a lot of thoughts. Most of them inappropriate.”
His laugh was low, dangerous. "I'm counting on it."
I pushed him onto his back, reveling in his surprise rippling through me. The shift rode up as I straddled him, and his hands immediately went to my hips, fingers digging in.
"Merrit—" Whatever he'd been about to say died as I rolled my hips, grinding against the hard length of him. His pleasure spiked, the tight coil of his control slipping.
I did it again, slower this time, and his head fell back against the pillow. The feedback was intoxicating—every movement sent waves of pleasure bouncing between us until I couldn't tell whose sensation was whose.
His hands slid under the shift, shoving it up and over my head until I was bare above him. For a moment he just stared, and through the bond, his awe, his hunger, the almost painful intensity of his want settled into my bones.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed. "Do you know what you do to me?"
I could feel it. The way his heart raced, the heat pooling low in his belly, the desperate need to touch, taste, claim. It should have been frightening—being so open, so vulnerable. Instead, it made me bold.
I leaned down, kissing along his jaw, down his throat, teeth scraping the spot where his pulse hammered. I felt the jolt of pleasure-pain, felt how close he was to losing control.
"Merrit." My name was a warning, a plea. "If you don't stop—"
I bit down, not hard enough to break skin but enough to mark. His hips bucked up, and the feedback loop of our shared arousal nearly shattered me.
“I don't want to stop.” Then I took his hand and placed it between my legs so he could feel how wet I was, how much I needed this.
His control snapped.
In one fluid movement, he flipped us, pinning me beneath him. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, and I felt the leash he kept on himself fraying.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he growled.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Then show me.”
And he did.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, both breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. The bond hummed between us, sated and warm, like a purring cat curled up in the sun.
Kieran's fingers traced lazy patterns on my shoulder, and his contentment mixed with mine, creating something that belonged to neither of us and both of us at once.
"We need to talk," he finally said, pressing a kiss to my temple. "About what happens next."
Reality crashed back in. The bond, the Court, the threat we still hadn't identified. I'd almost forgotten—lost in sensation, in us—that we were still in danger.
I sat up, immediately missing his warmth but needing the distance to think clearly. My hands moved, deliberate. "We keep the bond secret. For now."
“Though I wish we didn't have to,” I added privately. “This—being able to talk to you—it's everything.”
His eyes softened, and he reached up to cup my face. "I know. But if anyone knew we were Whisperbound..." He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. His fear shot through me—not for himself, but for me. If the Court knew, I'd become an even bigger target. A way to control him, to hurt him.
“I understand,” I projected, then signed: "I need to be more active in the investigation. I can't just stand at your side and look decorative. Let me use what I can do."
"It's dangerous—"
"Everything is dangerous." My hands cut through the air, sharp with frustration. “You brought me here to help,” I added. “Let me actually help.”
His conflict—the desire to protect me—warred with the knowledge that I was right. Finally, he sat up beside me and nodded.
"We set a trap," he said. "At the next Court function. You read the room, see what you can find. But—" His hand caught mine, squeezing. "You stay close. And if anything feels wrong, you tell me immediately."
“Through the bond?”
"However works fastest. Though I have to admit”—His mouth quirked—“having you in my head is going to make things much easier."
“And more distracting,” I teased, then sobered. “What if I find something? What do we do?”
"We identify the threat, and we eliminate it." His voice went cold with ruthless calculation. "No more playing games. No more mercy."
A knock at the door interrupted us, quick and urgent. Kieran was already moving, pulling on trousers while I grabbed one of his shirts and held it against my chest.
"Your Highness?" The voice was familiar—Elias.
Kieran shot me a look, eyebrow raised in question. I nodded, already pulling on his shirt. It fell to my thighs, large enough to be decent if barely. He opened the door only wide enough to block the view of the room's interior.
"What is it?"
"I need to speak with you. And..." Elias’ voice dropped. "With your companion. It's urgent."
His tone set my teeth on edge. “Something feels off,” I projected to Kieran.
His wariness spiked. "Give us a moment," he said, closing the door.