TWENTY-SIX #2
Thane falters. His movements stutter, and his eyes widen.
“Fuck—I don’t—”
I reach up and cradle his face.
“Thane,” I say firmly. “Look at me.”
His gaze is wild and uncertain.
“I’m still here,” I whisper. “You’re not hurting me.”
I roll my hips against him, inviting him to trust what I’m telling him.
He hesitates before giving a small nod. Then he begins to move again, more controlled, his eyes never leaving mine as he lets me guide him back from the edge. The shadows remain, gentler now, curling like silk around our skin. His gaze softens as the tension gradually drains from his body.
Then something inside him finally gives way. His body trembles against mine, and his grip tightens as he buries his face against my neck and gasps my name.
“Amara—”
The sound carries far more than recognition. It carries devotion.
I hold him close as he unravels, as the shadows settle, and as the bond between us pulses warm and sure.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of our breathing. Our bodies remain tangled together, our skin damp, the air still humming with residual magics—elemental and otherwise.
Thane’s body presses into me and I don’t want him to move. I don’t want any space between us.
His hand finds mine, our fingers lacing together in a grip that feels grounding and unshakable. I squeeze and he squeezes back. Then he shifts, a gentle withdrawal, leaving me aching, empty.
His voice follows a moment later, quiet and ruined, softer than I have ever heard it.
“Told you . . . you couldn’t handle me losing control.”
A breathless laugh escapes me.
“Your confidence is truly astounding.”
He huffs out a quiet chuckle before going still. When he speaks again, the teasing is gone.
“Are you sure you’re okay? The shadows—I didn’t know that would happen. I didn’t know they could . . . ”
The words trail off and I feel the tension return in his grip. Turning my head, I meet his eyes. Fear stares back at me. Guilt, too. Beneath it all is the echo of something he has spent years trying to bury.
“I’m not afraid of your shadows, Thane,” I say quietly.
“You should be,” he murmurs.
“No.” I shake my head. “They didn’t seem dark to me. They seemed like you.”
He blinks, and I see the war inside him—the need to protect me from the part of himself he still doesn’t trust. I press my forehead to his and let my voice soften.
“They didn’t hurt me. They wrapped around us like they were part of the bond.”
“I know,” he admits.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it, he says, “It’s all so new.”
His gaze drops to where our fingers remain intertwined.
“We spent our entire lives being told the Shadow Element was dangerous and corrupt. Something to lock down and keep under control.” He swallows. “Now every time I touch it, it feels less like a curse and more like . . . a part of me.”
The confession seems to cost him.
“I don’t know what to do with that.”
I study him, the way his eyes flicker between guilt and wonder, the way uncertainty sits so strangely on a man who always seems certain of everything else.
He exhales, the sound rough around the edges. “I don’t think I can lose control like that again.”
My brows pull together in protest, but I let him speak.
“I don’t know what the Shadow Element will do next time. What I’ll do.” His jaw flexes. “Even with your powers, there are stories. Records. People who came before. Maybe not exactly like you, but enough to understand the boundaries. And the Elements you wield are known.”
He falls silent for a moment.
“But this?” His voice drops. “I have nothing to compare it to. No one to learn from. No way of knowing where the line is until I cross it.”
Fear flickers across his face before he can hide it.
“I’m making this up as I go, Amara.”
I shift closer and press my hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm.
“You didn’t lose control, Thane,” I say softly. “You let go. There’s a difference.”
But he doesn’t look convinced.
“Amara,” he says, brushing a hand through my hair.
His voice is gentler now, but there is distance in it.
“We have to be careful. I can’t let go like that again.
When I’m in control, I can stop them from acting.
I can keep them contained. But that?” He shakes his head.
“That wasn’t wielding. It was release. And I don’t know what they’re capable of when I stop holding the reins. ”
His thumb grazes my cheek. The touch is tender, but I recognize the shift immediately. He isn’t pulling away from me. He’s pulling back into himself, rebuilding the walls he let down only moments ago.
The control is back, only now it wears a different face—quieter, sharper, and wrapped in armor instead of walls.
I frown. He must mistake my expression for something else, because a dry, crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice low. “We can still have sex.”
After a brief pause, he adds, “I’ll just be more careful next time.”
He says it like a joke, as though it’s no big deal, as though that’s what I was worried about.
But the words land sideways, off-kilter and hollow, because this was never just about sex.
This was about trust. About surrendering control to someone else and discovering that the world didn’t end when he did.
It was about what it cost him to let go, even for a moment.
Now he’s already trying to pull it back in, already reaching for the cage. Not because he doesn’t care, but because the experience frightened him in a way he isn’t ready to admit.
My heart aches.
It aches for the boy who was taught that his power made him dangerous. It aches for the man still trying to believe he can be more than the stories he was raised on.
“Amara.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, quiet but certain.
“I heard all of that.”
My heart stumbles.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My shields are down.
I don’t even know when it happened—whether it was when he touched me, when the bond pulsed with the shadows, or when I climaxed beneath him. All I know is that somewhere along the way, I stopped guarding my thoughts. And he heard every one of them.
There is no backpedaling now. I shift out of his arms and sit up, pulling the sheet around me. The room suddenly feels colder. Not because of the air, but because everything I’ve been trying not to say is now sitting between us.
Thane watches me in silence. He doesn’t move to close the distance, and somehow that makes it worse.
I stare at the far wall. “That wasn’t meant for you to hear.”
My voice isn’t sharp. Just quiet and tired.
“I know,” he says eventually.
The understanding in his voice lands harder than an argument ever could. I close my eyes for a moment.
“I’m not mad. Not about you hearing it.” I swallow. “But I didn’t get the chance to process any of it. To figure out what was mine to carry and what needed to be said out loud. Now I don’t get to take any of it back—not even the parts I wasn’t ready to share.”
I finally look at him, and my heart feels unbearably heavy.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Thane. And I hate that I might have.”
His jaw clenches, though not in anger. If anything, he seems intent on hearing every word.
“It’s not just about the bond,” I say, my voice softer now. “It’s about watching you pull away. Watching you put the armor back on before I could even ask you to stay.”
Silence settles between us again, carrying a truth neither of us seems eager to look at.
“I’m not ashamed of what I felt,” I add. “But I wish I could have chosen when and how to show it to you.”
I drag my hands down my face.
“This bond makes everything louder,” I murmur. “Messier.”
He sits up, the sheet slipping low on his hips. My stomach flips at the sight of the carved V at his waist, and irritation flares at my body’s betrayal. Even now, when my heart is heavy, part of me still wants him.
Again, he doesn’t close the distance. He doesn’t reach for me, and I don’t reach for him.
I want to. Gods, I want to. But I feel flayed open, exposed in ways I never chose. Too much of me is still raw from everything that passed between us.
“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully. “This bond thing is . . . a lot.”
A brief silence follows.
“And I didn’t mean to hear your thoughts. But I’m not sorry I did.”
I finally meet his eyes. Whatever distance had settled between us is gone. What I find there isn’t restraint or duty or fear. It’s simply Thane, looking at me with an honesty so unguarded it steals the breath from my lungs.
“You meant every word, and I needed to hear it. Amara,” he adds, quieter now, “you know all I want is to protect you, right?”
He runs a hand through his hair, the movement tense and uncertain.
“I’m not putting the armor back on. Not like that. I’m not shutting you out. I just . . . ” He exhales, his jaw tightening. “I don’t ever want to be the reason you get hurt. Not because of my power. Not because of something I don’t understand yet.”
His eyes meet mine. There is still fear there, but there is honesty, too.
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent. I want to protect you.”
A scoff escapes before I can stop it. It isn’t cruel, just bitter at all that we have to endure. The Shadeheart. The bond. The Shadow Element. It feels like every time we catch our breath, something else crashes into us.
For a moment, I let myself feel how unfair it all is.