19. Kai’rin
19
KAI’RIN
I drag myself through the door of my townhouse, blood dripping from a deep gash across my ribs. My sparring partner - not Vhex or Mykael today - had a hidden blade I hadn't noticed until too late. Careless. Weak. My wings ache from the intense aerial maneuvers, and I resist the urge to stretch them in the confines of the entryway.
Aren appears from the kitchen, her dark hair falling in waves as she rushes forward. The sight of her concern catches me off guard, even though this isn't the first time she's tended my wounds.
"You're hurt." Her fingers brush against my armor straps. "Let me help."
I could refuse. Should refuse. But her touch sends sparks across my skin, and I find myself nodding just like I do every day. I'm constantly being patched up by a human, and for some reason, I'm allowing it.
Because I want her hands on me.
She guides me to sit in one of the chairs near the entrance, her movements precise as she unbuckles my chest plate. And I find myself wanting to tug her closer. To have more.
"The blade caught me by surprise." The admission slips out before I can stop it. Her hands still for a moment before continuing their work.
"Even the strongest warriors have moments of vulnerability." Her voice carries no judgment, only a gentle understanding that makes my chest tighten.
The armor falls away, and her fingers ghost over the wound. I inhale sharply - not from pain, but from the fire that spreads from each point of contact. When did her touch become something I craved rather than merely tolerated?
"I'll need to clean this." She retrieves supplies from a nearby cabinet, one I specifically stocked for these moments. Her hands work with practiced efficiency, yet there's a tenderness that sets my teeth on edge. No one has ever touched me this way - like I'm something precious rather than feared.
I'm not sure what to make of it.
Blood and dirt give way to clean skin under her ministrations. My wings twitch with each brush of her fingers, and I force them still. But I can't stop watching her face - the way she bites her lower lip in concentration, how her eyes narrow when she finds a particularly deep section of the wound.
"You don't have to do this, little flame." The words come out rougher than intended.
She meets my gaze, unwavering. "I know."
That simple response undoes something in my chest. I find myself leaning into her touch, allowing myself this moment of weakness. Just this once.
"Where did you get this?" Her fingers trace the edges of the wound and over a scar, and memories I've kept buried surge forward. The gentle pressure of her touch draws out words I've never spoken aloud.
"I was twelve when I made my first kill." My voice comes out low, rough. "Not in battle. Not even in training."
Aren's hands still for a moment, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she reaches for a clean cloth, dabbing at the dried blood with careful precision.
"My father was a wealthy merchant in the eastern district. Expected me to follow in his footsteps, counting coins and negotiating trades." I flex my wings, the memory making my muscles tense. "But I had other talents. Magic that burned too hot, too violent for a life behind a desk."
She works in silence, but I feel her attention on me like a physical weight. The warmth of her fingers grounds me as I continue.
"There was an attempted robbery at our estate. Three broke in, thinking to steal from the merchant's coffers." A bitter laugh escapes me. "I caught them in the vault, and one was good at throwing knives. Caught me before I could react. And then the magic just... exploded out of me. Burned them alive where they stood. The screams..." I clench my jaw. "I can still hear them sometimes."
Aren applies a healing salve, her touch impossibly gentle. "What happened then?"
"My father didn't like I was more powerful than him. Said I was too dangerous, too unstable." My wings curl forward instinctively, creating shadows around us. "He…cast me out." I shrug. "I think I'm better suited for it anyway."
"There's nothing wrong with being true to yourself," she murmurs, securing a bandage across my ribs.
"I choose power." I don't want her to mistake me as someone with noble intentions or who is just misunderstood. "Enrolled in military training the next day. Learned to channel the violence, to make it useful. Became what they needed me to be - someone who could break spirits without hesitation."
Her fingers linger on the bandage, and I realize I'm leaning into her touch like some desperate creature seeking comfort. I've never told anyone this story. Never wanted to. But here in the shadows of my home, with her hands on my skin, the words spilled out like blood from a wound.
"We all do what we have to to survive."
Her acceptance - her damned understanding - claws at something raw inside me. I shove her away, sending her stumbling back against the wall. Her hair fans out like spilled ink, those deep brown eyes watching me without fear.
"You think you understand?" My wings snap out, casting us both in shadow. "You're nothing but a slave. My property. Stop pretending this is anything else."
But she doesn't cower. Doesn't break. Just stands there with that infuriating serenity, like she sees straight through my rage to something I can't face.
"I'm whatever you need me to be, Kai." Her voice carries no bitterness, no hate. Just that same gentle acceptance that makes my magic surge hot beneath my skin.
"Need you?" I close the distance between us, bracing one hand against the wall beside her head. My other hand grips her chin, forcing her to look up at me. "I took you. Stripped away everything you were. And still you act like-"
Her pulse flutters beneath my fingers, rapid but steady. Like a trapped bird that's chosen to stay in its cage. The thought makes me bare my teeth.
"Like what?" she whispers.
Like she knows me. Like she sees past the monster I am to something worth saving. Like everything she does is more than just submission - but a gift freely given. To show me what it's like for someone to do something for me just because they want to.
I want to crush that light in her eyes. Want to prove how wrong she is about me. But more than that, I want... her. Want to possess not just her body but that unshakeable spirit that refuses to break no matter how hard I push.
The realization hits like a blade to the gut. I release her roughly, stepping back as my wings curl tight against my spine.
"Get out." The words come out in a growl.
She doesn't move. Just stands there, her skin flushed where I gripped her, watching me with those knowing eyes.
"I said get out!"
She nods, taking a step back, steady as a flame in a storm, and I've never wanted anything more in my life than to claim that light for my own. Instead, I watch her go out into the courtyard.
It's not too much later that I go looking for her. I'm truly addicted at this point. Even as I shove her away, I can't help but pull her back in and I hate all of it. I hate my lack of control and I hate that I don't have her.
Once I'm bathed, readdressed, and at least moderately calmer - for now - I head back downstairs to look for Aren. I'm not sure what it would take for her to see that I'm not the man she hopes I will be.
Or maybe she does and that's what scares me.
I drift in darkness, surrounded by shadows that writhe and pulse with my own magic. Through the void, a familiar voice calls - her voice. Aren kneels before me, her dark hair pooling around her like spilled ink, lips moving in prayer. But these aren't her usual devotions.
"Take my light," she whispers, reaching for me with open palms. "Let me carry your darkness."
Her touch burns cold against my skin. Where our flesh meets, shadows crawl up her arms like living tattoos, seeping into her veins. She doesn't resist. Doesn't pull away. Instead, she welcomes each tendril of darkness with a soft gasp that sets my blood on fire.
"Little flame," I growl, gripping her wrists. "You don't know what you're asking for."
Her deep brown eyes meet mine, filled with that damned serenity. "I know exactly what I want, my lord."
The shadows respond to her words, surging forward to consume her. But instead of extinguishing her light, they merge with it. She glows from within, a perfect fusion of shadow and flame that makes my magic roar in response.
She presses her lips to my chest, right above my heart, and I feel her taking in more of my darkness with each breath. My wings spread wide, casting us both in deeper shadow as she accepts everything I am - monster and man alike.
I jerk awake, sweat-soaked and hard. My wings slam against the headboard, sending splinters of wood flying. Magic crackles beneath my skin, demanding release.
"Fuck." The word comes out as a snarl.
At the foot of my bed, Aren sleeps peacefully on her pallet, unaware of the violence churning inside me. Her chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, dark hair spread across her pillow like an offering.
I want to wake her. Want to make her take my darkness like she did in the dream. Want to possess her completely, body and soul.
The desire claws at my insides, making my magic surge hot and dangerous. I slam my fist into the wall, leaving a scorched crater in the stone.
This has to end. She's nothing but a slave, a possession. Not this... whatever she's becoming in my dreams.
But even as I think it, I know it's already too late.