Chapter 3 #3
The stuffed dragon absorbed my tears without complaint, and Sereis held me while years of fear and loneliness poured out against his chest. His hand stroked my hair with infinite patience, and through the bond I felt his contentment—not despite my breakdown but because of it.
Because I trusted him enough to break. Because I felt safe enough to not be strong.
When the sobs finally quieted to hiccups, he pulled back just enough to thumb away the tears from my cheeks. The frost patterns on both our skins pulsed in perfect synchronization, and I knew with certainty that bordered on prophecy that this was where I belonged.
"These have to go," Sereis said with quiet vehemence, fingers ghosting over the rough wool of my servant's uniform without quite touching. "You smell of him. Of that pretender who dared to claim what was never his."
The possessiveness in his voice should have frightened me.
Three years under Caelus's careless ownership had taught me to fear male jealousy, to make myself small when voices turned sharp with territorial anger.
But this was different. Through the bond, I felt not rage but offense—genuine hurt that I bore another's mark, even one as simple as clothing.
"Let me," he said, and it wasn't quite a question. "Please. I need to remove every trace of him from you."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. His hands moved to the leather ties at my throat, fingers careful and precise despite the tremor I could see in them.
The bond sang between us, translating his every emotion—desire held in check by iron will, reverence that bordered on worship, need that threatened to crack his centuries of control.
The first tie came loose, and he made a sound low in his throat. Not quite a growl, but something that spoke to the dragon beneath his human seeming. The rough wool parted, revealing the hollow of my throat, and his fingers brushed across my pulse point with touch light as snowfall.
"Your heart is racing," he observed, voice dropping to registers that made heat pool between my thighs.
"Yes." What point in denying what he could feel through our connection?
The second tie yielded to his careful attention, and more skin revealed itself—collarbones that stood out too sharp from years of carefully rationed meals, the swell of breasts that even poor nutrition hadn't completely diminished.
His intake of breath was audible, and through the bond I felt his arousal spike so sharply it made me gasp.
"Beautiful," he murmured, but he didn't touch beyond what was necessary to remove the garment. "So beautiful it hurts to look at you."
Heat flooded my cheeks that had nothing to do with the room's warmth. No one had ever called me beautiful. Useful, perhaps. Serviceable. Worth three years of grain debt. But never beautiful.
The wool dress fell away in pieces—it had been mended so many times that it barely held together, and Sereis's careful handling couldn't prevent its final dissolution.
I stood in my underthings, such as they were—a band around my chest that had once been white, smallclothes that were more patches than original fabric.
"These too," he said, and his voice had gone rough. "Everything he gave you, everything that marks you as his."
My hands shook as I reached behind to undo the breast band.
The moment it fell away, Sereis's control visibly fractured.
His eyes went silver-white, the color of winter storms, and the frost patterns on his skin flared so bright I had to squint.
Through the bond, desire hit me like a physical force—his need to touch, to claim, to mark me as his in ways that would never wash off.
But he didn't move. Stayed perfectly still as I pushed the smallclothes down my hips, stepping out of them on legs that trembled. Naked, I fought the urge to cover myself, to hide the too-prominent ribs, the scars from kitchen accidents.
Sereis studied me with the intensity of someone memorizing sacred text.
His gaze tracked over every inch—the storm-gray eyes he'd already praised, the dark hair that fell in waves when not severely bound, breasts that felt too small under such scrutiny, the curve of waist to hip that years of work had made strong if not soft.
When his eyes found the marks—old burns on my forearms, the whip scar across my shoulders from a game that had gone too far—the temperature in the room plummeted.
He raised one hand, still not touching, and cold fire danced between his fingers—white-blue flame that gave no heat. "May I?"
I nodded, not understanding until he directed that cold fire toward the pile of discarded cloth. The servant's uniform didn't burn so much as cease—consumed by fire that left nothing, not even ash, not even memory. Every thread that had marked me as Caelus's property erased from existence.
"You'll never wear another's mark again," he said with quiet certainty. "Never bear another's brand, another's colors, another's claim. You are mine, and I am yours, and that is absolute."
The vehemence in his voice made me shiver, and he noticed immediately.
"You're cold. And you need—tomorrow, we'll begin your transformation."
"Transformation?"
"Your body needs to change to survive here long-term.
The cold would kill a normal human in days, even with the palace's protections.
The bond will guide the process, but it takes time.
You'll become something between human and dragon—not a shifter like us, but .
. . enhanced. Stronger. Immortal, if we seal the pact.
" He paused, studying my reaction. "Does that frighten you? "
"Should it?"
"Yes," he said simply. "You're choosing to become something other than human. The girl who was sold to Caelus will cease to exist. In her place will be something new. Someone who belongs to winter and storm, to ice and dragon-kind."
The girl who was sold to Caelus. As if that was all I'd been. As if that defined me.
"She already doesn't exist," I said quietly. "She stopped existing the moment the bond activated. I'm already becoming something new."
His smile transformed his face from beautiful to divine.
With a gesture, he pulled something from the air itself—a nightgown that seemed spun from moonlight and snowflakes.
The fabric was impossible, soft as whispers but substantial enough to preserve modesty.
White as fresh snow with ribbons at the throat that sparkled like captured starlight.
"May I?" he asked again, and this time I understood he was asking permission for so much more than just helping me dress.
"Please."
He helped me into the nightgown with hands that barely touched but left trails of sensation everywhere they passed.
The fabric settled against my skin like a blessing, warm despite its appearance, perfectly fitted despite never being measured.
When his fingers tied the ribbons at my throat, brushing against my pulse, I felt the claim in it—soft as silk but strong as chains.
"Perfect," he breathed, stepping back to admire his work. Through the bond, I felt his satisfaction that ran deeper than aesthetic appreciation. I was wearing something he'd created, something that marked me as his without pain or brand.
"I'll be in the tower room if you need anything," he said, but through the bond I felt what it cost him to step away. The need to stay was so strong it made my knees weak with secondhand desire. "Any time, for any reason. Just call through the bond and I'll come."
"What if I need you for no reason?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His eyes flashed silver again, and for a moment I thought his control would crack entirely. When he spoke, his voice carried harmonics that resonated in my bones.
"Then I'll come even faster."
He turned and left before either of us could break, but through the bond I felt him pause just outside the door, fighting the urge to return. I felt him climb the tower stairs, each step a battle against instinct that screamed to claim what was his.
I felt him settle into meditation that was doomed to fail, because I was three floors below, wearing his gift, bearing his mark, loving him with an intensity that defied logic or time.
Tomorrow, we would sign the pact. Tomorrow, I would transform.
Tonight, I would discover what my body was becoming under his influence.
T he starlight bed molded to my body like it had been waiting for me, conforming to every curve and hollow with perfect support that felt like floating.
The aurora canopy shifted through its colors above me—green to blue to purple to silver—casting shadows that danced across the nightgown Sereis had manifested for me.
Every breath brought his scent from the fabric, winter storms and midnight promises that made my head swim with want.
Alone for the first time since the bond activated, I could feel it properly.
Not just the mark on my shoulder, though that pulsed with steady rhythm like a second heartbeat.
The connection went deeper, threads of awareness that told me exactly where he was—three floors up, in a circular room with windows open to the night.
I could sense his attempt at meditation, the careful positioning of his body in forms practiced over centuries, the controlled breathing that should have brought peace.
Should have, but didn't. Because I was here, three floors below, and my presence disrupted his calm like stones thrown in still water.