Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
LINDSAY
It’s late, but I’m restless.
The last few months feel like they’re finally catching up to me, like the shock is wearing off all at once. I sort of just… accepted everything at first. Like I’d stepped into one of the books I loved as a teen and decided to roll with it.
But this is real.
The danger. The magic. The secrets. The classes about curses and hexes and things that can’t be undone once they start. None of it is theoretical. None of it is pretend.
And neither is the connection to my guys.
They’re my guys. Call me greedy. Call me reckless. Call me whatever you want. I don’t care. I’m keeping them all—if they’re willing.
I pace the empty hallway, boots whispering softly against stone. The torches along the walls have burned low, casting long shadows that stretch and sway with my movement. Somewhere deeper in the academy, a door closes. Footsteps echo, then fade.
I’m waiting for Kael.
There’s a lump in my throat that won’t go away.
I’ve never been the girl who throws herself at anyone. I don’t chase. I don’t demand. But with the ritual over and the Veil stable—at least for now—even patrols feel less dangerous. The council has grown lax, too. Fewer rules about walking alone after dark. Fewer watchful eyes.
Probably because no more students have gone missing or because they think the worst is over.
I stop pacing when the air shifts. It’s subtle. Not a sound. Not even a shadow at first. Just a pressure, like the hallway inhales and releases the breath as though it’s relaxing.
Then Kael steps into view at the far end, emerging from the shadows, and my breath catches. Something about him is different. The space between us feels charged the second his eyes land on me. He hesitates slightly before striding forward.
The shadows cling closer to him tonight, curling low around his boots instead of reaching outward. His coat smells faintly of cold air and stone and something darker as he comes to a stop in front of me—something that hums along my skin when his gaze lifts and locks onto mine.
He doesn’t speak.
The intensity in his light blue eyes hits me like a physical thing, stealing the air from my lungs and drying up any words I was about to say. When he reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek, slow and deliberate, my heart stumbles hard enough that I’m sure he feels it through our bond.
“Kael,” I whisper. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“I’m done pretending I don’t notice when you pull away,” I say, the words tumbling out now that I’ve started.
“I feel it. Every time you do it. And I don’t know what you’re carrying, or why you think you have to carry it alone—but I need you to stop deciding for me. ”
His thumb stills. The shadows shift, curling around me, reacting before he does.
“I’m not fragile,” I continue, stepping closer until there’s barely space between us. I can feel the heat of him now, the quiet restraint vibrating just under his skin. “And I’m not something you have to protect from yourself.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping once.
“You look at me like you’re already pulling away again,” I say softly, and that’s the truth I’ve been circling for days.
“As though you’re bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet.
And I can’t—” I swallow. “I can’t keep standing on this side of you, wondering if you are just going to disappear into the shadows again. ”
His breath is uneven now. I feel it ghost across my lips.
“Say something,” I whisper, pressing my hands to his chest.
For a heartbeat, the world holds its breath. Then he leans in, his forehead hovering just shy of mine, shadows rising around us like they’re sealing us in.
“Sunshine,” he murmurs, voice rough and restrained and threaded with something dangerous, “if I stop holding back…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. But the way he looks at me makes it very clear what he means.
“I want you too.”
His nostrils flare. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers there, then drags back up to my eyes. He licks his lips slowly, as if he’s grounding himself—like he’s reminding his body who’s supposed to be in control.
He isn’t.
“Don’t say that,” he mutters, but there’s no real warning in it. Just conflict.
“Why?” I ask softly, my hands curling into the front of his coat. I can feel his pulse now—fast, unsteady. “Because you don’t want me… or because you’re afraid you do?”
His breath stutters.
The shadows surge, thickening around us, swallowing the hallway whole until there’s nothing left but the two of us and the quiet hum of magic in the air.
“I’ve been trying to protect you,” he says, like it costs him something to admit it. “From what I know. From what I feel.”
“And what if I don’t need protecting from you?” I whisper.
I see it before he moves. He cups my face fully this time, hands warm and steady despite everything else unraveling, and presses his mouth to mine.
Electricity shoots through me at the touch of his lips against mine. Holy fuck. My whole body feels as though it lights up from the inside out.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, thumb warm against my skin, anchoring me as if the ground itself might give way. I feel the faint tremor in his fingers, the proof that this costs him something—that letting go has never been easy for him.
He pulls me closer, not crushing, but close enough that I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt—fast, uneven, completely at odds with the control he usually wears like armor.
The kiss deepens, his restraint fraying in small, honest ways: a sharper inhale, the brief press of his forehead to mine before he kisses me again, as if he needs to steady himself even as he gives in.
It feels like being chosen. Finally. I give in completely, melting into him, kissing him back, silently asking for more.
His lips break away from mine and trail down my neck. I arch, giving him access, and he nips at my throat, his hands gliding down my sides to pull me even closer. Then he tastes my lips again. He doesn’t pull away when he looks down at me.
His forehead rests against mine, breath uneven, controlled only by force of will.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“That you want me.” His voice is low, careful, as though he’s testing whether the ground will crack if he puts weight on it.
I don’t hesitate. “I want you.”
Something raw flickers across his face—relief and fear colliding hard enough to steal my breath at the sight. His eyes close for a heartbeat, like he’s bracing himself.
“I’ve been telling myself this was a bad idea,” he admits quietly. “That I was protecting you. That distance was discipline.”
His gaze lifts back to mine, stripped of its usual armor.
“But every time you looked at me,” he continues, “every time you trusted me anyway… it felt like lying to myself.”
I slide my hand up his chest, his warmth bleeding into me through his shirt. He stills and just lets me touch him. That alone is a choice he’s making.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” I admit quietly.
His mouth curves, just a little. Not teasing or smug. Something softer and more dangerous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” My thumb brushes the edge of his collarbone, slow and deliberate. “That night in your bed.”
His breath catches. Not enough to hide it.
He shifts closer, close enough that my next breath tangles with his, one hand sliding back to my hip, anchoring me there. His thumb presses in slightly, a silent question and an answer all at once.
“Are you sure it was a dream?” he murmurs.
The words vibrate through me.
I tilt my head up, my free hand curling into the fabric at his side. “It didn’t feel like one.”
“It wasn’t,” he says quietly. “Because I can’t seem to stay away from you. Even in our sleep.”
That should probably raise more questions than it does. About the dreams. About what it means that our minds can reach for each other without permission. About whether the first time I dreamed of him was real too.
But I don’t chase any of those thoughts.
I kiss him again instead.
Whatever restraint he was holding onto snaps. He kisses me back hard, all the want he’s been bottling up crashing into the moment. My knees threaten to give out, and I make a small, involuntary sound as the floor tilts.
I’m aware of everything: the heat of him, the way my pulse races, the way my magic hums low and steady instead of spiraling. It feels like seconds and hours at the same time, as though my body has finally stopped arguing with my head.
When he pulls back, I’m breathing hard.
He brushes his nose against mine, then presses a kiss to my cheek—gentler, controlled again.
“This should stop here,” he says, stepping back. His hands leave me, but the shadows stay, bracing me as if he doesn’t trust my legs to do their job yet.
My chest rises and falls.
Yeah. No.
I take a step forward, closing the space he just created. “No,” I say plainly. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and then decide we’re done.”
His eyes darken.
“I’m not fragile,” I add. “And I’m not confused. If you’re scared, say that. But don’t pretend this is about protecting me.”
The shadows hesitate, waiting for his response.
I meet his gaze, heart still racing, voice steady. “If you stop now, it’s because you want to. Not because you think I should.”
Silence stretches between us.
He doesn’t warn me again. He doesn’t say We shouldn’t or Later or This is dangerous.
He just looks at me for a long, charged second—and something in his expression shifts. His hand comes up to my jaw, firm, sure, and he kisses me again.
The shadows move with him as he turns, never breaking contact, one hand guiding me backward while the other reaches for the door behind me. It opens with a soft click, the darkness inside welcoming instead of ominous.
He backs me through the threshold, nudging the door shut with his foot. The latch slides into place, probably helped by his shadows.
Still kissing me.
The room smells like him—stone and cold air and ink and something unmistakably Kael—and I don’t think I could ever get enough.
When my legs hit the side of the bed, he finally pulls back. His gaze flicks between my eyes, searching, steady, silently checking in.
I lift my chin in response, daring him to tell me we should stop again.
A low chuckle slips from his lips, soft and surprised, and my stomach flips hard at the sound. I love that sound. I love that I get that sound.
I reach up and push his jacket from his shoulders. He doesn’t resist. The fabric slides free and drops to the floor, and his wings shift slightly with the movement—an instinctive reaction he doesn’t quite manage to hide.
Curious, emboldened, I let my fingers trace the edges first. Just the outline.
He inhales sharply.
My touch makes him shudder, a quiet sound breaking from him before he can stop it. The reaction sends heat straight through me, confidence blooming fast and dangerous.
I run my palm fully over the surface.
His wings are soft beneath my hand—not fragile or delicate. Strong. Smooth. The texture is nothing like skin, closer to silk worn thin with age, with an undercurrent of pure magic that hums back at me when I touch him.
“Lindsay,” he breathes.
I glance up at him, heart racing, pulse loud in my ears. “Is this okay?”
He swallows.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Don’t stop.”
I watch, transfixed as his eyes drop shut and emotions run over his face. It makes me bolder. I follow the line of his wing all the way up, slow and deliberate, until my fingers slide into his hair. When I ease my hand higher, curling carefully around the base of his horns, his entire body reacts.
His breath stutters. His shoulders tense, then ease, like he’s fighting the instinct to lean into my touch and losing anyway. A low sound slips from him before he can stop it, rough and involuntary.
That’s when his hands close on me. And a jolt of excitement settles in my belly.
One at my waist, holding me. The other slides up my arm, guiding my hand over his horns. Encouraging me to stroke them. He opens his eyes, gaze dark, focused, burning with intent.
I’m pretty sure with how his body is reacting that his horns are sensitive. He pulls me flush against him, and all I can feel is his hard length pressing into my soft stomach through our clothes. Holy shit, he’s big.
“You don’t get to touch me like that,” he says quietly, voice tight with restraint, “and pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”
His shadows curl around us, tugging at my clothes, as if they are helping him undress me.
Each slide of them against my skin as they lift and pull sends a shiver down my spine.
He releases my wrist and helps them pull my shirt over my head, then he gazes down at me, his eyes so dark I can barely remember them being blue.
“This is a mistake,” he says.
But he doesn’t step away.
If anything, he closes the distance, kissing me harder, deeper, like he’s trying to erase the thought the moment it leaves his mouth. His breath breaks against mine, uneven, raw.
“Is it?” I whisper.
He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to mine before his mouth finds mine again—heated, deliberate, no hesitation left in it. The shadows draw tighter around us, sealing the room away, holding everything steady while he gives in.
“But I’m not stopping,” he murmurs against my lips. “Not tonight.”
His thumb brushes my jaw, gentle despite everything else, and something in his expression softens just enough to make my chest ache.
“I need you,” he adds quietly. “Just like this. My Sunshine, even in the dark.”