Chapter 26 #2
He doesn’t kiss me—not yet. Just leans in until our breaths mingle, until I can feel the heat of him everywhere, until the green thread of his magic curls lazily around my wrist.
“Say yes, stormling,” he whispers against my lips. “One word. And I’ll make you forget every other name but mine for the next hour.”
My heart slams against my ribs. Something stirs inside of me. Curiosity. And for once, I don’t push him away.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Dorian’s eyes flash bright gold. And then his mouth is on mine—slow, deliberate, and completely devastating. As though he’s savoring every second he’s been waiting for this.
And God help me…so am I.
My hands find the open collar of his shirt, fingers curling into fabric, pulling him closer.
His magic curls around us—soft vines of light that brush my skin without binding, teasing the edges of my own power until blue and purple sparks dance along my fingertips and mingle with his blueish-white magic.
The hallway disappears. The academy, the Veil, the ache between my thighs from last night—all of it narrows to the heat of his mouth, the press of his body pinning me gently to the stone.
He breaks the kiss just enough to drag his lips along my jaw, down the column of my throat where Raiden’s marks still linger beneath glamour. He doesn’t comment. Just hums low in approval, like he likes the evidence of the others as much as he likes adding his own.
“You taste like trouble,” he murmurs against my pulse. “And I’ve always had a weakness for it.”
I laugh—breathless, a little wrecked—and tilt my head to give him better access. “You’re going to get us caught.”
“Let them catch us.” His teeth graze my earlobe. “I’ve never minded an audience.”
One hand slides to my waist, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through my shirt. Slow circles. Teasing. Promising more if I let him. I’m about to tell him exactly where he can put that promise when the air shifts.
Cold and sharp. Footsteps—measured and unhurried—echo down the corridor.
Dorian stills, but doesn’t pull away. Just lifts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he looks over his shoulder.
Auron stops ten feet away.
He’s in full academy black—robe pristine, platinum hair falling just so, expression carved from ice. But his eyes…they’re molten. Furious. And something else I can’t quite name.
“Charming,” he says, voice flat and cutting. “The fae prince collecting scraps from the Veilborn’s table. How very…charitable of you both.”
He’s lashing out, and I can feel it through the bond. Dorian’s body tenses against mine, but he doesn’t step back. If anything, he leans in closer, one arm sliding possessively around my waist.
Auron’s gaze flicks to that arm. Something dark flickers across his face—gone in an instant.
I push off the wall just enough to face him fully, chin up, heart hammering. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Auron. It makes you sound petty.”
His mouth curves. Not a smile, not really.
“Jealousy would require me to value what’s being offered.
” He steps closer; his gaze rakes over me, lingering on my swollen lips, the flush on my cheeks, and the way Dorian’s hand is still on my hip.
“I don’t. I simply find it…predictable. The girl who came back from the dead spreading her legs for anyone who looks at her twice. ..”
The insult is vicious. Surgical.
And I see right through it.
Because his hands are fisted at his sides so tightly the knuckles are white.
Because the magic that usually coils so obediently around him is lashing now—short, angry snaps that betray him.
Because his eyes keep dropping to my mouth as if he’s remembering exactly how it felt against his yesterday, how I bit him, how he kissed me back before the curse tore him open.
He’s not indifferent, he’s unraveling. And he hates that I can see it.
Dorian chuckles—low and dangerous. “Careful, Bloodborn. Your mask is slipping. Wouldn’t want Daddy to see how badly you want what you can’t have.”
Auron’s gaze snaps to him. “And you think you have her?” His voice drops, lethal. “You’re a distraction. And I have no interest in sloppy seconds from a kitsune’s and a lowborn’s leftovers.”
I step between them before Dorian can answer—before this turns into blood and magic and golden light clashing in a hallway.
“Enough,” I snap. My voice is steady, but my magic isn’t. Blue threaded with dark purple flicker at my feet with the growing shadows, restless. “If you’ve got something to say to me, Auron, say it. Don’t hide behind insults.”
His eyes lock on mine. For a heartbeat, the mask cracks completely. Pain. Want. Fear. All of it raw, unguarded.
Then it slams back into place—cold, perfect, and untouchable.
“I have nothing to say,” he says quietly. “Except this: enjoy your little games while they last. The Veil doesn’t play. And neither does my father.”
He turns on his heel and walks away—back straight, steps measured, his magic trailing him. But I catch it—the tiniest hitch in his stride. The way his hand flexes once, as though he’s fighting not to turn back around.
Dorian exhales slowly, tension bleeding out of him. His arm stays around my waist.
“Well,” he murmurs against my temple, “that was delightfully dramatic.”
I don’t laugh. I’m still watching the empty corridor where Auron disappeared.
“He’s lying,” I whisper. “About not caring.”
Dorian’s fingers brush my cheek—gentle this time. “I know. We are all meant for you, my sweet witch.”
He tips my chin up, eyes searching mine.
“I know.” Dorian presses a soft kiss to the side of my neck—right over one of Raiden’s hidden marks. “Question is… do you still want me to take you somewhere private and prove I’m not just talk?”
My pulse jumps. The Veil inside me stirs—curious, warm, and not angry. I turn in his arms, hands sliding up his chest.
“Show me,” I say.
His grin is slow. Triumphant and tender.
“As my stormling commands.”