Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
LINDSAY
Kissing Dorian isn’t like kissing the other guys. He’s not rough or gentle or too soft. His is...teasing.
His lips brush mine as though he’s tasting sunlight, light and playful and maddeningly slow.
Every time I lean in for more, he pulls back just enough to make me chase him—then rewards me with a deeper sweep of his tongue, a soft laugh against my mouth when I make a frustrated sound.
His fae magic curls around us like warm golden vines, tugging gently at my senses, heightening every brush of skin, every shared breath.
It doesn’t demand. It invites. And God help me, it feels like it’s weaving itself right into the bond that’s already thrumming between us—strengthening the thread, making it glow brighter, warmer, more insistent.
We’re in the old astronomy tower now—his idea, his hand tugging mine up the spiral stairs with that wicked grin promising privacy.
The room is small, circular, domed with cracked glass that lets in slivers of pale morning light.
Star charts peel from the walls, ancient telescopes gather dust, and the air smells faintly of old paper and iron. No one comes here anymore.
Vaguely I think, there are a lot of towers not in use. But it’s not important now.
He backs me against one of the curved stone walls, hands framing my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones as he kisses me again—deeper this time, slower, as though he’s memorizing the shape of my mouth.
My fingers slide into his golden hair, tugging just enough to earn a low, pleased hum from his throat.
“You’re addictive,” he murmurs between kisses, lips trailing to the corner of my jaw. “I could do this for hours.”
My laugh is breathless. “I have class in—”
“Class can wait.” He nips my earlobe, then soothes it with his tongue. “You taste like lightning and secrets. I want more secrets.”
His magic pulses again—soft and teasing—and my own power answers, shadows spilling from my feet, twining with his blueish-white in lazy spirals. The bond between us flares brighter, a new note in the symphony that already hums with Raiden’s warmth, Nolan’s steady light, Kael’s shadowed ache.
I’m just tilting my head to give him better access to my throat when the air in the room thickens.
Shadows bloom from nowhere—thick, liquid black pouring from the corners like spilled ink, coalescing into a tall, familiar shape in the center of the tower.
Kael.
He materializes in a silent rush of darkness, cloak swirling, pale eyes already sharp with purpose—until they land on us.
On me. Pressed against the wall. Dorian’s mouth still hovering at my throat.
“I was looking for you,” he says to Dorian, voice low and edged. But his gaze never leaves me. “Not… this.”
Dorian doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even pull away fully. He just straightens slowly, one hand still braced beside my head on the stone, the other sliding down to rest possessively at my waist. His smile is lazy and unapologetic, all confidence and zero shame.
“Bad timing, shadow prince,” he drawls, voice velvet-smooth. “We were just getting to the good part.”
Kael’s shadows snap once—sharp and involuntary—before he reins them in with visible effort. His pale eyes flick between us: Dorian’s hand on my hip, my fingers still tangled in golden hair, the faint glow of our combined magic still shimmering in the air like dying fireflies.
“I was looking for you,” Kael repeats, voice low and edged with gravel.
Dorian’s grin widens. He doesn’t step back. If anything, he leans in a fraction closer to me, thumb brushing a lazy circle over my hipbone through my shirt.
“Then stay,” he says lightly, as though he’s offering the demon prince a seat at a casual lunch. “Plenty of room up here. And I’m generous.” His gaze slides to me, softening just enough to make the next words feel real instead of pure provocation. “As long as it’s okay with Lindsay, of course.”
My breath catches.
The tower suddenly feels smaller. Hotter. The bond thrums louder. Kael’s shadows coil restlessly at his feet, dark tendrils reaching halfway across the floor toward me before retreating as though they’ve been burned.
Kael’s jaw flexes. His eyes lock on mine—searching, conflicted, a storm of black and silver behind that controlled mask.
“You’re serious,” he says.
Dorian shrugs one elegant shoulder. “Why not? You’re bonded to her.
I’m… working on it.” His fingers flex against my waist—gentle and reassuring.
“And she’s not exactly hiding how she feels about you, even when she’s furious.
So if the world’s about to crack open again, why waste time pretending we’re all playing separate games? ”
Kael doesn’t answer right away. His shadows coil tighter around his boots, restless, dark tendrils flicking toward me before snapping back like they’ve been scolded. The silence stretches thin and electric.
Then he exhales—sharp, almost pained—and forces his gaze away from me to Dorian.
“I didn’t come up here for the bond,” he says, voice flat but edged with something raw. “I came because the eastern rift isn’t just thinning. It’s breathing.”
Dorian’s playful mask slips a fraction. His hand stills on my hip.
Kael keeps going, each word clipped and precise, as though he’s reciting something he’s already seen in a nightmare.
“Yesterday—after the tower—after you and Raiden,” His eyes flick to me for half a heartbeat, then away again.
“—the distortions started moving in patterns. Not random. But deliberate. Like something on the other side is testing the seams, pushing fingers through, feeling for weak spots. This morning, three second-years were found halfway to the rift line, walking in their sleep, eyes glowing the same blue as hers.” He nods toward me without looking.
“They were muttering her name. Over and over. Like a summons.”
My stomach drops. Cold threads through me, sharper than any jealousy or heat from moments ago.
Kael finally meets my eyes again.
“The Council’s wards are failing. They’re burning through ward stones faster than they can replace them.
They need light anchors—fae bloodline seals—to buy time.
That’s why I came for you.” He jerks his chin at Dorian.
“Not to watch. Not to… join. To drag you to the eastern perimeter before whatever’s sniffing around decides to stop sniffing and break through. ”
Dorian’s thumb resumes its slow circle against my side, but the teasing is gone from his expression now. He studies Kael for a long beat.
“You could have led with that,” he says quietly.
“I tried.” Kael’s voice is rougher. “Twice. You were too busy offering threesomes in the middle of a crisis.”
Dorian huffs a humorless laugh. “Fair.”
I feel the shift in the air—the playful bubble we’d been floating in popping under the weight of what’s actually coming. The Veil inside me stirs, not angry, not hungry yet—just… aware. Like it’s listening.
Kael takes one step back, shadows rippling up his legs like they’re eager to carry him away.
“We don’t have time for this,” he says again, softer this time. Almost regretful. “Not today.”
He turns toward the spiral stairs—cloak swirling, darkness trailing him like smoke—then pauses at the top step.
Without looking back, he adds, “If you’re coming, Dorian, move. If you’re staying…” A beat. His voice drops. “Keep her safe. Because if that thing gets through and it’s calling her name, it won’t ask politely.”
Then he’s gone—shadows folding around him in a silent rush, leaving only the faint chill of his absence and the echo of his warning.
Dorian exhales slowly, forehead resting against my temple for a second.
“Well,” he murmurs, lips brushing my skin, “that killed the mood faster than a cold shower.”
I manage a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me—blue eyes serious now, searching.
“You okay?”
I nod. Then shake my head. “No. Not really.”
Dorian cups my face with both hands, thumbs stroking my cheekbones in slow, grounding arcs.
“We will keep you safe, stormling,” he says softly. “Go to class. I will attend to the rift.”
The words land gentle, protective, and they spark something hot and stubborn in my chest. I pull back just enough to meet his eyes.
“No.”
His brows lift slightly, surprise flickering before the familiar teasing warmth returns. “Lindsay—”
“I’m not sitting in some lecture hall pretending everything’s fine while the Veil is literally breathing my name.
” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but I don’t soften it.
“I’m strong enough to help. You know I am.
My power is tied to it—whatever’s on the other side already knows my face, my magic, my name.
Hiding won’t change that. It’ll just make me a sitting target later. ”
Dorian studies me for a long heartbeat. The playful flirt is still there in the curve of his mouth, but his gaze is serious now—searching, weighing.
He leans in and presses the softest kiss to the tip of my nose.
“I know you are,” he murmurs against my skin, voice low and warm. “Stronger than any of us deserve, probably. But let us keep you safe this one time.”
I open my mouth to argue—because this one time sounds suspiciously like a precedent—but he keeps going, thumb brushing the corner of my lip.
“Not because you’re weak. Not because we think you can’t handle it.
Because the second you step near that rift, every hungry thing on the other side is going to zero in on you like a beacon.
And right now?” He exhales, forehead resting briefly against mine.
“We’re not ready for what happens if they get a solid grip.
Kael’s right about the patterns. They’re calling you.
Let us buy time. Let us shore up the wards.
Let us come back to you whole so we can fight beside you when it really counts. ”
My throat tightens. I hate this—hate feeling sidelined, hate the logic in his words even more because it’s sound.
“I don’t like being the thing that needs protecting,” I whisper.
“I know.” Another soft kiss to my nose, then one to the corner of my mouth. “But you’re also the one person we’d all burn the world down to keep breathing. Humor us. Just this once.”
I close my eyes, breathing him in—sun-warmed pine, bright magic, that faint floral edge that always makes me think of summer fields I’ve never seen, even though he’s the prince of the ice fae.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But if anything goes wrong—if any of you get so much as scratched—I’m coming for that rift myself. And I won’t be asking permission.”
Dorian’s laugh is quiet, relieved. “Deal.”
He kisses me properly then—slow, deep, pouring every unspoken promise into it. When he pulls back his eyes are brighter.
“Go to class. Keep that beautiful, terrifying power of yours leashed until we need it. I’ll find you the second we’re back.”
I nod, even though every instinct screams to follow him down those stairs and out to the rift.
He squeezes my hand once then steps away. Blue light flickers around him like wings he hasn’t bothered to manifest yet, and he disappears down the spiral staircase with that same graceful stride that makes everything look effortless.
The tower feels colder without him. I stand there for a long moment, arms wrapped around myself, listening to the distant echo of his footsteps fade.
The Veil inside me hums—quiet, patient, and waiting.
I hate waiting.
But for them—for the ridiculous, broken, beautiful mess of men who’ve somehow become mine—I’ll do it. Just this once.
I head down the stairs after him, slower, toward the lecture halls and the illusion of normalcy. A normal that I’ll probably never truly have again. Not with these shadows inside of me. But I can pretend.