Chapter 8 Lindsay #2
The Veil. The thing separating the mortal world from everything else—from the Underworld, the Fae realms, the magic-soaked dimension I now live in. The only thing standing between this place and a full-blown collapse.
And I’m a walking, ticking, magic-laced fuse.
My fingers dig into the blanket beside me as I stare at the faint glow of the charm light above. It flickers once, then steadies.
Raiden said the bond is intimate.
Professor River said it’s necessary.
The headmaster made it sound like the only option.
None of them asked if I was ready.
I exhale, slow and shaky.
This isn’t just about channeling power or training anymore. This is about keeping the realms from bleeding together. It’s about preventing the kind of tear that lets monsters crawl through someone’s bedroom wall.
My bedroom wall.
I press a hand to my sleeve, to the place where the mark still hums faintly—a quiet reminder that whatever’s in me doesn’t belong to one world. Not entirely.
And maybe that’s the real problem.
What if I don’t belong anywhere?
I exhale, slow and shaky. My ribs feel too tight. My skin too thin.
A folded white garment rests at the foot of my bed, with white slip on shoes to match, and white undergarments.
Ritual whites, I guess. I hadn’t noticed them when I walked in, but they’re here now, along with a small basin of salt water and a slip of paper with instructions written in that same curling script that seems to follow magic around this place like a perfume.
Cleanse. Focus. Present intent.
I rub my hands down my face. Because yeah, sure, that sounds simple. Just scrub off the fear and show up calm and glowy and mentally balanced for the magical binding ritual I didn’t ask for.
I glance toward the beds around me. Curtains pulled shut. No eyes watching. Still, I feel like someone is.
My pulse refuses to settle. I stand up before I can talk myself out of it and head toward the small washroom tucked behind a privacy screen.
One hour.
Just one.
How bad can it be?
…Right?
I follow the path back toward Combat Casting like the headmaster explained, a couple doors from Professor River’s class.
A single rune glows faintly above the door frame. My pulse kicks up. I draw in a breath, then push the door open.
The ritual chamber is circular, stone walls etched with layered runes that pulse faintly in the dim light. The ceiling rises high above, open to the sky beyond a lattice of warded cold iron. A small bench is off to the side of the room.
The air smells faintly of something sharp and green, like moss after rain and smoke caught in ancient paper.
And Raiden is already here. He stands near the center of the chamber, barefoot and shirtless. White pants hanging loosely to his hips.
Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.
Lean muscle ropes down his frame, honed and fluid, every inch of him shaped by combat. His skin is marked with ink—lines of deep black and burnished red wrapping across his chest, spiraling down his ribs, coiling around both biceps.
The designs aren’t decorative. They hum faintly with magic, old and wild. Symbols I can’t place: claw marks, rune-like curves, and threads of glowing light that flicker between them like they’re alive. Almost like fire. But not fire.
A shiver prickles along my spine. I force my gaze up, and his fiery eyes are already locked on me.
Before I can speak, Professor River steps from the shadows.
“You’re here. Good. The binding begins shortly.” His gaze flicks once toward Raiden. “Tsukino. Help her prepare.”
Raiden’s jaw tightens. For a beat, he doesn’t move. Then he exhales slowly and steps forward, each motion deliberate, controlled.
When he stops in front of me, his eyes sweep over the ritual whites I’m wearing—thin fabric, plain cut, no enchantments. They feel like they weren’t made for warmth or comfort, just…exposure.
His gaze settles on mine. “Bare skin,” he says quietly. No softness in the words. “You’ll need to remove the top layer.”
My breath catches. I swallow hard, pulse kicking up as heat creeps up my neck.
Because of course. Why wouldn’t this magical bond also involve emotional vulnerability and partial nudity?
Raiden’s gaze doesn’t waver. He’s controlled. Distant. Like he’s already braced himself for what’s coming—and shut every door behind his eyes.
I nod, throat dry. My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for the ties at the collar of the ritual cloak. The fabric is light, too light, and it rustles softly as I loosen it and slip it off.
Cool air brushes my skin. I fold the cloak carefully and lay it over a nearby bench, trying to pretend my heart isn’t pounding like it’s about to crack open my ribs.
Trying not to wonder if he can hear it.
“Why did you tether yourself to me?” he asks.
I blink, caught off guard. My fingers freeze at the hem of my tunic.
Seriously?
I look up at him. “Yeah, I just figured binding my unstable magic to the grumpiest guy in the room sounded like a great time.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something tightens in his jaw.
“I—I didn’t,” I add, softer now. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
He exhales and glances away. “I felt it, Lindsay. At the dueling pits—it snapped right out of you and into me.”
I shake my head, pulse spiking. “I didn’t even know you were at the Undercourt. I was kind of busy not dying.”
Raiden’s eyes flick back to mine. He studies me for a second, then lowers his gaze to my hands.
His voice is quieter this time. Still flat, but strained at the edges. “It won’t work through cloth.”
I stare at him. “What, the magic? Or your ability to keep making this more awkward?”
His eyes lift to meet mine again—steady, unreadable.
“It has to be skin to skin,” he says.
My fingers tighten around the hem of the tunic. Every instinct in me is screaming run, but my feet stay rooted to the stone like they’ve made some kind of suicidal peace with this. I nod once, barely, and pull the tunic over my head.
The air is instantly colder, sharp against my skin. Goosebumps rise before the fabric even hits the floor. The thin bra they provided offers little in the way of modesty.
Raiden doesn’t move. His gaze holds above my shoulders, distant and disciplined, but there’s a flicker in the set of his jaw and the shift of muscle under inked skin.
He’s not unaffected. He’s just very, very good at pretending.
Lucky me.
Professor River’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Now. Stand inside the circle—opposite.”
I kick off the slippers they gave me, forcing my legs to move. The stone bites cold against my bare feet. Raiden steps forward, matching me without hesitation, like this is just another line on his schedule between Brooding Practice and Judging People Who Breathe Too Loud.
The runes beneath us pulse, faint and rhythmic. Like they’re waiting. Watching.
Why give me so much clothing if I was just going to end up half-undressed in a glowing circle with the guy who clearly hates this?
Professor River nods. “Left hand to her marked arm. Palm to skin. Hold.”
Raiden lifts his arm, slow and precise. The black and red ink winding around his bicep shimmers faintly now, reacting to the runes like it knows something I don’t. Which, let’s be honest, isn’t saying much.
I raise my arm, my breath caught halfway between panic and anticipation. The mark on my skin flares warmer the closer he gets—like it wants this. When his hand closes around my arm—skin to skin—the mark ignites.
White-hot. Blinding. Alive.
A breathless sound escapes me before I can stop it, and I immediately want to melt into the floor and die of embarrassment. But there’s no time.
The pulse between us is instant—like someone lit a fuse inside my spine.
Professor River’s voice cuts through the thick, humming air. “Do not break contact. The Veilbind seeks balance. It will align.”
Align?
What does that even mean? Is that magical for "This might get worse"? They should really consider some kind of class before throwing people into this.
Before the thought can finish forming, the runes beneath us erupt in a pulse of light that tears outward in all directions. A force grabs hold of me—tight, unrelenting—like I’ve been hooked by the chest and dragged forward.
Raiden’s breath catches, sharp and ragged. I feel it. Not just see or hear it—feel it like it’s tangled in my own lungs.
And then we’re moving. No say in the matter. No time to brace. The magic hauls us together with the subtlety of a freight train. Awesome. Nothing like mystical forced proximity to spice up a trauma bond.
Emotion rushes through the tether, a pure, raw feeling completely unfiltered.
Determination. Resentment. Controlled fury. And under it, beneath the iron will, an edge of fear. Not for himself. For me. It punches the air right out of my lungs.
Raiden’s hand flexes against my arm, instinctive, like he’s trying to ground both of us. His other arm wraps around my back just as another pulse tears through the bond. Magic crackles down my spine, locking tight between us.
The mark on my skin flares bright, from my fingertips up to my elbow, answering the same glow etched into the runes winding up his arm. In perfect sync.
I can feel him now. His pulse. His tension. The strain he’s under to hold himself together. He’s not cold at all. He’s a wildfire shoved into a pressure cooker.
And he’s barely keeping the lid on.
My own emotions spiral in response—fear, confusion, that deep, primal what-is-happening-to-me scream—and I feel the moment they slam into him. His jaw tightens. His grip closes just slightly too hard.
Oh good, I think vaguely. Now I get to traumatize him back.
Professor River’s voice echoes distantly through the haze. “It is done. The Veilbind is sealed.”
But we don’t move. Can’t. The bond is alive now, buzzing between us with the intimacy of a whispered secret and the force of a live wire. It wasn’t there a breath ago, and now it’s everything.
Raiden’s pulse jumps—and mine matches it like we’re sharing a rhythm. Which… I guess we are now?
For one breathless second, it’s like our hearts are playing a game of chicken. Mine races. His stays steady—barely. Underneath it, I can feel the pull of instinct, his muscle memory screaming back away, distance, control.
But the magic won’t let him.
Another pulse shudders through the bond—hot and dizzying. I gasp, the sound catching between us like it doesn’t belong to just me anymore. Raiden’s jaw flexes again. I can feel the war happening inside him now. Instinct versus obligation. Control versus…whatever this is.
And then Professor River speaks again, like he hasn’t just dropped us into the most awkward emotional pressure cooker in existence.
“The bond will release you in a moment. Let it settle. Do not fight it. I’ll give you privacy.”
Privacy? For what?
I’m not doing anything. Unless clinging to the magical equivalent of a live power line counts as doing something.
His gaze flicks between us once then, without another word, he steps toward the outer arch and disappears beyond the warded threshold. Leaving us alone. The heavy rune-etched doors slide shut behind him with a low, final thrum.
Great. Left alone with the guy I just accidentally emotionally and magically detonated myself on.
The air doesn’t ease when he’s gone. If anything, it thickens—pressing in, wrapping around us like smoke.
The bond burns hotter now. Winding tighter through my chest, coiling around my spine, curling low in my stomach like it’s trying to rewrite me from the inside out. I can feel him. Not just his pulse or tension, but everything under it—naked and unfiltered.
And I’ve never been this turned on in my life.
Which, you know, is super convenient right now. Perfect moment for magical horniness to kick in. I thought this was for training. Focus. Stability. They said it didn’t include emotion. Didn’t they? I honestly can’t remember anymore. My brain’s been replaced with static and want.
And I know he feels it too.
Not just from the strain in his grip or the locked tension of his jaw. Not just from the way his abs flex against mine with every shallow breath. But from the heat flaring down the tether. Raw. Primal. Bone-deep need that’s not entirely mine.
It crashes into me, and my breath stutters. His does, too.
Raiden’s eyes lock on mine, dark and restless, but the bond betrays him.
I feel the spike of desire low in his gut like it’s my own.
His hand tightens on my arm—the only thing keeping us technically in contact.
But the tether? Oh no, it’s not done. It pulls, brightening, burning, dragging us closer like it has opinions now.
A beat passes. A breathless, melting beat. His chest brushes mine—bare skin to bare skin—and that’s it. My brain short-circuits. Heat blooms behind my eyes and pours through every nerve like I’m being consumed from the inside out.
I can’t move. The bond won’t let me. And honestly? I’m not sure I want to. Then, like he’s caught in the same gravitational spin, Raiden leans in.
His breath ghosts against my lips. So close. Every part of me screams to close the distance. The tether is practically chanting for it. My heart slams against my ribs. He wets his lips. Holy shit. He’s going to kiss me.
I make the fatal mistake of closing my eyes.
And then—he jerks back like I lit a match to his chest. His hand drops, his breath ragged. The bond bristles, indignant at the distance, but eases just enough to let him rip away.
His gaze avoids mine. Jaw clenched so hard it looks painful.
“Don’t read into it,” he says, low and strained. “The bond twists instinct. It changes nothing.”
Oh sure. Nothing says meaningless like full-body magical yearning and accidental almost-kissing someone you apparently loathe.
He turns and strides to the door like he hasn’t just set me on fire and walks away. The heavy doors thud shut behind him, loud and final. And the bond still hums. Low and steady. Wound through my chest, my stomach—lower.
My skin burns where he touched me. Every nerve feels electric. And under all of it—still there—need. Raw and clawing. I sit down hard, mostly because my knees aren’t entirely listening anymore.
There’s nothing left of him in the room. But I can still feel him. Not in a romantic, poetic way. More like…an emotional splinter in my soul that refuses to be ignored. I suck in a breath. It does nothing.
My hands shake as I reach for my tunic. I pull it on like armor—cheap, itchy armor that does absolutely zero to soothe my wrecked nerves. Shoes next. Then the cloak. My movements are stiff. Mechanical. Like maybe if I move slow enough, my brain won’t catch up to what just happened.
It does anyway.
Because the bond is still there, vibrating just under my skin, whispering that something changed, and no matter how many layers I pile on, it’s not going away.