Chapter 35
Never forget it
JUDE
Even now, even when we’re back in Lorien’s capital, I shake. I feel it inside me. It’s coiling. It’s curling. It’s looking for the opportunity to escape. The magic does not recede. It lingers beneath my skin, heavy and restless, aching to be used. To be fed.
And I don’t know how to satisfy it.
I don’t know how to silence it.
Lorien hasn’t let go of me since we left the kelpies’ cave. He is steady where I am not, his grip firm, his presence unyielding. I should pull away. I should force space between us before he feels what’s truly wrong. Before he realizes the magic hasn’t left me.
But I can’t.
My body sags against his, too drained to hold itself upright.
I barely remember getting to this dimly lit room, the scent of salt still clinging to our skin, the damp chill in the air.
I only remember his arms around me, pulling me through the tide, his voice grounding me when everything else slipped away.
Now, there is only silence. And him.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to speak. “I should have fought it.” The words scrape against my throat and scorch it. “I should have—”
“You fought,” Lorien says quietly.
I shake my head. “Not enough.”
“Sometimes, the fight is all we have, Jude. That’s all I need you to cling on to, and this one is not done. Not by a long shot. Not while I still have breath in my body.”
My hands curl into fists, but the movement only reminds me of what I already know: my body is not entirely my own anymore. The power has sunk into me like rot in the bones of a ship, and no matter how much I tell myself I am still the same, I sense the shift deep inside me.
I lift my gaze to his, searching for what, I don’t know. Reassurance. Forgiveness. A reason not to be afraid.
But Lorien doesn’t look away. His fingers tighten on my arms, warm and solid, holding me together at the moment when I might unravel.
I exhale shakily, and this time, I don’t stop myself from leaning into him. The shame, the exhaustion, the dark thing curling in my chest...none of it matters, not when his hands are on me, not when his breath is warm against my skin.
I need him.
“Lorien,” I murmur, my voice raw.
His grip doesn’t loosen. “I’m here.”
And so help me, I believe him.
“I need you to know I tried,” I whisper. “I fought. I tried to stop it.”
Lorien doesn’t speak, but his hands remain on me. His silence is not absence. It’s not judgment. It is waiting. It is space. It is comfort and unwavering certainty, the kind that steadies even as everything else fractures.
I swallow, shuddering. “It wanted me. It still wants me.” My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to reach for him, to hold on to something real. “And I don’t know if I can—”
I break off.
I don’t want to say it.
I don’t want to tell him how the magic is still inside me, how it pulses and coils, whispering to me in a voice I almost understand. How a part of me, a terrible, treacherous part, is tempted to listen.
Lorien exhales softly. “I know, Jude. And I love you anyway. I will always love you, no matter what you become or where you go. You are mine, and I’ll be damned if I lose you to this.”
My breath hitches and I blink.
“Jude.”
My name, nothing more. But there is understanding in it. A tether, a promise, a quiet pull that unravels something tight in my chest.
And then I move.
I press closer, my forehead resting against his collarbone, my fingers catching in the fabric of his tunic. My entire body trembles with exhaustion, but I don’t let go. I can’t.
“Tell me I’m still me,” I whisper.
Lorien’s arms come around me, slow, careful. But when he speaks, his voice is firm, certain. “You are.”
The tension in my spine loosens just enough for the exhaustion to crash over me, but it is not only exhaustion. This is need. This is want. This is a different kind of hunger, and it’s deeper than magic and older than fear. The need for him. The only thing that still feels real.
I tilt my face up, my lips barely brushing his throat, breathless, aching. “Then remind me.”
I crash my mouth onto his, breaking every rule he’s ever imposed, certain that I’ll endure any punishment for this moment. He tastes of hope and almonds, of freedom and honey, and I want more. God, I need more and I’ll never stop needing him.
He stiffens for just one heartbeat. For just long enough for me to think I’ve made a mistake. And then he’s on me, rewriting the rules that govern our relationship because I need him to do this. For me. For him. For us.
Lorien surges forward, his hands tangling in my hair, his lips parting against mine with something close to desperation. There is no hesitation now, no restraint, only the raw, unspoken need that has been simmering between us for too long.
I gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, tilting my head back as if he needs more, as if he’s starved for it. For me.
My hands clutch at his tunic, pulling him closer, needing the solidity of him, the heat. I don’t care that I am shaking, that the magic still hums beneath my skin, restless and wanting. Because this—because he—is stronger than the darkness.
I press closer, seeking, pleading. “Lorien—”
He exhales sharply, his grip tightening. And then he answers me the only way I need him to.
His fingers grab the iron collar around my neck, and it heats against my skin as the sigils etched into it flare to life, ancient magic unraveling in golden threads.
The metal loosens, sliding free, and the moment it falls away, Lorien's golden eyes lock onto mine.
He inhales sharply, his gaze dropping to my throat, where inked markings, hidden for too long, now gleam like a brand against my skin.
“Mine.”
I groan and his lips trail down my neck, hot and insistent, and I arch into him, another soft moan escaping me.
The magic inside me surges, responding to the heat of his touch, but for once, I don't fear it.
I let it rise; let it mingle with the desire coursing through my veins.
It pulses in time with my racing heart, intertwining with the heat of Lorien's touch.
Lorien's hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He pushes me back against the wall, his body pressing against mine, solid and real. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, anchoring myself to him.
“Jude,” he breathes against my skin, my name a prayer on his lips. “My Jude.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I tilt my head back, offering more of myself to him, wanting him to claim every part of me.
“Jude,” he breathes against my skin, his voice rough with need. “Tell me you’re sure.”
I nod, unable to form words. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. I need this. I need him. To chase away the darkness, to remind me who I am.
Lorien's hands slide down my sides, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. He lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the bed. The world narrows to just this. To his touch, his scent, to him and all the possibilities he offers me, and I’ll never want more than this.
He’s everything I was never meant to have, everything I never dared to dream of, and yet, somehow, he is mine.
As Lorien lays me down on the bed, his golden eyes never leave mine. There's an intensity in his gaze that steals my breath, a mixture of desire and something deeper, more profound. His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.
“You're trembling,” he murmurs, concern lacing his voice.
I swallow hard, trying to steady myself.
“It's not fear,” I assure him, my voice barely above a whisper. “It's... everything else.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against mine.
“I've got you,” he says softly. “Always.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest, and then his mouth is on mine again, hungry and demanding.
His hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and I arch into his touch, craving more.
The magic inside me surges, responding to the heat between us, but it no longer feels like a threat.
Instead, it mingles with my arousal and I want more.
“You’re burning,” he breathes against my lips.
I shudder. “So are you.”
His golden eyes darken, pupils blown wide. “Then let me burn with you.”
And then he’s everywhere as his hands, his lips, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. Every touch, every kiss, feels like a vow, a claiming, and I surrender to it, to him.
His claws rip at the remnants of my clothes as I grind into him, desperate for any friction.
The only sounds I hear are the frantic ripping of fabric and our ragged breaths as we tear at each other, desperate to be closer.
His touch ignites something primal within me and I arch into him, begging him for more, as his fingers tangle in my hair and he holds me close.
“Lorien,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please.”
The magic inside me surges in response, intertwining with the heat of desire until I can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.
“Mine,” Lorien murmurs against my collarbone, his voice rough with need. “Say it, Jude. Tell me you're mine.”
“Yours,” I breathe, the word a promise and a plea for mercy.
He doesn’t wait.
His hand wraps around my cock and I groan, bucking into him as I ask for more friction, more contact, more of him. It’s too damn good when he’s touching me like this, and his hand strokes my cock at a leisurely pace, giving me enough to keep the agony at bay but not nearly as much as I need.
“Lorien,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I need—”
“I know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “I've got you.”