Chapter 44 #2
Ryker’s expression doesn’t flinch. “No,” he says, voice low and firm.
“The recordings were shut down a minute in, right after she swung at you. I made sure of it. And my people are already on the rest. Nothing’s getting out.
” He says it like a promise. Like an order already fulfilled.
But it doesn’t quiet the voice in my head.
Monster. Monster. Monster.
I look away. “Maybe the elder was right. Maybe I do fear my power. Because I could’ve—” My voice cracks. Ryker steps closer. His thumb brushing away a tear. But there’s no fear in his eyes.
“You think you’re a monster,” he murmurs. “But all I saw was strength.” His voice lowers, reverent. “Don’t be afraid of what’s yours.”
When I turn my face, unable to look at him any longer, he says, “Soraea.” His voice is low and commanding, yet not unkind. Ryker cups my cheek, turning my face back to his. “We’ll handle it. But right now, get in the shower.” He starts to move away, but I lunge forward, clutching his shirt.
“No,” I whisper, breath catching. “Please…don’t leave me.” I’m standing before him in nothing but my soaked shorts. Paint-streaked. Broken. Vulnerable. Yet his gaze doesn’t waver—not once. There’s no shame in his eyes. Only heat. And something raw.
Pride.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He walks me to the shower and checks the temperature before guiding me under the spray.
The water hits me, and my shoulders tremble.
I reach for the waistband of my shorts, peeling them down slowly.
I stay in my underwear. I don’t even care anymore.
Ryker steps in still fully clothed. The water soaks him instantly, but he doesn’t flinch.
He pulls me against him, his hand firm on my back.
“I see you, Soraea,” he murmurs, voice thick with something reverent. “I know you. You’re not a monster.” My resolve finally breaks. The tears I held back crash into him like a flood. He just holds me tighter.
He stays like that—anchored to me—as the water runs hot over both of us. For what feels like an hour, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just holds me as I shatter. And when my sobs begin to slow, he presses a kiss to the top of my head. Then, gently, he reaches for the shampoo.
He washes my hair. Once. Twice. A third time—each time softer than the last, until the red paint is gone. Then my back, slow and methodical.
When his hand hovers at my front, he doesn’t touch me. He offers the sponge, silent, eyes locked on mine. The intimacy of it all kills me. Not because it’s too much. But because part of me wants it. Wants him. Even after everything.
My hands tremble as I clean myself. I keep seeing it—Sienna’s face twisted in pain, the blistering heat under my hands. All of this—over him.
When I’m rinsed, he shuts off the water.
Before I can even think, he’s wrapping a towel around my body.
Then, without hesitation, he strips, discarding his soaked clothes in a pile at his feet.
His body is powerful, and he looks…dangerous.
My eyes drop, involuntarily taking all of him in—and when they rise to meet his again, he’s watching me with something unreadable.
Not shame.
Not restraint.
Almost…regret. But also desire. And something more dangerous—certainty. He gives me a sad smile. “C’mon. Let’s get you dressed.”
A few minutes later, I’m curled up in his bed, swallowed in one of his shirts. I’m waiting for clean clothes from Aolyn, but I can barely keep my eyes open. Ryker pulls the blankets over me and slides in behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. He’s warm. Solid. Unmoving.
But I can still feel the echo of fire in my veins.
The look in Sienna’s eyes. My own hands.
Her screams. “Sleep, Raea,” he says softly, his lips against my ear.
“I’ll still be here when you wake up.” His grip tightens ever so slightly.
“Always.” And I do. Eventually, the pull of sleep drags me under.
But my dreams are anything but peaceful.
A battlefield stretches before me—charred hills and rivers of blood. At its center, a girl stands draped in black. Shadow curls around her like smoke. When it parts, I see her face.
Mine.
Hair dulled to silver ash. Black war paint slashed across my eyes. And a smirk. Not kind. Not soft. Predatory. Certain. Powerful.
I am the monster.
I wake up feeling warm and safe. When I clear my eyes, I find Ryker asleep beside me on his stomach, an arm draped over my waist. Yesterday, I was too wound up to speak, but he took care of me.
Without needing to be told, he just knew what I needed.
It has to be the Bond between us. It’s the only explanation.
He sighs, his eyes flickering open before settling on me. “Hi,” he rasps. He pushes up, revealing his bare chest. “How are you feeling?”
Nervous butterflies take flight inside of me. “Okay,” I respond, a little breathless. He nods, turning on his side and pulling me closer until our bodies are flush.
“Are you hungry?” He brushes my hair from my face. “You missed dinner.”
I shake my head, suddenly aware that I’m in nothing but his shirt, and morning Ryker might just be my favorite sight.
I gulp. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Just a little burn. Trysten told the healers you had your Prism in your hand, and it was overheating.”
I nod and close my eyes, taking a steadying breath before opening them again. “And the recordings?”
“Rhoan took care of them. Cassia messaged you and wants to talk. Kuron called your parents and relayed that you were attacked, but it was handled quickly. Everyone’s okay. You’re okay.”
I shake my head. “I lost control.”
He tips my chin up until our eyes meet again. “Then we find control.”
I roll out of his arms and sit up, brushing back my hair, feeling scared and lost and so damn confused.
My chest squeezes. “We’ve been trying,” I say, defeated.
“The only reason I lost control yesterday is because she embarrassed the hell out of me, telling everyone that I’m still a virgin because you don’t want me.
” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I know it’s not true—”
“It’s not.”
“But it still got to me.” I turn to look at him, pulling my knees to my chest. “I let her get to me. I felt it, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”
He sits up, the blanket falling away as he scoots closer. “There’s something we’re missing. We’ll figure it out. Until then…” He swipes a hand through his hair.
“Until then, what? You can’t protect me or, I guess, protect everyone else from me.”
“Don’t,” he says sternly. “Don’t go down that path.”
My body hums with energy as if the magic is summoned again with my emotions.
I gasp, feeling my panic consume me as I jump from the bed, shaking my arms out and blowing out a breath.
Calm. Stay calm. I inhale and exhale, counting to three.
I hear Ryker come to me, but I keep my focus inward, searching.
I search for that well of power, and when I find it, I nearly sob. It’s full, overflowing, in fact. Pure white heat pours from it, flooding my system. “Get control,” he commands.
“I can’t,” I sob, watching the molten heat pour into me. His hands grip me, shaking me. Instead of the cooling sensation, he just grunts. My eyes spring open. He’s not using his power to counteract mine. “Stop!” I shriek.
He just holds on, grunting through the pain. “Get control of it.” Panic becomes a tangible thing. Internally, I beg myself to stop. “Raea,” he pants, “this hurts. Please.”
I gulp and breathe through my nose. Get control.
Just like on Sgya, I clear my mind, settling myself. I hear the elder’s words in my head. It’s a part of me, not gifted to me. It’s a part of me, which means I can decide. Sweat is beading on his face.
“Please,” I plead, “Let go.”
He shakes his head, groaning again. I find that well of power and look around. I don’t know what to do, but maybe it’s like my mental shield. I blink, and an iron lid appears. I slam it closed, feeling my body cool instantly. When I’m pulled back to Ryker, I blink at what I’m seeing. His hands…
I run to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet.
He steps up to my side, pulling my hair from my face.
“You did it,” I swear there’s pride in his voice.
He drops to his knees beside me. “I’m okay.
” My mouth waters as I turn to face him.
He’s holding his hands up in front of me, the skin perfectly healed.
“Don’t do that again.” I rest my head on my arms. He shrugs and mutters something about it working before pulling me to my feet. I slam my palms into his chest before flushing and walking away.
“So violent,” he chuckles.
The burning memory of his hands, blistered then instantly whole, lingers in my mind. How can I possibly face everyone now, knowing what kind of power truly flows through me?