TWENTY-SIX #2
Silas didn’t think on his next actions, unable to bear the sound of her anguish. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her fervently. “Amelia. Wake up !”
She gasped, her eyes flying open, wide, and wild, like she was still trapped in the dream. Amelia shot up towards him, a whimper escaping her throat as her hands found his chest, clutching roughly at his shirt.
“Hey, hey,” Silas said quickly, a hand at her shoulder while his other came to rest at the side of her neck, tilting her chin up so she would look at him. “It’s me. You’re safe. We’re at your friend’s house. Brinkley’s house. I’m right here with you, and you’re safe.”
Her breaths came fast and shallow, her pulse thrumming violently against his fingers where he held her. Her eyes darted around the room, unfocused, still searching for the nightmare.
She finally settled her gaze on him, and he saw the moment recognition flickered. Her eyes stuttered as she stared at him, and some of the tension leaked away from her rigid body.
“Finley,” she whispered, voice rough.
His hands tightened slightly, grounding her. “I’m here.” He tried for a smile, but he felt it come across shaky and false. “You know, you can call me Silas. I think we’re past the surname thing now, don’t you?”
Her chest shuddered as she choked on a quiet laugh. Her hands, that always looked so dainty and fragile, held his shirt in tight fists between them.
“I don’t know,” she said, voice wobbly, but he could hear the attempt to inject some strength into it. “You’ve always been Finley to me. It would be weird to change.”
He shifted his thumb, brushing along the underside of her jaw. Her lips parted on a soft inhale.
“Perhaps I want to hear you say it,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, willing her pulse to steady, to let the tension she held on to ease away.
She kept a firm grip on his shirt, but seemed to relax slightly, her forearms coming to rest against his chest, close enough that if there were better light he might be able to count the dusting of freckles he knew sat on either side of her nose.
“Some kink of yours?” she asked, a spark returning to her dark eyes.
He felt a smirk rise at the corner of his mouth, but as he searched her gaze, his half-smile dropped slowly away. She noticed, her face turning serious as they looked at one another.
Silas gave a slight shake of his head. “Only with you.”
Amelia’s chest rose on a slow inhale. Her hands finally relaxed against him, releasing the bunched sections of his shirt to place her palms flat against his chest. One of her hands smoothed upwards until her fingertips were brushing at the collar, and then touching the skin at the base of this throat.
Silas felt his breath catch at that small touch, so simple, so light. It felt like everything.
He wanted to kiss her.
To shift forwards and finish what they had barely started before they had been attacked. She felt so warm and real before him, her soft skin, and delicate features so pure and lovely in the moonlight. Amelia was so beautiful that it made him ache.
But it felt wrong in the wake of what had just happened, and of what they faced.
He pulled away slightly, just enough to take a steadying breath. His hand slipped from her neck to rest gently on her shoulder.
“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low.
Her expression shifted quickly. She ducked her head, her hands leaving him to press the heels of her palms hard against her eyes. “It felt so real.”
Silas hesitated, then quietly asked, “what did you see?”
She dropped her hands. “The Realm,” she said, barely audible. “It…it felt like it was pulling me, dragging me into it. Hands had me, they were everywhere.”
His stomach turned cold.
Amelia swallowed hard, looking up at him. “Then it changed, and I saw…well, I saw Lyana again.”
“What happened?”
Her gaze slid away. There was hesitation in the curve of her mouth, the heaviness in her silence.
“Winslow?” he prompted. “Did she say anything?”
Amelia exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on the blanket draped across her legs.
“She said her partner, Bane, had a journal. It explains the ritual. The one we need to complete to…fix all of this.” Her eyes lifted to meet his, dark and uncertain.
“It’s about uniting the Monoliths. Lyana said they’re the original bond, that they belong together.
We’re just echoes of that connection. Completing the ritual will reunite them, break the cycle of pair bonding, and restore magical balance. ”
Silas didn’t answer right away.
His father’s research, the old theories about the Monolith’s being linked…all of it had been right.
And somehow, he and Amelia were meant to be the ones to complete that connection.
He met her eyes again.
“Did she say anything else? About how the ritual works?”
Amelia hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was small. “It requires a sacrifice. For us to become one, like the Monolith’s. One of us survives, the other is sent to the Realm.”
Silas stilled. The words sank in slowly, like icy water slipping into his veins.
He didn’t know what scared him more, that Demetrius had been right, that the sacrifice was real and necessary, or that Amelia might be the one left behind to face whatever came next. He could feel her grief like it was his own.
Because he knew.
Amelia was the siphon. Silas was the sacrifice.
They looked at each other for a long moment, the lingering silence as loud as their inner turmoil.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you some water,” he murmured, rising from the bed.
“Wait,” Amelia said, voice sharp with urgency. She caught his wrist, stopping him mid-step, just before it happened.
Midnight. A small thing Silas had managed to forget.
He was yanked forwards, drawn to her by the force of the bond. His body collided with hers, pressing her down into the mattress.
“Fuck,” he breathed, bracing himself with both arms as he hovered above her. “Did I hurt you?”
Amelia was motionless beneath him, her gaze locked on his. Slowly, she shook her head. “No.”
Their legs were tangled, his lower body pressing intimately against hers.
Silas shifted instinctively, ready to pull away, but her arm circled his waist.
“Wait,” she whispered. “Just stay a moment.”
He stilled.
Moonlight filtered through the window, casting soft shadows over her face. Half of her was dipped in darkness, the other lit in silver, like she existed halfway between dream and waking.
Neither spoke. Their bodies stayed pressed close, sharing warmth, breath, the weight of all unspoken things. Silas lifted a hand, brushing a dark curl from her cheek. His fingers lingered at her cheekbone, unwilling to leave her skin.
Amelia sighed, a soft, aching sound. A smile, too. Slight, but real.
The look she gave him was warm. Maybe even filled with something else, if he were to interpret the flush in her cheeks, the rise of her chest.
Shit.
Have mercy, Winslow .
His throat worked. “Should I…get you that water?” he asked, voice husky and unsure.
She shook her head.
His pulse thundered.
Slowly, Silas lowered himself to his forearms, their torsos brushing, closer now than ever. Her gaze didn’t waver.
His arousal was immediate and inescapable. She’d drawn him in from the very beginning, and now this. The way she looked at him like she might want to be devoured just as much as he wanted to devour her. It stole the breath from his lungs.
They fit together so completely, effortlessly. Yet, they had been so childish, waited so long to truly know one another.
So many wasted years.
Too late.
The warmth in his chest faltered.
Silas exhaled and pushed up again, just enough to create space. She blinked at him, confused.
“Winslow…” he said softly, “we both know how this ends.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She turned towards the window, thinking, before looking back. “And how is that?”
He sat back, untangling from her, placing himself at the edge of the bed. She followed slowly, sitting beside him.
“Unless we find another way,” he said, “it ends with me dying…or both of us, if we fail.”
The truth finally entered the space between them, bitter and no longer avoidable.
Amelia inhaled deeply before letting it back out again, hands fidgeting in her lap. “Okay. Say you’re right.” She looked sideways at him, jaw set with a familiar determination. “What should that have to do with right now?”
He stared at her. “Everything?”
She tilted her head. “Do you think?”
He didn’t follow. So he shifted, turning to face her fully, trying to read her intent. “What do you mean? Winslow, there are things bigger than us at play. And if we get any closer…don’t you think it’ll only hurt more when—"
He stopped himself, didn’t let the words cross his lips.
When I die .
Because he knew that was the only possibility. It had to be him.
He couldn’t let her be taken by the Realm, couldn’t let her suffer that fate. He would go willingly if it meant she lived. So, he’d pulled away, denying himself what he wanted most. Not because he didn’t want, but because he did .
She nodded slowly, eyes downcast.
He took the silence as agreement, standing to move for the door.
“Finley?”
He paused, turned his head, finding her eyes in the dark.
“What if we do find another way?” she asked softly. “What if we get out of this?”
“If we do…then nothing would hold me back.”
She tilted her head. “Oh no?” Something playful in her voice sparked a fire in him. “Do tell.”
Silas gripped the doorframe. “Trust me when I say…” He pushed off the frame and stalked back to her, heat sparking like wildfire in his blood. “That I would lock us in this room.” He stopped above her, holding her eyes, afire with his intent. “And we wouldn’t leave for days.”
Amelia’s hands fisted in her lap.
“Days?” she asked, breathless. Then she tilted her head, a coy smile curving her lips. “Whatever would we do for days?”
Silas laughed, low and incredulous. She didn’t know what she was doing to him. Or perhaps, she did.
Amelia pulled the edge of her lip between her teeth, and he swore under his breath.
Oh, she knew .
He leaned in close, still not touching her. One more brush of skin, and he would lose control.
“You asked,” he growled, voice thick, “so don’t pretend you don’t want the answer.”
Wide-eyed, she nodded, breath hitching.
Silas took in every detail of her face. The flush in her cheeks, the way she looked at him like he held every secret she’d ever wanted to uncover.
“Winslow…” he said, voice low, a warning.
“I’m just curious,” she said, voice too innocent. Amelia caught her lip between her teeth again, and fuck if it didn’t make him want to bite down on that same spot, perhaps find out if she liked a little pain with her pleasure.
Silas swallowed raggedly, body vibrating with his desire.
“Alright, Winslow,” he said, voice just above a whisper.
“I want to know every inch of you. I want to taste every inch of you.” She gasped softly.
“I want to feel you tremble beneath me, hear you beg for more, and—” He leaned in, so close that he felt the next heavy breath she released.
“—I want to know what you sound like when you come. Every single sound of your pleasure, I want to fucking bathe in it.”
Amelia’s jaw fell open on a shaky breath.
The silence that followed was electric, laced with heat and everything left unsaid. Their ragged breaths filled the space.
Then he straightened, clearing his throat.
“Well,” he said, managing a remarkable composure, “sleep well, Winslow. See you in the morning.”
He didn’t miss the frustrated exhale as he walked out the door, unwilling to look back at her, knowing that his self-control was woefully fragile.