Chapter 21 #3
I grip his arms, my nails digging into his skin, my body arching beneath him.
“Thane . . . ” this time when I say his name it is a gasp, a plea, a prayer.
The pleasure starts to rise, sharp and insistent, curling deep in my core. I can feel it coming, tightening inside me, coiling like a spring ready to snap. But it’s not just that.
My magics rise too. The familiar pull of fire, air, water, and earth stirs beneath my skin, responding to something deeper, something beyond my control.
“Gods—” My voice breaks, breathless, shaking. “I’m close.”
Thane’s grip tightens. His rhythm remains steady—never faltering, never rushing.
“I know. Wait for me, Amara darling,” he breathes, rough and full of need.
The words ripple through me. A command. A supplication. A promise.
I try. Gods, I try.
But the pleasure is building, rising, cresting, an unstoppable force.
Thane drives deeper, his pace still slow but devastating, pushing me right to the edge. I can feel it breaking inside me, my body trembling, magics crackling beneath my skin.
And then, we fall together.
Pleasure explodes through me—blinding. Shattering. Consuming. Every part of me ignites—and my magics erupts.
All four elements swirl around us, fire licking through the air, water rippling over the sheets, wind twisting around our bodies, the ground beneath the bed vibrating with raw energy.
It’s wild and untamed, a mirror of us, of this, of everything we are in this moment.
A breathless caress of power, wrapping around us, binding us in a way I don’t understand.
Thane groans against my throat, his body shuddering—like whatever just passed between us stripped him bare. His arms still bracing above me, holding his weight, as if afraid of crushing me.
Slowly, the magics fades, dissolving into the quiet warmth between us—leaving only the steady rhythm of our breathing.
Thane’s forehead rests against mine, his body still half-draped over me—solid, steady, safe.
His fingers ghost over my skin, slow and unhurried, tracing idle patterns along my waist, still caught in the aftershocks of his release.
Then, his voice comes low, concern laced through. “Are you . . . are you okay?”
I laugh softly, breathless, sated, my body still tingling with the aftermath of pleasure and magics.
“Thane,” I murmur, “I’m very okay.”
He exhales, the tension in his muscles finally easing. He gently withdraws from me but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he just stays there—his skin warm against mine, his breath beginning to steady. His fingers brush along my hip, slow and absent.
And again, I feel it. That lingering sense that he’s holding something back—in the way he touches me. In the way he watches me, that slight frown on his lips, like there’s more he wants to say but won’t.
Outside, morning spills through the window, painting the walls in soft gold. I close my eyes, pressing closer into him, into the solid warmth of his body.
And even in this moment of peace, the weight of yesterday presses gently at the edges of my thoughts. Lyra’s voice. Valen’s. What they said about him—how deeply he feels for me. That this is more than the Spiritborn. That I’m more than a prophecy to him.
The guilt clenches my heart. How he must have worried. How scared he must have been. Not for what I represent—but for me. And then, quietly, I speak.
“I won’t fly alone.”
His arms wrap around me tighter, his body pressing me closer and kisses my head. Soft. Unspoken. A promise without words.
We don’t say anything else. Because for a moment, there are no arguments to be had, no battles to fight. For a moment, there’s only this.
Sleep comes easily after. Maybe it’s the lingering pleasure, maybe it’s exhaustion finally winning out, maybe it’s just him—the way his presence wraps around me like a shield I didn’t know I needed.
I drift in and out, caught somewhere between wakefulness and rest, my body too heavy, too sated to fight it. The steady warmth of his body beside me, the slow, even rhythm of his breathing, the way his fingers—even in sleep—remain against my skin.
When I wake again, it’s slow. The room is still, hushed, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only exists at dawn. The air is warm, thick with the last traces of night. A faint, early light creeps through the window, turning the edges of the world soft and blurred.
I shift slightly, stretching, testing the stiffness in my limbs. Beside me, Thane stirs. Not much—just a slow inhale, the faintest tension rippling through him before he settles again. His breath hitches. Barely noticeable, barely there. I might not have caught it if I weren’t this close.
But then, it’s gone. He exhales, his body easing, his expression smoothing out once more.
I press my lips together, exhaling softly as I push myself up, careful not to jostle the bed too much. My body aches, but the pain is manageable. The wound is healed, the discomfort only a shadow of what it was. Thane doesn’t stir again.
Time to start the day.
Gods, am I tempted to wake him again.
But I don’t wake him. Instead, I watch the light shift across his skin—and wonder when he’ll stop pretending I don’t see he’s still holding back.
The sun hangs heavy in the sky, casting golden light over the outpost training grounds. The warmth clings to my skin, but I barely feel it. All my focus is on the energy surging through me. Four elements. Fire. Water. Air. Earth.
Each one a force of its own. Each one demanding to be balanced, controlled—wielded as one.
And when I try to center myself, it’s not the elements that rise first—it’s thoughts of him.
I stand in the center of the clearing, feet planted firmly, my breaths even, controlled. My fingers tremble slightly as I pull the elements into me. It’s like grabbing hold of a storm.
Fire flares first, licking up my arms, hot, alive, impatient.
Wind whirls around me, twisting through my hair, tugging at my clothes like a restless toddler.
Water gathers at my fingertips, droplets forming, shifting, coiling around my wrists.
And beneath me, the ground hums with power, a deep, steady vibration anchoring it all.
I try to breathe them into unity. But they move like strangers, not kin.
I exhale, stretching my hands outward, letting the power rise. But the moment I do—it slips. At one point, I almost drenched a passing squadron on their way back from a run.
The wind pulls too hard, sending a rush of air outward that nearly knocks me back. The flames sputter, faltering for half a second before reigniting, too wild, too uncontrolled. Water pulses around my hands but refuses to hold form. The earth beneath me trembles, but it isn’t steady.
I curse under my breath, forcing the elements back into balance, but they resist. Like they know my mind is elsewhere. Like they can feel it.
Across from me, Valen watches. He doesn’t say anything at first—just observes, his staff pressed into the dirt, his stance relaxed. But by now, I know him too well.
I grit my teeth, trying again. Pulling the magics back into alignment, forcing them to move together. But it keeps slipping.
The moment I have it, the moment it feels stable—something wavers, and the balance breaks. The wind surges, the fire sparks too fast, the water scatters, the earth trembles without direction.
“Shit,” I mutter, cutting off the flow entirely as the magics slip from my grasp.
Valen watches me, unimpressed. “Are you still in pain?”
I shake my head, rolling out my shoulders. “No. Just sore. Not in pain like yesterday.”
He exhales, tilting his head slightly, his expression giving nothing away. “Then you’re distracted.”
I glare at him. “I’m fine.”
His brow lifts, his stare pointed. “Are you?”
I huff, forcing a deep breath through my nose. “Yes.”
Valen doesn’t blink. And I know, without a doubt, he doesn’t believe me. Because he’s right. I am distracted. Thane distracts me.
And I keep thinking about that fucking bond—it cracked open something I didn’t agree to—and now the magics are asking questions I don’t have answers for.
I clench my fists, forcing my magics back into control. I need to focus. I need to prove that I can do this. Even as the doubt lingers at the edge of my mind.
The moment I reach for control, it turns on me.
Wind shrieks in my ears. Fire lashes toward the tree line. Water erupts like a lash from my palms. The ground gives—just slightly—but enough to make the squadron fifty yards away go still.
Valen slams his staff into the dirt.
“That’s enough.”
The command isn’t magics, but it might as well be. I go still, my power fading on instinct, the energy slipping away between us.
Valen plants his staff, then crosses his arms like he’s settling in to wait out a storm.
“Speak your mind, girl.” His voice is even, patient, but firm.
I scowl. “There’s nothing to speak about.”
He lifts a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, is that so?”
I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders, preparing to call the magics back, to demand we keep going. “I just need to focus.”
“No,” Valen corrects smoothly, “you need to stop pretending that whatever is gnawing at you isn’t affecting your magics.”
I bristle. Annoyed. Defensive. Exposed.
“That’s not—”
“It is.” He tilts his head, gaze sharp and unwavering. “And we’re not wasting any more time until you deal with it.”
I want to argue. Gods, I want to argue. But the way he looks at me—knowing, unshakable, like he’s already unraveled every thought twisting in my head—makes it impossible.
I exhale sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples, finally admitting what’s been clawing at the back of my mind.
“It’s Thane.”
Valen doesn’t react. Not immediately. He just watches me, like he already knew what I was going to say.
I shake my head, huffing out a breath. “The bond.”
The word tastes wrong on my tongue—like saying it aloud makes it too real.
Valen’s expression doesn’t change. He waits. Then—quietly: “And?”
I clench my fists, frustrated, not answering.