Chapter 9 Maya
MAYA
I wake up sweating again.
It's the fifth night in a row, and my nightgown sticks to my skin like I've been running in summer heat. But the palace is perfectly climate-controlled, and the windows show frost covering the gardens outside. There's no reason I should be burning up like this.
I push damp hair back from my face and try to ignore the ache that's been building between my legs for days now. At first, I thought it was just the stress of adjusting to life here. New place, new routine, the intensity of working so closely with Thorian every day.
But this feels... different. More urgent. Like my body is demanding something I can't name.
The dreams don't help either. Every night, the same fragments that leave me gasping awake—heat and hands and a voice like velvet whispering things I can't quite remember but that make my whole body clench with want.
I slip out of bed and pad to the window, pressing my fevered cheek against the cool glass. The memorial garden glows softly in the pre-dawn light, beautiful and peaceful. Nothing like the chaotic sensations racing through my body.
Maybe it's just the magical exposure. That has to be it. After a week of daily sessions with increasingly intensive magical growth work, my system is probably just adjusting to all the new energy flowing through me.
That makes sense. That's logical, scientific.
It has nothing to do with omega biology, despite the nagging voice in my head that keeps pointing out similarities to textbook descriptions of pre-heat symptoms. I'm not an omega.
The school testing was thorough, and besides, if I were omega, these symptoms would have started years ago during puberty.
This is just magical adaptation. Nothing more.
A soft knock interrupts my rationalization. "Dr. Nakamura? His Majesty requests your presence in the laboratory."
I glance at the clock—barely past dawn. Usually our sessions don't start until mid-morning.
"I'll be right there," I call back, though my voice comes out breathier than intended.
I dress quickly in one of the simple gowns that appeared in my wardrobe, trying not to notice how the fabric feels rough against my hypersensitive skin. Everything has been affecting me more lately—textures, temperatures, scents that seem more intense than they should be.
The walk to the laboratory takes longer than usual because I have to stop twice when waves of dizziness hit. By the time I reach the familiar flowering corridor, my heart is pounding like I've run a marathon.
Thorian looks up when I enter, and the concerned frown that crosses his face makes my chest tight.
"Maya." He's at my side instantly, one large hand pressing against my forehead. "You're burning up."
His touch sends sparks racing through my entire nervous system. I have to bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound as every nerve ending comes alive at once.
"I'm fine," I manage weakly. "Just having trouble sleeping. Bad dreams."
"What kind of dreams?"
The question is gentle, but there's something in his eyes that suggests he already knows the answer.
"Hot dreams. Confusing ones. I wake up feeling like..." I trail off, unable to describe the desperate ache that's been consuming me.
"Like you're burning from the inside out? Like you need something but can't figure out what?"
I stare at him in shock. "Yes. Exactly like that. How did you know?"
"It's a normal response to working with strong magic," he says, guiding me to a chair with careful hands. "Your body is getting used to all the fertility magic we've been doing. The dreams, the heat, the way everything feels more intense—all expected parts of the process."
Relief floods through me. Normal. Expected. Not some mysterious illness or—worse—biological awakening I don't understand.
"So this will pass?"
"It will change," Thorian says carefully. "The first part is usually the hardest. But as your body gets used to it, the feelings will become easier to handle."
He moves to his workbench, preparing what looks like a more complex version of our usual magical reading setup. When he turns back, there's something different in his expression—more focused, more intense.
"Today we'll try going deeper with the magical work," he explains. "It should help calm down what you're feeling."
"Deeper how?"
Instead of answering immediately, he approaches my chair and kneels beside it, bringing his face level with mine. This close, his scent wraps around me like a blanket—something woodsy and warm with undertones that make my mouth water.
"I'll need to touch you directly to guide the magic," he says, his voice softer than usual. "Skin contact helps the energy work better."
Physical touch. The words make that ache between my legs pulse stronger.
"Okay," I whisper, though I'm not sure what I'm agreeing to.
His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones in a touch that's gentle but somehow possessive. "Just relax, little scientist. Let me take care of you."
The endearment makes my heart flutter. When he calls me that, I feel special. Treasured. Like I'm the only person in the world who matters.
"Close your eyes," he murmurs.
I obey, and immediately the world narrows to the feeling of his hands on my skin and the magical energy beginning to build between us. But this time, instead of the gentle flow I'm used to, power pulses through me in waves that match my heartbeat.
"Oh," I gasp as the magic sinks deeper into my nervous system. It feels like being touched everywhere at once, like invisible hands stroking every inch of my oversensitive skin.
"Breathe through it," Thorian's voice comes from somewhere above me. "Let the energy flow where it wants to go."
The magic pools low in my belly, building pressure that makes me squirm in the chair. This doesn't feel like the careful, clinical readings we've done before. This feels intimate. Personal. Like the energy is seeking out every secret place in my body and awakening responses I've never felt.
"Thorian," I whisper, not sure if I'm asking for help or just saying his name because I need to.
"I'm right here." His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, and even through the fabric of my dress, his touch burns. "You're doing beautifully, Maya. So responsive."
Responsive. The word makes something clench deep inside me. I want to be responsive for him. Want to be perfect, precious, everything he needs me to be.
The magical energy intensifies, and I arch involuntarily as sensation floods through me. It's like every nerve has been stripped bare and then flooded with warmth that's somehow pleasurable instead of painful. My breathing becomes shallow, and I can't stop the soft sound that escapes my lips.
"That's it," Thorian murmurs, his voice rougher now. "Don't fight it, Maya. Let yourself feel everything."
The way he says my name makes my heart race even faster. There's something possessive in his tone that should probably worry me, but instead it makes me want to lean into his touch, to give him whatever he's asking for.
"Please," I hear myself say, though I don't know what I'm asking for.
"Please what, sweetheart?"
Sweetheart. The endearment goes straight to that aching place between my legs, making me whimper with need I don't understand. When did his voice become so important? When did earning his approval become more necessary than breathing?
"I don't know," I admit helplessly, my hands gripping the arms of the chair. "I just... I need..."
His hands tighten on my shoulders, and I can feel the heat of his palms through my dress. "What do you need, Maya? Tell me."
"You." The word slips out before I can stop it, carrying more desperation than I intended. "I need you to... to fix this. Make it stop burning."
There's silence for a moment, and I wonder if I've said something wrong. Then his voice comes, rougher than before:
"Open your eyes."
I do, and find him staring at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His golden-green eyes are darker than usual, pupils dilated like he's as affected by this magical work as I am. There's something hungry in his expression that makes my stomach flutter with nervous excitement.
"The burning will get stronger before it gets better," he says carefully, his voice rough in a way that sends shivers down my spine. "Your body is awakening to powers it's never channeled before. Fighting the sensations will only make them worse."
"Then what should I do?"
"Trust me to guide you through it." His hands slide down my arms, leaving trails of heat that make me shiver. "The magical work requires you to stop fighting what your body wants," he says carefully. "Fighting how you feel will only make it take longer."
Complete surrender. The words should scare me, but instead they send a thrill through my oversensitive system.
"I trust you," I whisper, meaning it completely.
Something flickers across his expression—too quick for me to interpret. "Good girl."
The praise hits me like a physical caress, making me lean toward him unconsciously. When did earning his approval become more important than breathing?
"The next part of your training will be more intense," he continues, his hands still moving in gentle patterns along my arms. "Daily sessions, closer watching, more hands-on guidance. Are you ready for that much... involvement?"
Personal guidance. The phrase makes my pulse jump with anticipation I don't fully understand.
"Yes," I say immediately. "Whatever the research requires."
"It's not just research anymore, Maya." His voice drops to that honey-warm tone that makes my knees weak. "What's happening to you is real change. Permanent change that will affect every part of your body."
"Good," I breathe, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "I want to change. I want to become whatever you need me to be."