Chapter 41
Thane
I've been pacing this hallway for twenty minutes.
Waiting. Like some lovesick fool instead of a centuries-old vampire with better things to do than track the movements of one untrained Source.
It's been three days since the Council summons, since I was yanked away from her when everything started shifting. Three days of watching her slip out each morning to tend to the camps, and three days of feeling her absence like a missing tooth I can't stop probing with my tongue.
Blocking the corridor like a territorial animal.
Pathetic.
The sound of footsteps makes me go still. Light, familiar, accompanied by the soft whisper of Ether that always announces her presence. I should move. Should pretend I was just passing through.
Instead, I plant myself more firmly in the center of the hallway.
She rounds the corner and nearly walks into me, pulling up short with surprise that quickly shifts to wariness.
"You're blocking the hallway," she says.
The simple observation carries an edge that wasn't there before. Good. She's learning not to back down.
"You've been gone a long time."
The words come out more accusatory than I intended. More possessive. I watch her shoulders stiffen, see the exact moment her defenses go up.
"I was walking. Helping people."
With him. The thought burns through me before I can stop it. Because I know she wasn't alone today. Stellan mentioned seeing her with Jace this morning, and the scent of unfamiliar magic still clings to her hoodie.
Male magic. Not one of theirs.
"Helping." I let the word carry all my skepticism. "They'd kneel if you asked them to."
Her green eyes flash. "I didn't ask them to."
"No. But you didn't stop them either."
It's cruel, and I know it. But watching her flinch feels better than acknowledging the real reason I'm standing here like a jealous fool.
"Should I have?" Her voice sharpens, gains strength. "Should I tell them not to be grateful? Not to hope for something better?"
The fire in her tone does something to my chest. Makes me want to push harder, see how bright she can burn.
But then she hits me where I'm not prepared for it.
"You disappeared," she says suddenly. "After the crowd. After they all started looking at the others like... and then you were just gone."
The accusation lands and I feel like I'm gasping for air. I remember that moment—the Council summons hitting me like a brand beneath my ribs, yanking me away from her right when the attention on the others was making everything complicated.
"The Council summoned me," I say carefully.
"Of course they did." Bitterness, low and familiar. "Right when things got difficult."
I don't answer. Can't explain that leaving her that day felt like choosing duty over something I was only beginning to understand I wanted.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
I hesitate, almost looking pained. Because how do I explain centuries of conditioning? How do I tell her that every instinct I have says to protect the mission, serve the Council, maintain control—but all of that crumbles when she looks at me like I matter?
She flinches at my silence, and I hate myself for it.
"No," she says quietly. "I suppose I wouldn't."
The admission in her voice—hurt, confusion, something that might be disappointment—makes my carefully constructed walls crack.
"You keep telling people you volunteered to find me because I was dangerous," she continues, stepping closer. Close enough that I can smell the forest in her hair, the lingering sweetness of her skin. "But you've never looked at me like I'm dangerous. Not once."
She's right. From the moment I first saw her, standing in that kitchen with mist curling around her feet, I've never looked at her and seen a threat.
I've looked at her and seen everything I thought I'd forgotten how to want.
"No."
"Then why—"
"But I have looked at you like you might ruin me."
The words tear out of me before I can stop them. Raw and honest in a way I haven't been with anyone in centuries. Her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. The hallway feels charged, electric with possibility and fear.
Then she finds her voice, and it's stronger than I expected.
"If you're waiting for me to belong to someone, it's not going to be you who decides that."
She brushes past me, shoulder barely grazing my arm.
And everything changes.
The Ether rises from her skin like liquid silver, wrapping around me with deliberate intent. Not the chaotic hunger I've seen it display before, but something purposeful. But this time, it doesn't curl hungrily. It waits. Watches. Then chooses. Claiming.
It curls along my jaw, threads through my hair, settles against my chest like it recognizes something there. Like it's marking territory.
And it's not the first time.
I remember the attic. The door with the sigil that bloomed under her touch.
The way the Ether had reached for me then too, tentative but present.
She'd been so focused on the mark, on what it meant, that she hadn't noticed the mist threading toward me.
Hadn't seen the way it tested the space between us.
But I had noticed. Had felt the electric pull of recognition.
I go completely still. Not from fear, but from the overwhelming rightness of it.
This isn't random magic responding to proximity. This is choice. Recognition. The Ether claiming me as surely as if she'd pressed her lips to mine.
And this time, she feels it too.
"You shouldn't touch me like that if you don't mean it," I manage, voice rougher than I intended.
She turns to face me, and I can see the confusion in her eyes. The way she's trying to understand what just happened.
"I didn't. The Ether did."
But then something shifts in her expression. Something that looks dangerously like decision.
"But maybe I won't stop it next time," she whispers.
Then she's walking away, leaving me standing in the corridor with silver mist still clinging to my skin like a promise.
I press my hand to my chest where the warmth lingers, where her magic sank into me like it belongs there.
"Not yours yet either," I whisper to the empty hallway.
But I hadn't moved when she touched me.
And worse—I didn't want to.
For the first time in centuries, I'm not sure who's hunting whom.