Shadows Domination

Ciaran's POV

She was trembling when she woke, but not from fear. Her breath hitched in a soft gasp, and her eyes fluttered open, darkened with want. He felt it immediately—like a summoning, a low thrumming in the air that echoed her hunger. Ciaran sat in the corner, half-draped in shadows, watching her.

Therrin was glowing, barely cloaked in the remnants of sleep and stretched across the velvet sheets like something conjured by the night itself. Her pulse was a rhythm he knew too well now.

"You're restless," he said, voice velvet-edged, almost a purr. "Still aching?"

She nodded, and the shadows stirred as if they too had been waiting for her answer.

"I want more," she whispered, and the honesty of her need struck him deep.

A faint smile curved his lips. "Then take it," he said. "I won't touch you this time. Not unless you ask. But they"—he gestured with a tilt of his head to the ink that lingered in the corners of the room—"will be yours to command."

She sat up, back straight, hair tangled and eyes wild. "All of them?"

Ciaran's expression darkened with pleasure. "All of them. Bind yourself. Order them as you like. Make them kneel. Make them worship you. Or… let them own you."

The moment the words left his mouth, the shadows responded—curling around her wrists like silk before locking in with a pulse. She gasped but didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her head back and whispered, "Behind me this time."

Ciaran's pupils dilated. He didn't move to help her. He didn't need to. The shadows obeyed her command.

They wound her arms behind her back, firm but reverent. Another tendril slipped beneath her nightgown and slithered up her spine, drawing out a shiver as it caressed her skin. She leaned into it, thighs parting slightly without hesitation.

"Harder," she breathed, arching. "Don't tease me."

From where he watched, Ciaran exhaled slowly.

This was something darker. Deeper. She was no longer resisting the power in her veins—she was becoming one with it.

More shadows rose from the floor, shaped into hands. One slid into her hair, twining gently at first, before yanking it back with enough force to draw a gasp from her lips. Her mouth opened, breathless, and another shadow caressed down her throat, stopping just over the spot where her pulse thundered. It hovered there, possessive.

Then, lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing, the shadows turned her midair, floating her on her back. Her wrists remained bound. She was entirely exposed to them—helpless but radiating power.

Ciaran couldn't look away. His fingers dug into the chair as he forced himself to stay seated, honoring his vow to let her lead. But he couldn't stop the way his voice broke through the thick air:

"Look at you," he murmured. "Willing. Beautiful. Owned… and owning it."

Therrin trembled with the pressure of the caresses crawling over her skin, slithering beneath her clothes, tracing every curve. Her moan was low, desperate, and full of demand.

"Rougher," she hissed. "Don't hold back. I want to feel it."

The shadows obeyed. The soft caresses turned into firm gropes. Hands—formed from ink and magic—gripped her thighs, her waist, her chest. Her breath hitched in broken gasps. Her back arched as they worked her toward a climax that was both painful and exquisite.

And when it hit—when she cried out, body writhing in ecstasy—Ciaran stood.

He didn't even notice the moment the bond between her and Dion flared in warning. But he did feel the magic shift.

The door exploded inward.

Grimm stepped in first, his eyes wild and glowing with silver fire. Dion followed, fury etched into every line of his face.

Time froze.

Therrin was still suspended in the air, trembling from the aftershock. Her head turned slowly, confusion clouding her face as she saw Dion.

"Therrin—" he started.

But the shadows reacted faster.

Ciaran melted into the wall of shadows and unleashed them. Tendrils lashed out like whips, forming a living barricade between Dion and Therrin. Grimm raised his hand and sent a pulse of ancient magic into the room, but Ciaran's darkness swallowed it whole.

"She's mine!" Ciaran snarled from the shadows, his voice a roar of grief and possessiveness.

Dion lunged forward, slicing through the tendrils with pure will, but it wasn't fast enough. Another shadowy portal yawned open behind Therrin, still weak and dazed from the rush of her own power.

"No—!" Dion's voice broke as the shadows closed around her, dragging her through.

Grimm tried to follow but was flung back against the wall.

The last thing Ciaran saw before the portal closed was Therrin's eyes—wide, confused, and filled with something unreadable.

Then she was gone.

And the scream that tore from Ciaran's throat shattered the silence.

It was the cry of a beast losing his mate. His soul.

His everything.