Therrin's POV
There was no more cold. Not in this place, not within her mind. Just warmth, velvet shadows, and a voice that curled into her like silk ribbons and serpents. "You feel it now, don't you?" Ciaran's voice whispered through the mental haze. "The way the dark can hold you… cradle you… free you." She stood somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming. The stream outside Dion's cabin was faintly audible beyond the walls of her mind, but here, in this cloaked interior, it was just the two of them. Her and the shadow. Her and Ciaran. Ari was gone—walled off behind the barrier Therrin had erected in a flare of instinct and exhaustion. She could feel her on the other side, pounding like a heart, like a fist on a locked door. But for now, she was silent. Contained. "Why do you keep coming?" Therrin asked, turning within her own mind. Her voice sounded steadier than she expected. But there was no bravado behind it—just resignation. "Because I've always been here, mo duinne. In every scream you swallowed. In every time you chose silence over fire. I am what you hid from… and what you were made of." Therrin hesitated. "Stop calling me that." "Why? You liked it once. You melted for it once." She wanted to shove him out, to rip his presence from her soul. But he didn't press like Ari did. He didn't demand. He offered. Like a soft palm extended in the dark. "Then why don't I remember you?" she whispered. Ciaran laughed softly, low and rich. "You do. Somewhere in there, you remember the pain. The betrayal. The ache of being abandoned by the one who swore himself to us. You just haven't called it memory yet." Therrin blinked in the silence that followed. "Us?" she repeated. "You're saying we were…" "Lovers. Bound by pact. By magic and soul. In a time when power ran like blood and you—we—were feared. Worshipped. Hunted." It didn't feel real. But it did feel true. The subtle difference was terrifying. "I don't believe you." Ciaran's voice darkened to a purr. "And yet your soul leans toward mine like ivy toward stone. You dream in the shape of my name, even if you don't speak it aloud." She turned away from the voice, but the darkness moved with her—folding, reshaping, shifting to keep him near. "I don't need your belief to exist, Therrin. I only need your choice." She flinched at how softly he said it. Like it didn't matter at all—and like it meant everything. In the waking world, her body stirred beneath the blanket. Dion sat across from her, silently watching. She didn't meet his gaze. "Therrin," he said, his voice gentle but edged. "You've been quiet since last night. Tell me what's going on." She shook her head without looking at him. "I'm tired." "That's not what I asked." He moved closer, the mattress dipping with his weight. His presence wrapped around her like heat. "I can feel you pulling away," he said. "You think I don't notice, but I do." Still, she didn't answer. "I'm not trying to corner you," he added, softer now. "I just want to understand. You don't have to hide from me." But she did. She was. Because the hiding wasn't for him—it was for her. For the parts of her that were finally uncoiling. The parts that felt alive when Ciaran whispered through her ribs. Dion reached out, brushing his fingers along her arm. "Therrin…" "He doesn't understand you," Ciaran murmured. "Not the way I do. Not the pieces you've kept buried. He loves what he sees. I love what you are." Her throat tightened. "Do you want to talk to Ari?" Dion asked suddenly, as if it were a lifeline. "I know something happened." She finally turned her head. "No," she said flatly. "Not right now." Dion recoiled slightly, the hurt flickering in his eyes before he masked it. "You're building walls," he whispered. Therrin turned away again. "You're pushing. I'm breathing," she replied. "Beautiful," Ciaran purred in the hollow of her skull. "So much fire, even when the world tries to smother you. You're starting to see it, aren't you? The part of yourself that isn't made to be saved." She curled in on herself, clutching her knees. "Why me? Why are you still here?" "Because I never left. Because even when death claimed us, my soul clawed through the void to find yours again. You are mine, and I… am yours." "No," she whispered. "You're using me." A pause. "Not yet," he said. "But I will. And you'll let me. Because what I offer isn't chains, Therrin. It's freedom from them." The words landed like weights in her stomach. "I don't want to be this." "You don't want to be what?" She didn't answer. Didn't know how. Ciaran's presence thickened like fog. "Tell me, mo duinne… when you close your eyes at night, is it Ari's voice that soothes you? Is it Dion's touch you crave when your skin burns? No. It's the dark. The power. Me." He sounded like velvet and venom. "I can teach you. All the things they're too afraid to offer. The truths they'd rather keep buried. I know your secrets. I've lived them." Therrin tried to shut him out, to retreat into silence. But silence was his territory. Later that night, when Dion returned from outside and slid into bed beside her, she pretended to sleep. He reached toward her—tentative, as if waiting for permission that never came. His hand hovered above her spine, then dropped to the blanket instead. "I miss you," he murmured, voice low and ragged. "He's weak," Ciaran whispered. Therrin flinched, eyes still closed. "Too careful. Too gentle. He touches you like you'll shatter. But I know better. You don't break—you burn." She didn't respond. And slowly, Dion's breathing evened out behind her, falling into sleep. But Therrin remained awake, staring into the shadows. Where the voice lingered. Where the darkness curled in closer, wrapping tendrils around the edges of her soul.Ciaran's POV The shadows paused, their movement reverent, as though sensing she'd gone too deep. Her breathing was shallow, her head limp against the air. Floating, bound, and blissfully unconscious. Ciaran stepped closer from the dark, his voice a thread in the stillness. "Little one…" No response. He watched her—admiring and alert—his own breath tight in his chest. Her face was soft, her lashes fluttering like she was dreaming. The shadows curled protectively around her, awaiting his next word like loyal pets. "Therrin," he said more firmly, his voice sliding low and rich, cutting through the haze. "Come back to me." She stirred. A tiny sound escaped her lips, barely audible. Her body shifted slightly in the air, the arch of her back instinctive. She blinked slowly, her eyes unfocused and glazed with submission and softness. "There you are." He touched her cheek,
Therrin's POV The forest around them was thick with dusk, the golden light folding softly beneath the canopy as shadows deepened into night. Therrin sat quietly beside Ciaran, her mind still caught in the aftermath of what had happened during those shadow-bound moments—moments she barely understood but felt woven into the core of her being. Ciaran's voice was low, careful, as he broke the silence between them. "Tell me… how did it feel when the shadows contained your wrists?" His gaze searched hers, steady and patient. Therrin's breath hitched. She hesitated, then slowly looked down at her hands resting on her lap, fingers curling slightly. "It was… strange. Heavy, but not like a weight pressing down. More like a presence—firm, unyielding. I could feel the cold, but it wasn't just cold—it was focused, like the shadows were holding me, keeping me still, making me vulnerable." She swallowed and glanced back at Ciaran, a flick
Grimm's POV The underground chamber hummed with quiet energy, the runes etched into the stone altar glowing softly like a heartbeat in the dim light. Grimm's eyes, sharp and ancient, flicked over Dion's tense form as the young man sat cross-legged, hands resting lightly on the cold surface. "You've taken the first step," Grimm said, voice low but steady. "Acknowledging your fracture is the beginning of healing. But the path ahead will test every part of you—mind, body, and soul." Dion's gaze lifted, weary but determined. "I'm ready to fight. To heal. To hold on." Grimm nodded once. "Good. Because the shadow creatures you face are unlike any foes you've known. They feed on the chaos within, the doubts and fears that ripple through your bond." He stood and began to circle the altar, fingers tracing the glowing runes. "These runes are ancient. Crafted by those who understood the delicate weave of
Dion's POV The ash was still warm beneath his fingers, though the night air had begun to chill around the charred remains of what used to be his sanctuary. The cabin, his refuge from the chaos of the world, lay broken, splintered, and twisted like his heart. Dion sank to the ground, the rough stone biting through his thin boots. His breath came uneven, a mixture of anger, grief, and raw exhaustion. He didn't know how long he had been there, slumped over the wreckage, letting the silence press in on him, heavy and suffocating. He had been forced to watch. To watch her. Therrin. With Ciaran. Their closeness, the way their hands brushed, the quiet moments exchanged between them like a language only they understood—it had torn through Dion's soul like a blade, sharp and cruel. And all he could do was feel. Powerless. Trapped in his own body, a prisoner to his own help
Dion's POV He felt it before he saw it. The tug. The fire. The unbearable silence. The bond between him and Therrin had grown stronger over time — something raw and ancient. But tonight… tonight it burned. Wild and wrong. Like a blade sliding between his ribs, twisted just enough to keep him standing. Dion stormed into the clearing, eyes wild, scent trailing like smoke behind him, shadows whispering in retreat. The moment he crossed the old ward lines, he knew something was off. The cabin he'd built her wasn't empty. But she wasn't there. She was gone. "Where are you?" Dion whispered, but it wasn't a question. It was a plea. He was pulled by instinct more than reason — following the trail only a bonded mate could trace. His boots crushed moss and ash, his heart pounding harder with every step. Then, he fr
Ciaran’s POV She was lying exactly where he'd left her — bare feet tucked beneath her, chest rising in slow, steady breaths, curled like a poem on the dark-furred rug of the abandoned cabin. The fire had long since gone to embers, casting flickers of red across her skin. Ciaran sat in the wooden chair by the hearth, elbows resting on his knees, studying her. There was something dangerous in the peace she wore. Like the stillness of a pond before a body dropped in. He knew what lay beneath that stillness — longing, power, hunger, and shadows, just waiting to be called. His shadows. His mate. Therrin stirred slightly, the curve of her lips parting. A sigh, then a whisper — his name. Not the one others called him. Not the title whispered in fear. The one only she would speak. "Ciaran…" He rose without a sound, the floor groaning gently beneath his bare feet. With a single thought, t