What I Crave

Therrin’s POV

The world returned in fragments—soft wind, the scent of pine and moss, a heartbeat that didn't belong to her, but pulsed so loudly it might as well have. Her lashes fluttered, and light filtered in through the canopy above. She was wrapped in something warm and earthy, vines curled around her like fingers, holding her gently—not his fingers.

Not Ciaran's.

The name ripped through her mind like a scream, and she bolted upright, breath catching as her eyes darted across the clearing.

Dion stood a few paces away. Grimm lingered at the edge of the trees, his golden eyes glowing low.

"You're safe," Dion said softly, his voice raw from strain.

Her eyes snapped to him. "Safe?" Her voice cracked with disbelief. "You think I needed to be saved?"

"You were—" he started.

"Don't," she snapped. Her fists clenched the blanket around her. "You tore me away from him. From something I chose."

Dion's brow furrowed, jaw tightening. "We felt you. Through the bond. You were in pain—"

"And loving every second of it."

His breath caught. She stood slowly, letting the blanket fall away from her shoulders. "I wasn't a prisoner, Dion. I was with him. And I wanted what he gave me."

Grimm growled low in his throat.

She didn't flinch.

"He's not a stranger to me," she said. "Not some monster you get to label dangerous just because you don't understand."

Dion's fists tightened at his sides. "Then tell me who he is."

Therrin stepped forward, her shadow stretching behind her like a second self. "Ciaran was mine. Before. In the life I can barely remember. He belongs to me—just like I belonged to him."

She met Dion's gaze, defiant. "He would never hurt me. What happened… the way the shadows touched me—I let them. I told them what to do. I liked it."

Something cracked in Dion's expression, like porcelain under pressure.

"Therrin—"

"This time," she interrupted, chin raised. "This time, I was in control."

He flinched.

A flicker in his eyes. Doubt. Fear. Questions.

This time.

She smiled. Slowly. Wickedly.

"Oh," she whispered, tilting her head, "you're wondering how many times there've been, aren't you? You want to know what else I've asked for. What I've begged for. What I crave when you're not around to make me behave."

Dion's eyes darkened.

Grimm lowered his head and vanished into the underbrush, knowing better than to stay for what was coming.

Dion stepped forward slowly, as if approaching a wounded creature. His voice was low, tight.

"You're mine," he said. "You still feel the bond between us. I know you do."

She didn't answer.

Instead, she looked at him with the kind of challenge that set blood boiling and reason burning.

"Then prove it."

He reached for her. She turned her head. He didn't pull away.

"I'll ask once," he whispered near her ear. "Tell me you don't want me."

Silence.

He stayed still, his magic humming in the air around them. The vines in the clearing trembled, then shifted—curling upward, entwining with flowers that burst into bloom at his feet. They rose behind her, under her, forming a bed of blooming moss and petals, deep and thick and waiting.

The air shifted.

Therrin's breath hitched.

Then, he shoved her, hard. And she landed on the bed with shock in her eyes.

"You think the shadows know how to break you open? Let me show you what it means to be worshipped like a goddess and ruined like a storm hit your soul."

Her breath hitched. She still wasn't moving from her spot on the floral bed, frozen in both shock and fear. He has never acted like this. He was always so gentle. Always so caring. But yet, this also felt completely and utterly…right.

"You begged for rough. But you forgot one thing-I won't stop when you like it. I stop when you shatter. Maybe not even then. Now. The blindfold goes on". He apparently magically created one.

"But, I'm blind. Why do I need a blindfold".

"You'll see as soon as you put it on" he said.

I did as he commanded. The fabric slid over my eyes like smoke.

I hadn't even seen it in his hands—only felt the rush of air, the shimmer of magic curling around his fingers as if the shadows themselves obeyed him now. The moment the veil touched my skin, it seemed to melt into me, cool and whisper-light, but with weight beneath the softness—like a promise I hadn't agreed to but still wanted.

And then-

Nothing.

No wind. No birds. No forest.

No breath. Not even mine.

It was like the world had been ripped away from me in one sharp, devouring silence.

I gasped. Or thought I did—I couldn't hear it. The panic flared first, hot and rising, until his fingertips brushed down my arm. My body jolted violently at the contact, hypersensitive, every nerve wide open.

Touch was all I had left. His skin, his breath on my neck, the press of his palm over my chest—those were the only truths now.

I was deaf to everything except him.

And somehow… that terrified me.

And turned me on.

Without sound, there was no place to hide my reactions. I couldn't measure my moans or monitor how loud I was. Couldn't hear the slick echo of my need or his voice—unless he wanted me to.

I was bound in darkness.

Floating in silence.