Chapter 10 - Phantom Fire

Eli

The night is too quiet.

I lie on the cot like a corpse, staring at the ceiling while firelight throws writhing shadows across the timber walls.

My body aches from earlier. Bruises blooming purple across my shoulders. The raw sting of his bite like acid on my skin.

But none of it hurts as much as the heat crawling through me. It's not fever. It's him.

The bond thrums inside me, steady and electric, winding through every vein.

Every time I close my eyes, he's there. Gold eyes burning, blood painting his mouth, that cruel smirk carved into my memory.

I try to shove the images away. They cling like smoke.

I drag a trembling hand down my chest, over the faint lines of muscle, trying to will the fire out of me.

My palm hover over my ribs, shaking. Don't think of him. Don't.

But my wolf stirs, restless and wanting.

The bond flares, and suddenly phantom fingers ghost over my hip. Not mine. Larger. Warmer. A thumb pressing into bone in a way that makes my breath catch in my throat.

"No," I whisper to the empty room. "Get out of my head."

The phantom touch slides lower, across my stomach, fingers digging just enough to make my body arch off the cot.

Heat pools low in my belly, unwanted and shameful.

My pulse hammers against my ribs. I clench my fists until my nails draw blood, but it doesn't stop the way my skin burns for more.

The invisible hand traces lower, teasing along the edge of my waistband, and I bite back a sound that's half gasp, half moan.

My body responds against my will, blood rushing south, nerves singing with phantom electricity.

It feels so real. The callused drag of fingertips, the weight of a palm pressing me down into the mattress.

"Stop," I breathe, but my hips betray me, shifting restlessly.

The phantom touch grows bolder, more insistent. His touch wanders slow and sure, marking out every inch like a claim.

I can almost feel the heat of his breath against my neck, the scrape of teeth over sensitive skin.

My body shudders, caught between revulsion and desperate need. I imagine his lips grazing my throat, so vivid it steals my breath. The rasp of his voice in my ear-

Mine.

I shove myself upright, gasping like I've been drowning.

My hands fist in my hair. The cabin is silent, but my skin burns with invisible fingerprints.

Heat throbs between my legs, my cock straining against my pants. A stark reminder of how thoroughly the bond has invaded even my most private moments.

I'm hard and aching, my body still singing with phantom touches that felt more real than the rough blanket beneath me.

Shame floods through me, hot and bitter. This is what he's reduced me to. A creature of need, responding to his presence even when he's nowhere near.

The phantom sensation lingers like a fever dream.

I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, the way those invisible fingers traced patterns of ownership across my body.

My wolf whimpers, wanting more, wanting him, and I hate the part of me that agrees.

A knock at the door makes me flinch. I don't answer. The bolt slides back anyway.

Jace steps in, carrying a tray with bread, dried meat and a tin mug of water.

He takes one look at me and frowns. "You look like hell."

Laughter tears from my throat, harsh and broken. "That's the point, isn't it?"

Jace sets the tray on the table with deliberate care.

His eyes study the mark on my neck. "You'll get used to it," he mutters.

"Used to what?" My voice cracks. "Being hunted? Owned? Having my skin crawl with his touch?"

His jaw works. "The bond. The way it bleeds into everything you are."

I shake my head, choking on bitter laughter. "That's not normal."

"For him? It is." Jace leans against the wall, arms folded like armor. "Ronan's not like other Alphas. He doesn't soften. He’s never going to ask permission and he doesn’t give up what’s his."

"I'm not his."

"Then fight," Jace says quietly. "But don't pretend you don't feel it. That mark isn't just skin-deep. It's in your bones now."

When he's gone, the silence rushes back like a tide.

I pick at the bread, forcing down a few bites, but the phantom touch still lingers, ghosting over my skin like the memory of flames.

My body hasn't forgotten. It still thrums with the echo of those invisible hands, still aches with unfulfilled need that makes my jaw clench.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way my skin feels too tight, too sensitive.

Every brush of fabric against my body reminds me of his hands, sends unwanted heat spiraling through my veins. The bond has turned my own flesh into a traitor.

I hate him. I hate that every heartbeat reminds me I'm not free. I hate the way my body betrays me with every breath, every flicker of that cursed bond threading through my veins.

I press my hand to the bite at my neck. The skin is swollen, tender, pulsing with heat. The bond hums louder, like a growl trapped under my skin.

Outside, a wolf howls. Low. Possessive. Claiming.

It sounds like him.

I close my eyes, press my back to the wall, and whisper to the darkness, "I'm not yours."

But the bond whispers back, soft and inexorable as poison. Mine.

And deep in my chest, something wild and broken whispers back. Yes.