CHAPTER EIGHT

What Power Leaves Behind

“For tonight,” he said softly.

Nyxara laughed weakly—and then the laugh broke.

It fractured into a sharp, humiliating sound as her legs finally gave up the lie they’d been telling. Kaelion barely had time to tighten his grip before her weight sagged fully into him.

“Okay,” she muttered into his chest. “I am officially done being upright.”

He shifted instantly, one arm bracing her back, the other sliding under her knees before she could protest. The sudden lift startled a breath out of her.

“Hey—!”

“You’re shaking,” he said, already moving. “Argue later.”

She wanted to. Truly. Pride flared on instinct. But her body betrayed her, melting against him like it had been waiting for permission. Her wolf curled inward, exhausted but oddly content, as if it had finally eaten after centuries of hunger.

Nyxara sighed. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know.”

He carried her out of the ritual circle just as the last silver lines faded completely from the floor. The chamber looked ordinary now—stone walls, cracked pillars, dust drifting lazily in the air. As if the Moon hadn’t just bent reality inside it.

As if Nyxara hadn’t.

Kaelion lowered her gently onto a cold stone bench near the wall. The moment her back touched it, a wave of dizziness rolled through her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh. Oh, that’s new.”

“What is?” he asked immediately, crouching in front of her.

“I can feel the room,” she said slowly. “Like… not the walls. The space. The way the air moves.”

His jaw tightened. “The bond stabilized, but the power hasn’t fully settled yet.”

“Great,” she murmured. “Love a lingering side effect.”

She opened her eyes—and froze.

Kaelion’s marks were still glowing.

Not violently now. Steadily. Silver threaded with deep shadow, pulsing faintly beneath his skin in time with her heartbeat.

Her heartbeat.

Nyxara swallowed. “You’re still… connected.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“That wasn’t supposed to last.”

“No,” he agreed. “It wasn’t.”

Something cold slid down her spine.

She lifted a trembling hand without thinking—and felt it before she touched him. The bond stirred, responding like a living thing. Awareness bloomed, rich and immediate.

Too immediate.

She gasped, jerking her hand back.

Kaelion flinched at the same time, sucking in a sharp breath like she’d struck a nerve.

They stared at each other.

“Oh,” Nyxara whispered. “Oh no.”

Kaelion exhaled slowly. “You felt that.”

“Yes,” she said faintly. “Did you—?”

“Yes.”

Silence slammed down between them, thick and charged and absolutely unhelpful.

Nyxara pressed her palms flat against the stone bench. “Okay. That’s… that’s a problem.”

“A significant one.”

“I did not agree to shared nervous systems.”

“You agreed to sovereignty,” he said. “The Moon defines that broadly.”

She let out a breathless laugh. “Of course it does.”

Her gaze dropped to his hands—scarred, steady, now faintly trembling despite his effort to hide it.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Nyxara scowled at him, then paused.

The bond shifted.

Information slid into her awareness uninvited—pressure in his ribs, raw muscle along his shoulder, the echo of pain he’d forced down while the chains drained him.

Her face drained of color.

“Kaelion.”

His head snapped up. “Do not—”

“You said stop hurting him,” the Moon’s voice echoed in her memory.

Nyxara’s jaw clenched.

She didn’t ask permission.

She reached for him again—this time deliberately.

Power moved.

Not wild. Not hungry.

Focused.

Kaelion stiffened as silver light flowed from her palm into his chest, warm and controlled. His breath hitched as the pain dulled, then eased, then receded.

“Nyxara,” he warned, voice low. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she snapped softly. “I’m fixing what it broke.”

The marks on his skin dimmed slightly, settling into a calmer glow. Kaelion sucked in a breath and exhaled it slowly, shoulders loosening despite himself.

When she pulled back, the bond snapped taut again—buzzing, alert.

They both felt it.

“That,” he said carefully, “should not have been possible.”

“Well,” she said, exhausted and unimpressed, “neither should the Moon talking in my head, so we’re clearly past normal.”

He studied her with a look she couldn’t name—half awe, half fear, all intensity.

“You altered the anchor,” he said. “That means—”

“I know,” she cut in. “It means I can affect you. And you can probably affect me.”

His silence confirmed it.

Nyxara leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “Fantastic. We’re a walking disaster.”

A distant horn sounded somewhere above them.

Then another.

Kaelion’s head snapped toward the sealed chamber doors. “They felt it.”

“Who is they?” Nyxara asked, though she already knew.

“Everyone.”

The doors shuddered under a heavy blow.

Nyxara pushed herself upright, ignoring the protest in her bones. “How long do we have?”

“Minutes. Seconds, maybe.”

Another удар. Stone cracked.

She met his gaze, something fierce and unyielding rising in her chest beneath the exhaustion.

“Good,” she said quietly. “Because I’m done being dragged.”

Kaelion’s lips curved—just barely.

“That,” he said, “might be the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night.”

The doors began to splinter.

And Nyxara stood.