Toocalm. Not the fragile stillness of someone holding themselves together by force of will. This was something different. Steadier. Rooted in a way she hadn’t been when he’d left her that morning.
Something had changed.
The door opened.
Elsa emerged between the guards, her Lux Sabers, and there it was—something in her eyes he hadn’t put there.
She walked with her head high, spine straight, shoulders set in a way that had nothing to do with defiance. This wasn’t the stubborn resistance he’d grown accustomed to—that fierce refusal to break no matter how hard he pressed. This wasconfidence. Purpose. The quiet certainty of someone who’d found something to hold onto that wasn’t him.
Connection. That’s what it looked like. A life that didn’t orbit him.
Sylas’s chest tightened with something that wasn’t quite rage.
He could handle her hatred. Had weathered it from the beginning, let it scrape against his fur like the winter storms that battered the fortress walls. He could handle her fear—that primal terror that made her pulse spike whenever he moved too fast, too sudden, too predatory. Fear and hatred, he knew how to navigate. Knew how to use them, shape them, redirect them into something that served his purposes.
But this—
This was her having someone else to lean on.
“Sylas.” Her voice carried no surprise at finding him there. She’d felt his approach through the bond, probably. Knew he was waiting. “I didn’t expect you to escort me personally.”
“The corridors can be dangerous after dark.” The words came out rougher than intended. “I wanted to ensure your safety.”
Her eyes held his. Clear. Steady. Seeing right through the excuse to the obsession underneath.
“Of course you did.”
She didn’t push. Didn’t challenge. Simply fell into step beside him as they walked toward his chambers, the Lux Sabers trailing at a respectful distance.
That calm acceptance was worse than any argument.
He guided her through the volcanic corridors, hyperaware of every movement she made. The way her fingers brushed the stone walls as they walked. The slight turn of her head when something caught her attention. The steady pulse of her presence through the bond—warm and alive and carrying traces of emotions that had nothing to do with him.
Contentment. That’s what he felt from her. The quiet satisfaction of someone who’d accomplished something meaningful.
His claws flexed against his palms.
“The other females,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “They were...adequate company?”
“Mia and Ari.” She glanced up at him, something guarded in her expression. “They were helpful. It was good to talk to someone who understands what this is like.”
What this is like.Being human in a fortress full of predators. Being claimed by a monster who couldn’t let her go. Being surrounded by creatures who saw her as leverage or threat or opportunity—never simply as a person.
He should be grateful she had allies who could provide that understanding. He should be pleased that his strategy wasworking, that she was stabilizing, that she would function better with social bonds in place.
Instead, jealousy coiled in his chest like a living thing.
“You’ll see them again,” he said. The words came out before he could stop them. “When circumstances permit.”
Her eyes sharpened. Reading the careful phrasing. The conditions he’d just attached to something he’d offered freely that morning.
“Of course.” Her tone matched his—neutral, measured, giving nothing away. “When circumstances permit.”
They reached his chambers in silence.
Sylas had ordered the midday meal brought while she was away. The food waited on the low table near the fire—dishes he’d learned she preferred, arranged with more care than he’d admit to instructing. Roasted game birds glazed with mountain honey. Root vegetables from the fortress gardens. Warm bread that steamed when torn open.
He watched her settle onto the cushions, watched her reach for the bread without being told, and something in his chest unknotted slightly.