And then I realize I’m not alone.
Zeidan sits near the hearth, shirtless, eyes closed in meditation. Firelight gilds the sharp planes of his chest and shoulders, old scars catching the glow like stories he hasn’t told me yet. His breathing is slow, measured, deliberate, grounding himself.
I shift, and his eyes open instantly.
“You should still be asleep,” he says.
“I was,” I reply hoarsely. “Until… dreams.”
Something flickers across his expression. “Your magic is restless,” he says instead.
“It always is.”
“Not like this.”
I sit up, pulling the blankets tighter around myself, suddenly very aware of how little he’s wearing and how much I’m feeling. I am feeling so ashamed? Did he saw that dream? Gods I hope not.
“Amelia,” he says quietly, rising to his feet. “Don’t fight it.”
“I’m not fighting,” I snap. “I’m trying to control it.”
“That’s worse.”
I open my mouth to retort…and my magic lashes out. A surge of raw, unstable power tears from my chest, arcing straight toward him.
“Zeidan!”
He moves instantly, stepping into it instead of away. His hands snap around my wrists, grounding, anchoring, his magic flaring in answer, wrapping mine before it can burn him alive. The impact rattles the room, embers bursting from the hearth.
My breathing stutters. His grip is firm but careful, thumbs warm against my pulse points. I can feel his control like a wall holding back a storm.
His voice drops low.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
My magic quiets, trembling, settling into the shape of him.
Too willingly. His eyes meet mine, black with something unreadable and very real. And now I am afraid not of what the bond might do to me, but of how much it already has.
14
ZEIDAN
Her power tears through the room, ripping embers from the hearth, splitting stone along the walls in jagged fractures. The air tastes metallic, volatile. Amelia’s magic isn’t attacking with intent. It’s reacting. Flaring outward like a wounded animal striking at the nearest shape.
At me.
My hands close around her wrists before the blast can fully detonate. Shadow pours from me on instinct, wrapping around the surge instead of smothering it. I do not suppress her magic. I contain it. It’s a delicate difference.
Her power fights first. It always does. It lashes, testing the edges of my control, searching for escape. I let it meet mine. Let it press. Let it burn.
“I’m not your enemy,” I murmur, low enough that only she hears.
Her breathing is uneven. Panic bleeds through the bond in sharp spikes.
“I know. I didn't mean to… I don't know what happened…” Her voice fractures.
“Relax,” I say again. “Look at me.”