Chapter 5

The sanctum hums with a restless energy as I kneel beside Rhea, my hands glowing faintly with healing magic. Her wound knits slowly—deep, jagged, kissed by some dark sorcery that resists my touch. Kaelen paces behind me, his boots scuffing the rune-circle floor, his presence a storm I can't ignore. The thread between us pulses, sharp and insistent, tugging at my senses with every glance he steals my way. We're still raw from the stairs—his taste lingers on my lips, my thighs ache with the memory of him—and yet here we are, tangled in something messier than desire.

"She'll live," I say, sitting back, wiping sweat from my brow. Rhea's chest rises steady now, her auburn hair fanned across the conjured pallet, but her face is pale, etched with pain even in sleep. I turn to Kaelen, voice tight. "Tell me everything."

He stops pacing, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His tunic is rumpled, stained with her blood, and those storm-gray eyes meet mine—guarded, but not cold. "Rhea's clan swore me in years ago, after I pulled her brother from a burning raid. I owed them a life. When I went to settle my debts, I found their camp torched—her crawling from the wreckage, half-dead. The sorcerer who sent me here did it. Torin." His jaw tightens, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. "I couldn't leave her."

"Torin," I echo, the name a bitter taste. The same bastard who wanted my grimoire, who set Kaelen on my path. Rage flares, but beneath it, something uglier—jealousy, sharp and petty, gnawing at me. I rise, crossing to him, my robe whispering against my legs. "And what is she to you now?"

He straightens, catching the edge in my voice. "A debt paid," he says firmly, stepping closer. "Nothing more." His hand lifts, hovering near my cheek, and the thread hums, warm with his intent. "You're the one I came back for, Lysara."

I want to believe him—gods, I do—but doubt coils tight, fueled by the sight of her in my tower, his hands stained from saving her. Before I can speak, Rhea stirs, a low moan escaping her lips, and we both turn. Her eyes flutter open, green and dazed, locking on Kaelen. "You… came," she rasps, voice weak, and my chest tightens.

"Had to," he replies, gruff but gentle, kneeling beside her. I watch, arms crossed, as he brushes hair from her face—a simple touch, not lingering, but it stings all the same. She doesn't see me yet, her focus all on him, and I feel the tower's magic shift, mirroring my unease.

"Enough," I snap, sharper than I mean, and they both look up—Kaelen startled, Rhea confused. I stride to the scrying pool, needing distance, my fingers trembling as I grip its edge. The water ripples, showing Torin's shadow—a cloaked figure in a ruined camp, power crackling around him. He's coming, I can feel it, and this mess just got bigger.

Kaelen follows, his heat at my back before I can pull away. "Lysara," he murmurs, hands settling on my hips, firm and grounding. "Talk to me."

I spin, shoving at his chest, but he doesn't budge—just catches my wrists, pulling me against him. "She's in my tower, Kaelen," I hiss, voice low so Rhea won't hear. "You brought her here, and I—" I falter, the words catching, but he reads them in my eyes.

"You think I'd choose her?" His grip tightens, eyes blazing. "After what we've done—what we *are*?" He drags me closer, lips crashing into mine, fierce and possessive, and I melt despite myself, a moan slipping free as the thread flares. His hands slide under my robe, palming my ass, lifting me onto the pool's edge. "Feel me," he growls, pressing between my thighs, and I do—hard, urgent, straining against his breeches.

"Prove it," I challenge, breathless, yanking his tunic aside. He doesn't hesitate—breeches shoved down, my robe parted, and he's inside me in one deep thrust, filling me so completely I cry out, head tipping back. The water sloshes behind me, splashing my skin as he moves, fast and relentless, each stroke a claim. My legs hook around him, nails raking his back, and I let magic spill—tendrils of heat tease his neck, his chest, heightening it all. He groans, hips stuttering, and I clench around him, chasing the edge.

It hits us together—me shattering with a gasp, him spilling hot and deep with a ragged curse. The thread blazes, binding us tighter, and for a moment, doubt burns away, leaving only us. We slump, panting, his forehead against mine, and he whispers, "You're mine, Lysara. No one else."

Rhea coughs weakly from the pallet, breaking the haze, and I pull back, smoothing my robe as shame flickers—petty, yes, but real. Kaelen helps me down, steadying me, and we return to her side. She's awake now, eyes flicking between us, sharp despite her pain. "You're the enchantress," she says, voice faint but steady. "Heard of you. Didn't expect… this."

"Nor I," I reply, cool but not cruel, kneeling to check her wound. It's better, but Torin's magic lingers—a threat we can't ignore. Kaelen squeezes my shoulder, a silent vow, and I nod. "He's coming for us all," I say, meeting their gazes. "We face him together."

The tower hums, ready for war, and I feel the shift—trust fragile but growing, our bond a fire to temper it. Whatever Torin brings, we'll burn brighter.