You’re playing games

The Haven's gray walls seemed to pulse faintly as Kael pushed open Rhea's door, the morning light dim through the boarded slits. No chair today—he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, all casual confidence in his dark tee. The coin was gone, tucked away, his hazel eyes sharp and unreadable as they settled on her.

Rhea was on her feet, restless, pacing the small room like a caged flame. Her wild crimson hair hung in messy streaks, ash dusting the ends, and her charred leather jacket creaked with every step. The collar hummed softly around her neck, dulling her fire, but her amber eyes still burned—less with rage now, more with something unsettled. She stopped mid-stride, glaring at him. "You're playing games," she said, her voice rough but not as sharp as before. Curiosity was winning, tugging at her edges.

Kael shrugged, a faint smirk tugging his lips. "Not a game. A way out." He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his voice dropping low, intimate. "You're holding onto something, Rhea. Clinging to it like it's all you've got. Let's find it."

She bristled, arms crossing tighter over her chest, scars flexing along her forearms. "What's that supposed to mean? You think you know me now?"

"I'm starting to," he said, calm but unyielding. He took another step, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her—not fire, just her, raw and alive. "The fire's not just chaos. There's something behind it—grief, maybe. A lost lover, a betrayal. Tell me, or I'll pull it out myself."

Her amber eyes flashed, a snarl curling her lips. "Try it, you bastard. See what happens."

He didn't hesitate. His hand moved—slow, deliberate—fingers finding her jaw, his thumb brushing the jagged scar on her cheek. Her skin was warm, rough under his touch, and she froze, breath catching. Then his Empathic Resonance kicked in, a cold tool for him, a flood for her. He didn't amplify pain or memory this time—he dialed up pleasure, subtle at first, a slow bloom unfurling from where his thumb pressed.

Rhea's lips parted, a soft gasp slipping out as the sensation spread—warmth curling down her neck, tingling along her scars. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, leaning into his hand, involuntary, instinctive. Her amber eyes darkened, pupils dilating, and the air between them thickened, charged with something new.

"Stop," she whispered, but it was weak, a half-hearted plea swallowed by the heat creeping through her. Kael didn't. His fingers slid lower, tracing the edge of her throat, just past the collar's cool metal. He turned the dial higher, sharpening the pleasure—a pulse igniting between her thighs, a shiver racing up her spine. Her knees buckled slightly, and she grabbed his wrist—not to pull him away, but to steady herself, her scarred fingers digging into his skin.

"What… what are you doing?" she rasped, voice trembling, caught between fury and a dawning need. Her chest heaved, the leather jacket straining as her breaths came faster. The rage was still there, simmering, but it was twisting—melting into something she couldn't fight, something that made her pulse throb in places she hadn't expected.

Kael's hazel eyes held hers, steady, daring her to let go. "Redirecting you," he said, voice low, a rough edge creeping in. "That fire's yours, but it's not all you've got. Feel it—let it shift." His thumb pressed harder against her scar, the pleasure spiking—sharp, electric, a wave that made her moan, soft and unbidden, before she clamped her lips shut.

She hated it—hated him—but her body betrayed her, hips shifting, heat pooling low. Her grip on his wrist tightened, nails biting, and for a moment, she looked like she might shove him off, burn him if she could. But the collar held, and his power didn't falter. He slid his hand down further, fingers grazing the hollow of her collarbone, amplifying the sensation until it was a steady thrum—a rhythm she couldn't escape.

"Kael…" she breathed, his name slipping out, raw and unguarded. Her amber eyes flickered, caught between defiance and surrender, her scarred cheek flushed red. Sweat beaded on her neck, strands of crimson hair sticking to her skin. The room shrank around them, the gray walls fading, leaving just her heartbeat, his touch, the heat he'd stoked.

He stepped back then, abrupt, his hand falling away. The resonance cut off, leaving her reeling—flushed, panting, her body still humming with the aftershocks. She staggered, catching herself against the cot, her hair a wild curtain around her face. Kael watched, expression unreadable, though his voice carried a rough edge when he spoke. "That's what's in you, Rhea. We're just starting."

She didn't curse him this time—no snarls, no threats. She just stared, amber eyes wide, caught in a storm of fury and a new, dangerous want. Her hand hovered where his had been, fingers brushing her own skin, chasing the ghost of that pulse. Her breath hitched, uneven, and she sank onto the cot, legs unsteady.

Kael turned, heading for the door, but paused, glancing back. "Think about it," he said, quieter now. "What you're holding onto—grief, rage, whatever it is. Tomorrow, we dig deeper." The door clicked shut behind him, the lock sliding into place, leaving her alone with the echo of his touch.

Rhea sat there, chest still rising and falling too fast, her scarred hands trembling slightly. She rubbed her jaw, her throat, where he'd been—where he'd done that. The pleasure lingered, a phantom ache between her thighs, a warmth she couldn't shake. She'd wanted to kill him yesterday, torch this place and him with it. Now… now she didn't know what she wanted.

The fire was still hers—locked under the collar, yes, but hers. She'd built everything on it, fed it with every loss, every betrayal. A lover, long gone, burned up in her memory—grief she'd turned to ash, rage she'd let consume her. Kael saw it, damn him, and he'd twisted it—not into pain, but something else. Something that made her body hum, made her feel in ways she hadn't since the flames took over.

She hated him for it—hated the control, the way he'd slipped under her skin. But that hate was tangled now, knotted with a curiosity she couldn't kill. He wasn't breaking her, not like a prison would. He was… redirecting. That's what he'd said. The word stuck, irritating, but it fit. The pleasure wasn't just a trick—it was a mirror, showing her something she'd buried under the heat.

Kael leaned against the desk in the main room, arms crossed, staring at the locked door. Rhea—Flame-Warden—was unraveling, slow but sure. He'd pushed her today, not with force, but with precision. His power stayed cold for him—no rush, no thrill—just a lever he pulled to shift her. The grief he'd guessed at, the rage she wore like armor—he'd found a thread and tugged, redirecting it into pleasure.

She'd fought it, clung to her fire, but she'd leaned in too. That was the crack—small, fragile, but there. He wasn't here to crush her violence; he was here to reshape it, turn it into something he could wield. Step by step, touch by touch. The rehab frame held—this was still about changing her, peeling back the arsonist to find what lay beneath.

Rhea lay back on the cot, staring at the ceiling, her breath finally slowing. Her hand rested on her throat, scars warm under her fingers. She didn't know what "deeper" meant, didn't know if she'd fight him tomorrow or let him pull more out of her. But for the first time, the fire in her chest felt… different. Not gone, not tamed—just shifting, flickering into something she couldn't name.

Outside, Kael flipped the coin once, catching it mid-air. The Haven was quiet, but the air buzzed with what was coming. Rhea's ember was his to stoke now—one way or another.