Mind Games

The room is warm, the air charged with something electric, something unspoken but undeniable. Time stretches, bends, as they lose themselves in each other.

She does not know how long they stay like this, wrapped in heat, in whispered names and slow, shivering touches. But when exhaustion finally finds them, when their breaths slow and their bodies still, Malvor gathers her against his chest like something precious.

"You are mine," he murmurs again, softer this time, as if the words alone could keep her there forever.

She does not argue.

For the first time in her life, belonging to someone doesn't feel like a cage.

It feels like home.

She wakes up tangled in him, their bodies entwined in the most natural, effortless way. Warmth, safety, his scent, everything about this moment feels impossibly right.

Malvor is either sleeping or putting on a very convincing act.

She grins at him, watching the way his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths.

His.

She was his.

The thought does not frighten her. If anything, it settles into her bones like something she has always been waiting for.

Carefully, she pries herself away, slipping out of bed with practiced ease. He shifts slightly but doesn't stir.

Or, more likely, pretends not to. Smug bastard.

In the kitchen, she crafts one of her coffee concoctions, something rich and indulgent, because today, after everything, they deserve indulgence.

She returns to the bedroom, the scent of fresh coffee curling through the air.

She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before placing the cup in his waiting hands.

His tan eyes open, already bright, already aware.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he pulls her back onto the bed.

Before she can protest, his mouth captures hers, stealing her breath in a kiss that is long, deep, and devastatingly sweet.

She folds against him, melting like she was always meant to be there. His hands roam her back in lazy, soothing circles, his touch possessive but soft.

Neither of them speaks.

There is no need.

He rolls her with an effortless shift, his grin all mischief and heat.

She laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck as he begins his trail of kisses down her throat, across her collarbone.

Lower.

Deliciously lower.

Then he stops.

His breath hisses sharply between his teeth. His whole body stills. All the lust and desire gone.

"Annie."

His voice is different now, tense. Wary.

She blinks up at him. "What?"

His gaze is locked onto her chest, right where his runes are carved into her ribs.

They glow.

Not the faint shimmer that just scars usually have, but a brilliant, pulsing white light. A heartbeat. A response.

She doesn't understand at first.

Then his fingers trace over them, slow, careful, and something shifts.

Her body shudders, not from pleasure this time, but from feeling.

And it's not hers.

It's his.

Fear.

Not terror. Not panic. Something deeper. Something instinctive.

A sinking, visceral feeling curling in her chest like cold fingers.

Her eyes snap to his, and she knows.

He feels her too.

His emotions are tangled with hers, a mess of confusion, wariness, and something deeper. Something vast and unknowable.

A voice, his voice, echoes in her mind, clear as a bell.

What in the hell?

She gasps. "I heard that! I just heard your thought!"

His eyes widen, shock flashing across his face.

Neither of them moves. Neither of them breathes.

"You can hear me?" he thinks at her, deliberately, experimentally.

Without words, she sends back a clear, undeniable: Yes.

His jaw drops.

"Can you hear everything?"

She tilts her head, concentrating.

No? Then, after a pause: Think something random.

His brow furrows. He does.

She blinks. Nothing.

Malvor exhales in relief… until she smirks.

"Try thinking at me again," she instructs.

He narrows his eyes, concentrating.

Annie, you are my favorite little mind-reading menace.

Her smirk vanishes. "I heard that."

Oh.

Oh.

He leans in, eyes gleaming.

Can you hear me when I think about—

"Malvor, do not."

He grins, very entertained.

Then it hits them.

A strange, sudden awareness settles between them, something deeper than just the words in their heads. His amusement crackles through her like warm static, bright and teasing, but beneath it, there, just under the surface, something softer.

Something fond.

Her breath catches.

"You… feel this?" she asks, startled.

His grin falters as realization dawns on him too.

"You can feel me?"

She nods slowly, staring at him as a wash of emotions not entirely her own brushes over her.

Mischief.

Curiosity.

And then, buried deep, flickering like a candle in the wind, something that makes her chest ache.

"Gods above and below," he breathes, running a hand through his hair. "This is… this is a problem."

She scoffs. "A problem?"

He levels a very serious look at her.

"Annie, I have a lot of feelings. I do not want you in my feelings."

Her lips press together, trying not to laugh. "I know you do not want me on your feelings. I do not want to be in them."

She feels his dramatic distress before he even opens his mouth.

He flops onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Arbor, shut this off. I hate it here."

The lights flicker.

"See?" He gestures wildly. "Even Arbor does not know what to do with us!"

Annie sighs.

This was going to be a hot mess.