Feelings & Consequences

Malvor having access to her thoughts and emotions was unexpected.

And highly inconvenient.

For both of them.

She sits up, still gripping the sheets, her mind racing. He can feel me. He can hear me.

Malvor's brows shoot up. "I can hear you. And wow, Annie, you overthink like a professional."

She glares at him. "Stay out of my head."

"Oh, you first, darling." He smirks, but there's an edge to it, a flicker of something uneasy beneath his usual arrogance.

And she feels it.

That's the worst part. She doesn't just see his reaction, she knows it. He's unsettled, thrown off, struggling to shove his emotions back behind his usual walls, but it's impossible because—

"You are panicking," she breathes.

His entire expression locks up. "No, I am not."

Yes, you are.

His nostrils flare. "Annie. If you think at me one more time—"

Oh, I absolutely will.

"ANNIE!"

She claps a hand over her mouth, dying of laughter. This is too much. Of all the things, this is what shakes the great Malvor?

Then, just as she starts to regain control, she feels it.

His mood shifts. Like a storm rolling in, like the tides pulling back before a wave crashes. A sharp, hungry sort of amusement.

Her laughter stops.

She looks at him, his tan eyes locked onto her, pupils blown wide, that smirk turning downright wicked.

Oh no.

"Oh, yes," he purrs, catching every bit of her realization as it hits her.

He's going to make so much use of this.

And she knows it.

"Annie, my sweet, my dearest, you have just given me the best gift of all."

Her stomach sinks. "Malvor, I swear, if you use this against me—"

"Oh, I will."

The chaos god grins.

And that's when she knows, this is going to be an absolute disaster.

Malvor spends the entire day mercilessly abusing his new ability.

The moment they step out of bed, he leans in close, lips practically brushing her ear as he whispers, "What color am I thinking of?"

She jolts. "Malvor, stop."

He grins. "I will not. Now, guess the color."

She crosses her arms, glaring at him. Red.

He beams. "Correct! Oh, this is delightful."

She groans, rubbing her temples. "I'm not playing this game with you."

"Oh, but Annie, you already are," he sing-songs, twirling around her as they walk. "Now, let's test depth of knowledge. What's my favorite type of wine?"

She rolls her eyes. Something expensive and dramatic. Probably named after a fallen kingdom or an emperor that got stabbed.

Malvor gasps, clutching his chest. "Annie! You know me so well."

She turns, deadpan. "I felt the satisfaction in your brain, Malvor."

"Oh, did you?" He grins, eyes sparkling. "Then tell me—what am I feeling right now?"

She hesitates. A slow, creeping amusement mixed with something decidedly smug.

You're being an ass.

His grin widens. "Ah, but Annie dearest, is that an emotion—or merely my state of being?"

She glares. "I hate you."

"You love me," he corrects smoothly.

"I loathe you," she snaps.

"Which," he says, tapping his chin, "feels an awful lot like the same thing, doesn't it?"

She doesn't answer. Mostly because she can't.

The worst part?

She feels the exact moment he realizes it.

And gods help her—she can feel his victorious, gleeful satisfaction roll through him like a tidal wave.

Malvor smirks, all confidence, all him. "Oh, Annie, you already know what I think of you."

She raises an eyebrow, stepping closer, her body almost brushing his. "Oh? Do I?"

His grin twitches, just slightly, as her presence seeps into him because now he can feel her emotions too. That quiet, dangerous curiosity. The way she's testing him.

He tries to focus, to only project amusement and desire, but—

There. She catches it. That something else.

Her expression shifts, knowing, intrigued, smug.

"What is that, Malvor?" she asks, her voice silky smooth.

His grin stiffens. "Nothing."

She tilts her head, her blue eyes sharp and unrelenting. "No. It's not nothing."

She's inside him now. Peeling back the layers.

Oh, hells no.

He jerks away, swiping a hand through his hair. "Annie, darling, peach of my eye, that is a complete invasion of privacy."

She crosses her arms, the very picture of satisfaction. "Oh? So it's only fun when you're the one poking around in my head?"

He pouts. A very attractive pout, mind you. "I liked it better when I was the only one with this power."

She just stares at him, waiting.

He folds his arms, narrows his eyes.

Silence.

And then, finally—

"Fine." He sighs dramatically, flopping into a chair. "I like you."

She blinks. "I know that, you idiot."

"No, no, no." He waves a hand. "I like you."

She still looks unimpressed.

He glares. "Annie. Are you hearing me?"

She smirks. "I'm feeling you, actually."

His eye twitches. Damn it all.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and really looks at her. "This. You. You bother me."

Her smirk grows.

He grits his teeth. "You are chaos. Not my chaos. A different kind of chaos. You are infuriatingly real. And I don't know what to do with that."

She feels the frustration crackling off him, the way his carefully curated mask is slipping.

And gods, he hates it but she also feels that other thing. The thing he hasn't named yet.

But she knows.

Oh, she knows.

She tilts her head, watching him like a predator who's just cornered her prey. Oh, this is delicious.

"You don't know what to do with me?" she echoes, her voice all silk and daggers.

Malvor scowls. "Annie, don't."

Her smirk widens. "Don't what?"

His eye twitches. "Don't make this a thing."

"Oh, this?" She gestures vaguely between them. "The fact that you like me? That you actually care about something other than yourself? That," she steps closer, closing the space between them, lowering her voice to a taunting whisper, "—I make you feel things you don't want to name?"

He huffs out a breath, glaring at her. "Annie, I swear—"

But she feels it. The truth of it.

His frustration, his exasperation—none of it is real. Not really.

Because underneath it all, there's that slow, smoldering warmth.

It doesn't need a name.

Not yet.

Not ever.

She tilts her head, still smirking, still victorious. "Hells, Malvor, this is fun."

His eyes darken. "I hate you."

She shrugs. "No, you don't."

He growls. She laughs.

And gods, she feels it from him now—pure want.

But not just for her body.

For her.

And damn it, that is the most satisfying thing she's ever won.