The room was warm, the air thick with something electric, something unspoken but undeniable. Time bent and stretched as we lost ourselves in each other. I didn't know how long we stayed like that, wrapped in heat, in whispered names and slow, trembling touches. When exhaustion finally caught us, when our breathing steadied, Malvor pulled me against his chest like I was something precious.
"You are mine," he murmured again, softer this time, as though the words themselves could bind me there forever. I didn't argue. For the first time in my life, belonging to someone didn't feel like a cage. It felt like home.
I woke tangled in him, our bodies entwined in the most natural, effortless way. Warmth. Safety. His scent. Everything about it felt impossibly right. He looked like he was asleep, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, but I knew better. Malvor rarely slept, and when he did, it was shallow, restless. This? This had to be an act. Still, I grinned, watching him, daring to believe it was real. His. I was his. Somehow, that thought didn't frighten me. It settled into my bones like something I'd always been waiting for. Carefully, I slid out of bed, moving with the quiet skill of someone who'd been sneaking away from warm bodies all her life. He shifted but didn't stir. Or pretended not to. Smug bastard.
In the kitchen, I made coffee. Something rich, indulgent. After last night, indulgence felt deserved. When I returned, the scent curled around us like a promise. I leaned down, kissed his forehead, and set the cup in his waiting hands. His tan eyes opened, already bright, already aware. He grinned slow and wicked before yanking me back onto the bed. Before I could protest, his mouth captured mine, long, deep, devastatingly sweet. My resistance melted instantly. I folded into him, exactly where I belonged. His hands traced soothing circles down my back, soft and possessive, and I didn't need words to know what they meant.
With one smooth shift, he rolled me beneath him. Mischief glinted in his smile, heat rolling off him in waves. I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck as he trailed kisses down my throat, across my collarbone, lower, lower still, until suddenly, he stopped. His breath hissed between his teeth, his body gone tense.
"Annie." His voice had changed, tight, wary.
My brows furrowed. "What?"
His gaze was locked on my ribs. My runes. They glowed, brilliant, pulsing, alive. A heartbeat under my skin. His mark. I didn't understand, not until his fingers traced over them, slow, reverent. My body shuddered not from pleasure, but from something else. Something that wasn't mine. Fear. His fear. Not panic. Not terror. Something deeper, instinctive. Cold fingers curling in my chest. My eyes flew to his, and I knew. He felt me, too. His emotions tangled with mine, a mess of confusion, wariness, and something vast and unknowable.
Then, as clear as if he'd spoken, his voice echoed in my mind. What in the hell?
I gasped. "I heard that! I just heard your thought!"
His eyes widened. Shock. Neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed.
You can hear me? he thought again, slow, deliberate.
Without words, I sent it back, clear and undeniable: Yes.
His jaw dropped. Can you hear everything?
I tilted my head, concentrating. No? Then, smirking, Think something random.
His brow furrowed. He tried. Nothing. Relief crossed his face, until I grinned. "Try thinking at me again."
His eyes narrowed, but he obeyed. Annie, you are my favorite little mind-reading menace.
My smirk vanished. "I heard that."
Oh. Oh. He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. Can you hear me when I think about—
"Malvor, do not."
His grin widened. Gods below, he was enjoying this. But then something else settled between us. Not just words. Not just thoughts. Awareness. His amusement crackled through me like warm static, bright and teasing. And beneath it, buried deep, was something softer. Fondness. My breath caught. "You… feel this?"
His grin faltered. Realization dawned in his eyes. "You can feel me?"
I nodded, stunned, as emotions that weren't mine brushed over me, his mischief, his curiosity, and beneath it all, something flickering, fragile, heartbreakingly real.
"Gods above and below," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "This is… a problem."
"A problem?" I scoffed.
He gave me a very serious look. "Annie, I have a lot of feelings. I did not want you in my feelings."
I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh. "I know you didn't want me in your feelings. I didn't want to be in them."
His dramatic distress hit me before he even spoke. He flopped onto his back with a groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Arbor, shut this off. I hate it here."
The lights flickered. "See?" He gestured wildly at the ceiling. "Even Arbor doesn't know what to do with us!"
I sighed, sinking back against the pillows. Gods save me. This was going to be a hot mess.
Malvor having access to my thoughts and emotions was unexpected. And highly inconvenient. For both of us. I sat up, clutching the sheets, my mind racing. He can feel me. He can hear me.
His brows shot up. "I can hear you. And wow, Annie, you overthink like a professional."
I glared. "Stay out of my head."
"Oh, you first, darling." He smirked, but there was an edge to it, something uneasy beneath the arrogance.
I felt it. That was the worst part. I didn't just see his reaction, I knew it. He was unsettled, panicking, scrambling to shove his emotions behind those smug walls of his, and failing miserably.
"You're panicking," I breathed.
His whole expression locked tight. "No, I am not."
Yes, you are.
His nostrils flared. "Annie. If you think at me one more time—"
Oh, I absolutely will.
"ANNIE!"
I clapped a hand over my mouth, laughing so hard my ribs hurt. Of all the things in the world, this was what shook the great Malvor? But then, his mood shifted. Like a storm rolling in, like tides pulling back before a wave. Sharp. Hungry. Amused. My laughter died in my throat. He was looking at me with wide pupils and that wicked smirk.
Oh no.
"Oh yes," he purred, catching the thought as it hit me.
I swallowed hard. This was going to be a disaster.
"Annie, my sweet, my dearest," he said, voice dripping with delight, "you've just given me the best gift of all."
My stomach sank. "Malvor, if you use this against me—"
"Oh, I will."
The chaos god grinned. He would spend the entire day abusing it. He leaned down, lips grazing my ear. "What color am I thinking of?"
"Malvor, stop."
"I will not. Guess."
I glared. Green.
His grin split wide. "Correct! This is delightful."
"I'm not playing your game."
"Oh, but you already are," he sing-songed, twirling around me. "Now, depth of knowledge. What's my favorite type of wine?"
Something expensive and dramatic, I thought sourly. Probably named after a fallen kingdom or a stabbed emperor.
He gasped, clutching his chest. "Annie! You know me so well."
I deadpanned. "I felt the satisfaction in your brain, Malvor."
"Oh, did you?" His eyes glittered. "Then tell me, what am I feeling right now?"
I hesitated. Smug. So smug. And amused.
"You're being an ass."
He grinned. "Ah, but Annie dearest, is that an emotion, or simply my natural state?"
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"I loathe you."
"Which," he said smoothly, "felt a lot like the same thing, didn't it?"
I didn't answer. I didn't have to. He felt it. And gods help me, I felt his victorious, gleeful satisfaction roll through like a tidal wave. Later, when I tried to push back, testing him, I caught something else. Something softer.
"What is that, Malvor?" I asked, voice sharp.
"Nothing." His grin stiffened.
"No, not nothing." I leaned in, probing deeper, peeling him open from the inside out.
He jerked away. "That is an invasion of privacy!"
I crossed my arms. "Oh? Only fun when you're poking around in my head?"
He pouted, an annoyingly attractive pout. "I liked it better when I was the only one with this power."
I waited. Silent. Smirking.
Finally, he sighed, dramatic as ever. "Fine. I like you."
I blinked. "I know that, you idiot."
"No, no." He wagged a hand. "I like you."
I raised a brow. Unimpressed.
He glared. "Annie. Are you hearing me?"
"I'm feeling you, actually."
His eye twitched. Saints, that was satisfying.
"This. You. You bother me," he admitted, frustration crackling. "You're chaos. Not my chaos. A different kind. Infuriatingly real. And I don't know what to do with that."
Oh, this was delicious. "You don't know what to do with me?" I asked, my voice silk and daggers.
"Annie, don't."
"Don't what? Don't name it? Don't say out loud that I make you feel things you don't want to?"
His jaw worked. "Annie, I swear—"
But I already felt it. That slow, smoldering warmth he couldn't hide. I tilted my head, victorious. "Hells, Malvor, this is fun."
He growled. "I hate you."
I laughed. "No, you don't."
He glared, but the want pouring off him was undeniable. Not just for my body. For me. And damn it, that was the sweetest victory I'd ever had. We tested this new bond, clumsy, curious. Thoughts only landed when we aimed them, like pushing on a door that hadn't been there a second ago. Close range was sharp; distance fuzzed it to half-formed feelings. Big emotions bled through whether we wanted them or not. Fear. Anger. Joy. If we concentrated, we could shutter it. Like lowering a shield but not when the runes flared. Then the line snapped open on its own. Touch made it worse. Or better. Every brush of skin sharpened the thread. Intimacy? Gods, that was everything. No walls. No hiding. Just us.
"Hot mess," I muttered again, glaring at him. His smirk rippled through me, smugness hitting like static. Gods help me, I almost liked it. The Bastard.