The demon's mace swung for Alaric's chest.
Too fast. Too close.
She wants him alive so it shall be.
Steel shrieked against steel. Sparks flew. Caelan caught the blow an inch from Alaric's ribs. The impact rattled through him. He gasped, a broken sound, blood flecking his lips.
His arms shook with the force. He should have broken.
But he didn't.
Wind snapped free. A wall of air exploded out from him, tearing through the battlefield. He wasn't just fighting demons. He was fighting with her rage in his veins.
Five demons went flying. Bones cracked when they hit the ground.
The survivors scrambled up, snarling. Caelan was already moving. His sword found throats. Hearts. Quick, efficient kills.
Magic crackled around him like visible lightning. The storm he'd unleashed.
Seraphina stared from across the battlefield. The terrible choice that had been tearing her apart dissolved into shock.
The connection between them pulsed with her fury. Her rage flowing back to her. Her trauma. The burning need for personal justice.
Her rage. Her memories. Her need for revenge. All of it slammed into him.
Caelan knelt beside Alaric, checking injuries. But his eyes found hers across the chaos.
He lives because you need him to live. Your justice requires it.
Other soldiers converged. The magical display had been impossible to miss. Wind that powerful, that controlled.
They knew Caelan was a warrior mage. But this level of power was something else entirely.
All because he felt her need for revenge through their connection.
Duke Stormholt reached them first. "You'd be surprised what comes out when you're cornered."
"Emergency situations," Caelan replied steadily.
Seraphina could see calculation in Stormholt's eyes. This wasn't the controlled wind magic they'd seen before. This was raw power amplified beyond his previous limits.
Duke Dravenlock arrived moments later. Gravenor appeared from another direction, blood on his sword.
"Is he alive?" Gravenor asked.
"Broken ribs, possible internal bleeding," Caelan reported. "He needs medical attention immediately."
Alaric's eyes fluttered open. A groan tore out with the effort. He tried to rise, then sucked in a sharp breath as pain lanced his ribs. "What happened?"
"Duke Vorenthal saved your life," Stormholt said. "Quite dramatically. You owe him a significant debt."
Alaric's jaw tightened. Her grief poured into him like fire through a crack. Relief that Alaric would survive. Frustration at the attention. And underneath it all, fierce satisfaction at having acted on her deepest need.
But Alaric clearly had no intention of acknowledging any debt.
"Coalition members protect each other," he said stiffly. "No debts necessary."
"Nevertheless," Duke Stormholt continued, oblivious to the tension, "your wife certainly owes Duke Vorenthal her gratitude. Her husband's life was saved by his quick action."
Seraphina saw the opportunity immediately. A legitimate reason to approach Caelan. To show gratitude without suspicion.
She moved toward him with deliberate grace. "Duke Vorenthal." Her voice carried relief and appreciation. "I can't thank you enough. You saved him."
She placed her hand briefly on his arm. The contact sent electricity through their bond, but to observers it looked like proper thanking between duchess and duke. For a second, she forgot who she was thanking.
"Your quick thinking saved my husband's life," she continued, letting genuine emotion color her words. "I'm forever in your debt."
Alaric's expression darkened as he watched the exchange. The formal gratitude he couldn't object to, but something in the way his wife looked at Caelan made his eyes narrow.
"Seraphina," he called sharply. "Help me sit up properly."
She released Caelan's arm immediately and returned to her husband's side. But not before Caelan's fingers brushed hers in what could have been accident.
She felt his message clearly through their connection: We need to talk. Privately.
The battle around them was winding down. Demon forces scattered. Victory secured.
But the real consequences were just beginning.
Seraphina felt the weight of secrets shifting around them. Her fire magic witnessed by Gravenor. Caelan's enhanced wind magic witnessed by three dukes.
And somewhere in the chaos, she realized something that made her blood run cold.
If Caelan could feel her emotions that strongly, what else had changed between them? What else had she been sharing without knowing?
The medical tent buzzed with activity. Alaric lay on a cot while healers worked over his injuries. Every breath came shallow, strained. Sweat beaded his forehead. His hand twitched toward his chest as if to hold it together.
Broken ribs wrapped in bandages. Bruised organs slowly mending under magical treatment.
Seraphina sat beside him, playing the worried wife. Inside, she calculated.
She could heal him. One touch. But let them think she couldn't.
She kept her hands folded in her lap.
Let them think my healing remains weak. Let them believe I can still only manage cuts and bruises like before. Her eyes traced the careful bandaging around his ribs. You deserve to suffer until I'm ready for my revenge.
The healers muttered about slow progress. One suggested stronger pain medication. Another recommended extended bed rest. But the sound of his quiet groans was louder than their words.
Perfect.
Every wince would remind him of his vulnerability. Every labored breath would underscore how completely he'd needed rescue from the man he saw as rival. The discomfort would feed his resentment and cloud his judgment.
Suffer well, husband. When I finally choose to heal you, it will be because I need you whole for what comes next. She reached out to touch his forehead with apparent tenderness. But until then, you can carry the weight of knowing Caelan saved your worthless life.
Alaric's eyes fluttered at her touch, but he didn't wake.
Good. Let him dream of demons and helplessness.
Caelan stood near the tent entrance on guard duty. But she could feel his attention focused entirely on her. Not the protective awareness she was used to.
Something deeper. More invasive.
"Duchess." Duke Gravenor appeared at her elbow. "A word?"
She followed him outside, away from listening ears.
"He's stronger too. Why? Don't tell me it's coincidence," he said quietly.
She met his gaze steadily. "What are you implying?"
"I'm stating facts." His voice carried absolute certainty. "You saved my life with abilities that far exceed what anyone knew you possessed. His magic has grown stronger since this coalition began." His eyes held hers with unmistakable admiration. "The question is what caused these amplifications."
"And what do you think we should do?"
"That depends on whether you trust me with the truth." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "I owe you my life, Duchess. More than that, I've seen what you're truly capable of. Your strategic mind, your courage, your power."
The weight of his words carried implications beyond military alliance.
"I'm a patient man," he continued quietly. "I can wait for whatever truth you're ready to share. However long that takes."
The promise hung between them. Not just about magical secrets, but something deeper. More personal.
"The truth is complicated," she said.
"Most truths worth knowing are. Especially ones involving extraordinary women."
Before she could respond, Caelan appeared at the tent entrance. "Duke Gravenor. The perimeter is secured. All demon forces eliminated."
His tone was professional, but she felt something sharp and possessive spike through their connection. He'd witnessed enough of the conversation to understand its undertones.
Gravenor's eyes flicked between them. When his gaze settled back on Caelan, there was acknowledgment. Recognition.
He knew. Caelan was the real rival.
But something else flickered across his expression. Sharp understanding that went deeper than romantic rivalry.
He'd seen her fire. Caelan's wind. Different elements. Same pulse beneath.
Connected. Enhanced. Amplified.
His devotion to her had made him observant. Every nuance of her abilities, every shift in her magical signature. He'd been studying her with the intensity of a man completely captivated. And now he recognized that same harmonic pattern in Caelan's amplified magic.
"Good work securing the field, Commander," Gravenor said, using Caelan's military title deliberately. His eyes held new understanding, but also protective calculation. "That power saved us today."
The pause carried weight beyond romantic challenge. He'd identified something that made Seraphina even more extraordinary. And potentially more vulnerable.
Caelan's jaw tightened. Too close. Too interested. "We look after our own."
"Indeed we do." Gravenor's smile held edges, but also fierce loyalty. "Some connections deserve protection at any cost."
She felt Caelan's control fracturing. Not just from jealousy, but from recognition that Gravenor had seen too much. Understood too much.
But Gravenor's devotion meant the secret was safe with him. His knowledge made him dangerous to their enemies, not to them.
"I'll check the casualty reports," Gravenor said finally, stepping back but keeping his attention on Seraphina. "Take care of your duchess, Duke Vorenthal. She's had a difficult day."
Respect. Challenge. Alliance. All buried in the words.
He left them alone with unconscious Alaric. The dynamic had shifted permanently. The alliance had become infinitely more complicated.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions.
"You felt everything," Seraphina said quietly. It wasn't a question.
Caelan's jaw tightened. "I felt something. Pain that wasn't mine. Memories that made no sense." His eyes searched her face. "Smoke. Fire. The taste of ash. But they felt real."
Her breath caught. He hadn't just felt her emotions. He'd experienced fragments of her memories without understanding what they were.
"You were reliving something," he continued, confusion clear in his voice. "Something that happened to you. But when? How?" His voice dropped. "Seraphina, I felt you dying. I felt betrayal that cut to the bone. Where did that come from?"
She looked at Alaric's unconscious form. The rise and fall of his chest. The bandages around his ribs. The man who had condemned her to flames.
"That wasn't fear. It was real," Caelan said, voice barely above a whisper.
This was the moment. The question that would force her to reveal everything or lie to the one person who had felt her truth.
Seraphina met his gaze, feeling the weight of secrets that could destroy them both.
"Because they weren't dreams," she said softly. "They were real. Every scream. Every flame."