Elowen POV
They make me stand.
No chains. No restraints.
Just a circle of cold stone and too many eyes.
"Say it," the cultist instructs calmly. "Say his name and what he is to you."
My mouth goes dry.
The bond tightens immediately, reacting before I do. Heat coils low in my body, sharp and humiliating, my thighs pressing together on instinct.
I hate him for that.
I hate myself more.
"I don't belong to him," I say hoarsely.
The words taste wrong.
The bond flares in protest—hot, insistent—sending a shiver down my spine so violent I nearly stumble. Murmurs ripple through the circle.
The cultist smiles. "Again."
I swallow hard. "Kael doesn't own me."
My breath comes out uneven.
The lie doesn't weaken the bond.
It aggravates it.
My skin prickles, awareness spiking like I've been touched everywhere at once. It feels like standing naked under his gaze, like he's listening from somewhere just beyond reach.
"Louder," the cultist says.
My nails dig into my palms.
"He's just a demon king," I force out. "Nothing more."
The bond snaps tight around my ribs.
A gasp tears from my throat before I can stop it.
My knees buckle—but I don't fall.
Something holds me upright.
Not hands.
Certainty.
The cultist's eyes gleam. "You feel that, don't you? He doesn't like being denied."
Shame burns through me, hot and unforgiving.
"He's not here," I whisper, voice breaking. "He can't hear me."
The cultist laughs softly.
"Oh, little flame," he says. "He hears everything."
Kael POV
Every word is a knife.
Not because she says them.
Because she's forced to.
I stand in the shadowed gallery above the chamber, unseen, unmoving, my presence folded so tightly into the dark that even the cult's wards fail to sense me.
But the bond—
The bond screams.
Each denial she speaks lands like a deliberate wound, her body recoiling even as her voice obeys. I feel every tremor, every sharp inhale she tries to swallow, every humiliating spike of want she refuses to acknowledge.
They think they're breaking her.
They don't understand.
They're teaching her body to associate resistance with me.
With wanting.
With need she can't outrun.
"Good," the cultist says below. "You're learning."
I smile.
It is a slow, terrible thing.
Elowen POV
My chest hurts.
Not from fear.
From holding everything back.
"Now say this," the cultist continues. "Say you don't want him."
The room feels smaller.
Hotter.
My heart pounds so hard it makes me dizzy.
"I—" My voice catches.
The bond tightens again, not punishing—waiting.
As if he's listening closely now.
"I don't want Kael," I whisper.
The reaction is immediate.
My breath shatters, heat flooding my body so intensely I have to clamp my thighs together to keep from making a sound. My vision blurs, spots dancing at the edges.
I feel exposed.
Seen.
Claimed in the very act of denial.
Tears sting my eyes.
"Liar," someone murmurs.
I shake my head violently. "I mean it."
The bond pulses once.
Deep.
Heavy.
Satisfied.
And suddenly I know—
He's pleased.
Not because I denied him.
But because my body betrayed me while I did.
Kael POV
She says she doesn't want me.
Her body answers for her.
The lie sharpens the connection instead of dulling it, carving awareness deeper, making her more responsive, not less.
Perfect.
I shift just enough that my presence brushes the bond deliberately.
Not enough for her to see me.
Enough for her to feel me.
Her breath hitches.
Her spine arches unconsciously.
The cult stiffens, sensing something wrong but unable to place it.
"Careful," I murmur silently into the bond. "You're learning the wrong lesson."
Her knees tremble.
Mine.
Mine.
I turn away from the railing, decision settling cold and absolute in my chest.
They wanted her to deny me.
They wanted her to doubt.
What they've done instead—
Is teach her that even when she speaks against me…
Her body still answers.
And soon?
I will step out of the shadows.
And make her choose whether she wants to keep lying—
Or finally admit what she's already given me.