IRIS
The silence that followed his confession was a living thing. It stretched between us, taut and shimmering, more fragile than the most intricate spun glass. I stood on the balcony, the cold stone a shock against my bare feet, and he stood before me, a king stripped of his armor, offering me not a command, but a truth so raw it felt like a physical surrender. *I am going to spend every moment of every day trying to give you a reason to.* The words echoed in the hollow spaces of my heart, a dangerous, terrifying promise.
I couldn’t answer. I had no words. My entire arsenal of sarcasm and defiance felt useless, childish against the stark, brutal honesty of his apology. My anger was still there, a dull, throbbing ache beneath my ribs, but it was joined by something else. Something I was terrified to name. A flicker of… hope. It was the most dangerous emotion of all.
"I need… I need to be alone," I finally managed to say, my voice a hoarse whisper. I couldn't look at him. If I looked into those silver eyes, I was afraid I would see something that would make me forget every reason I had to guard my heart.
He didn't argue. He didn't command. He just gave a slow, deliberate nod, his expression unreadable but his posture one of profound weariness. "The bond will make it difficult," he said, his voice a low, rough rumble. "The distance… it will hurt."
"I'm used to pain," I bit out, the words sharper than I intended. It was a petty jab, a last, desperate attempt to push him away, to re-establish the safe, familiar walls between us.
A flicker of the old, pained frustration crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Don't," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Don't push me away with that. Not after… this." He turned and walked back into the chamber, leaving me alone with the panoramic view of the Lycan lands and the chaotic storm of my own thoughts.
I stayed on that balcony until the sun was high in the sky, its warmth a feeble attempt to chase away the chill that had settled deep in my bones. The bond was a low, steady thrum of awareness, a constant reminder of his presence in the chambers behind me. It wasn’t painful anymore, not like the Bond Sickness, but it was a heavy weight, a tether that I couldn’t sever and couldn’t ignore. He had given me space, but he hadn't given me freedom. He couldn't.
My mind was a battlefield. The brutal image of Isolde, the scent of her cloying perfume, the lie of the bite mark, warred with the memory of Kaelen’s apology, the raw, tormented look in his eyes as he’d spoken of his mistake. The violent, possessive kiss that had felt like a battle, and the quiet, broken plea that had followed. It was a maelstrom of contradiction, and I was drowning in it.
I needed an anchor. I needed someone who wasn’t him, who wasn’t Ronan, who wasn’t a part of this suffocating new world. I needed Elara.
Going back into the chamber, I ignored him. He was standing by the hearth, staring into the unlit fire as if it held the answers to the universe. I walked to the small dressing table, my movements stiff, and opened the carved wooden box that held my few personal effects. Inside, nestled in a bed of worn velvet, was a small, smooth piece of obsidian. It was a scrying stone, a direct, private line to my mentor, untraceable by all but the most powerful magic.
I clutched the cool, smooth stone in my hand, the familiar weight a small comfort. I didn’t need to be in a sacred circle or a prepared space. Elara and I had been using this method of communication for years, our magical signatures woven into the very fabric of the stone.
Closing my eyes, I focused my mind, pushing past the chaotic hum of the bond, past the lingering scent of Kaelen on my skin, past the pain and the confusion. I reached for the familiar, comforting presence of my mentor, a beacon of steady, ancient power in the swirling chaos of my mind. *Elara.*
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a familiar voice, clear and sharp, resonated not in the air, but directly in my mind. *Iris. Child. You have been silent. I was beginning to worry.*
Relief, so sharp and sudden it was almost painful, washed over me. *Elara.* I thought the word, pouring all my desperation and confusion into it. *I… I need your help.*
There was a pause, a mental appraisal that felt like Elara’s sharp, perceptive gaze was looking directly into my soul. *The bond is… stronger than I anticipated. I can feel its echo even here. It is a chaotic, powerful thing. A tempest.*
*It’s a curse,* I sent back, the thought laced with a bitterness that was still raw. *He… things have happened. I don’t know what to do. He says… he says it’s real. That what he feels is real. But he’s a monster. A tyrant.*
*He is a Lycan Alpha,* Elara corrected, her tone maddeningly neutral. *Possessiveness and dominance are in his blood. But you are not just his captive, Iris. You are a Moon Witch.*
The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled back from the dressing table, my hand flying to my mouth. *What? No. That’s… that’s just a myth. A fairytale.*
*Is it?* Elara’s mental voice was laced with a gentle, knowing chiding. *Think, child. The volatility of your magic. Its connection to your emotions. The way it responds to the moon, to primal urges. The way it… amplified when you were near him, when your emotions were at their peak.*
My mind raced, flashes of memory lighting up the darkness. The wild, uncontrolled surge of power when I’d tried to ward my room. The way it had flared during our training, every clash of our bodies sending a spark through the air. The raw, untamed energy that had exploded when I thought he’d been with Isolde. It all clicked into place with a horrifying, sickening certainty.
*Oh, gods,* I sent back, the thought a wave of pure panic. *Elara, what does that mean? What is a Moon Witch?*
*It is a lineage thought long lost,* Elara explained, her mental voice taking on a grave, instructive tone. *A rare and powerful strain of witchcraft. Your magic is not drawn just from ley lines, but from the moon itself. From emotion, from primal instincts. From life and… desire. It is a magic of creation and chaos, not of order and control.*
*Desire?* The word was a jolt of electricity through my system. The memory of his hands on my skin, the feverish, shameful ache of my own response, was a fresh, humiliating wave.
*Your magic is tied to your emotional state, Iris,* Elara’s voice became stern, a warning. *And his Lycan nature… it is a primal force of its own. A force of instinct, of rut, of raw, untamed power. When these two forces combine…*
*What?* I demanded, my mental voice frantic. *What happens when they combine?*
*They amplify one another,* Elara sent, the thought heavy with a dire warning. *His presence, his dominance, his primal urges… they will act as a catalyst for your magic. They will make it stronger, more volatile. And in turn, your magic, your emotional chaos, will fuel his Lycan instincts. It will make his possessiveness more intense, his desire more… feral. You are not just bound by a contract, child. You are bound by nature itself. A perfect, dangerous storm.*
I sank to the floor, the smooth, cold stone a welcome shock against my heated skin. I felt Kaelen’s presence sharpen through the bond, a spike of concern as he sensed my sudden, overwhelming distress. I pushed him away, slamming up mental walls I didn’t know I possessed, focusing all my energy on the connection to Elara.
*So what do I do?* I asked, the thought a desperate plea. *How do I control it?*
*You cannot control it,* Elara said, her words a final, devastating judgment. *Not completely. You can only learn to channel it. To wield it instead of being consumed by it. But be warned, Iris. To master this power, you will have to master yourself. You will have to face the parts of you that you fear the most. The parts of you that crave him. The parts of you that responded to his bite, to his touch, to his dominance. To deny that is to deny your own magic. To embrace it… is to risk being consumed by the storm.*
The connection faded, leaving me alone with the terrifying weight of her words. A Moon Witch. My magic wasn’t a flaw; it was a heritage. A chaotic, dangerous heritage that was inextricably linked to the man I was bound to. My desire wasn’t a weakness; it was a fuel source. The realization was a heady, horrifying mix of power and vulnerability.
I pushed myself to my feet, my legs trembling. I walked to the balcony doors, looking out at the vast, wild expanse of his territory. I was no longer just a hedge witch from a small town. I was something more. Something powerful. And something incredibly, terrifyingly at his mercy.
He was still by the hearth, but he had turned, his silver eyes fixed on me, his expression a mixture of concern and a wary respect. He had felt the surge of power, the spike of my panic. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was significant.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice a low, cautious rumble.
I looked at him, at the man who was my captor, my tormentor, my king. The man who was, according to Elara, the catalyst for my true power. The man I was inextricably, dangerously bound to by nature itself.
"Just a ghost from my past," I said, the lie a thin, brittle shield. "A reminder of who I used to be."
It wasn't a complete lie. The woman I had been yesterday, the woman who thought she was just a normal witch fighting a political battle, was gone. In her place was a Moon Witch. And I had a terrible, sinking feeling that my old self was the least of the ghosts I would have to face.