The barn was quieter than it had been in days.
Elara sat against the old wooden beam, watching Kael sleep. His chest rose and fell steadily now, no longer ragged. The bite wound on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, and the fever seemed to have broken.
But the stillness scared her more than the violence ever had.
Because Kael wasn't just sleeping.
He was dreaming.
And his dreams bled out in whispers.
"If I lose myself..." he muttered, brow twitching, "...don't follow me."
Elara's hands tightened in her lap.
He murmured again—something about fire, and glass, and a name not hers.
Then, clear as day:
"If I turn... kill me."
Elara stood.
Heart hammering.
"No," she said aloud, to no one.
"To hell with that."
She grabbed the dagger from the wall post, her breath trembling as she pulled it free. Its edge gleamed dull in the lantern light, stained from older nights.
She stared at Kael's sleeping form.
Then pressed the blade to her palm.
And dragged.
Blood welled up instantly, hot and bright, dripping onto the hay.
Elara moved closer to him, knelt beside his arm, and—without hesitation—grabbed his hand and reopened the half-healed wound from the day before.
Their blood mingled, dripped together onto the floor.
The contract mark flared—angry, searing.
Elara didn't flinch.
"Remember me," she whispered. "I don't care what the bond takes. I don't care if it destroys us. Just don't forget."
Kael stirred beneath her.
Twitched once.
Then seized.
His body convulsed as the magic surged backward—a full contract reversal, the most forbidden kind. A siphoning not meant for humans.
Elara gritted her teeth as pain lanced through her chest, her heartbeat stuttering under the pull.
Kael gasped awake, eyes wide, lungs emptying in a strangled scream.
"What did you do?" he rasped.
"I made sure you don't forget me," she spat through clenched teeth, hand still pressed to his.
Kael tried to pull away—but couldn't.
The bond was feeding. Fast. Hungry.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're bleeding too much—Elara, stop—"
She swayed.
Then collapsed against his chest.
She woke to warmth.
A strange, painful, foreign warmth.
Her palm was bandaged—tight, clean, freshly wrapped.
Kael sat beside her, still shirtless, brow furrowed in deep concentration as he dipped a cloth into warm water and wiped blood from her cheek.
He didn't notice she was awake.
He just kept whispering.
"You're so stupid."
Another wipe. Gentle. Almost reverent.
"So reckless."
He leaned in closer, his breath tickling her skin.
"And so godsdamned loud in my head."
Elara blinked.
He froze.
Then looked at her.
And smiled—just a little. A fragile, crooked thing.
"I told you not to bleed for me."
"I told you I didn't ask."
She tried to sit up.
He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Don't. You'll faint again."
"I'm fine."
"You passed out on my chest."
"And you didn't throw me off. I call that progress."
Kael snorted.
The sound startled both of them.
Elara studied him in the firelight—his eyes were back to gold, soft instead of burning, shadows beneath them dark but no longer violent. His claws were gone. His skin, though still fever-warm, had cooled enough for her touch.
He reached for her hand—the one he'd bandaged.
And this time, he didn't flinch when their fingers brushed.
"You reversed the bond," he said.
"Not fully."
"You're lucky you didn't die."
"I told you," she said quietly. "I'll risk death if it means you remember me."
Kael stared at her.
Then slowly, deliberately, brought her hand to his mouth.
And kissed the bandages.
Soft. Wordless.
Her breath hitched.
"Why?" he murmured.
"Why what?"
"Why not let me go?"
"Because I'm selfish," she said. "And I think the world deserves you after you heal."
He shook his head. "No one deserves me."
"Well, too bad. I'm keeping you anyway."
Silence.
Then he chuckled. "You're terrifying."
"You're not the first to say that."
"I won't be the last."
They sat like that a while, the silence gentler than it had any right to be.
Until Elara asked—quietly, cautiously:
"That night in the forest… when I freed you. You said I smelled like 'absolution.'"
Kael's smile faded.
He didn't answer.
So she pressed.
"Do you know what absolution really means, Kael?"
Still silence.
"It doesn't mean peace," she said. "It means punishment. A reckoning. It's not forgiveness—it's the price."
His throat bobbed.
"I know," he said.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time, Kael didn't look away.
That night, Kael curled up against the wall, arms loosely around his knees, while Elara leaned against his side. Their blood bond had settled into a low, throbbing hum—less violent now. More like a heartbeat shared between bodies.
"Do you still hear me?" she asked softly.
Kael nodded. "You hum when you're thinking."
"I do not."
"You also talk in your sleep."
"Liar."
"You mutter 'idiot' sometimes. Not sure if it's about me or yourself."
She laughed—quiet and tired.
Then asked, "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"What do you dream of now?"
Kael didn't answer right away.
Then: "Not fire."
Elara looked up at him. "What then?"
He turned to her, voice so low it almost didn't reach her ears.
"You."