EVER BOUND

FOURTEEN

The moon was high, a waning silver coin pressed against the velvet sky, when Thea slipped barefoot into the garden.

The manor was quiet.

Too quiet.

She hadn't seen Silas since he stormed away hours ago, leaving her to collapse under the weight of truth. Her truth. Their truth.

The curse. The love. The betrayal.

It pulsed inside her like a second heartbeat.

Thea stepped into the grass, her fingers brushing along the soft, dewy petals of a purple lily. The night air kissed her skin, cool and sharp with the scent of iron-rich soil and damp stone.

She closed her eyes.

And breathed.

The memories weren't abstract anymore. They were hers. And they hadn't just returned—they'd taken root. She could feel the magic humming beneath the surface of her skin like it had never left her.

It didn't come with instruction.

Only feeling.

Instinct.

She moved slowly toward the stone fountain at the center of the garden. The water inside was still, reflecting the moonlight like glass.

Thea raised her palm.

"I remember," she whispered.

Nothing happened.

She furrowed her brow, tried again. This time, her breath slowed. She summoned the memory of the first spell she'd ever cast—before she knew Silas, before she knew what love could destroy.

Her grandmother had guided her, back then.

"Magic is rhythm, child. Feel it like a heartbeat. Your own."

Thea exhaled, fingers trembling as she raised them again. Her pulse aligned with the wind, the soft trickle of water, the beat of wings overhead.

This time, the surface of the fountain rippled.

The water rose like a serpent, coiling in midair—weightless, gleaming.

Thea gasped, taking a step back. Her concentration faltered. The water collapsed into itself.

But she'd done it.

Her chest heaved. Her fingers buzzed. "I can still do it..."

The magic didn't burn—it flowed. A current beneath her skin.

She turned her attention to the rose bushes lining the edge of the garden, thorns curled inward. Her hand hovered over one bloom, a closed red bud near her waist.

She thought of Silas.

Of the way he looked at her in the painting light. Of the pain in his eyes when she cursed him. Of the fear he wore when she'd compelled Alys without knowing how.

"Grow," she whispered to the flower. "Please."

It bloomed instantly.

The petals unfurled in slow, silky spirals—deep crimson, rich as wine. Thea gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth, trembling with awe. She reached toward it, but before her fingers could touch, the entire bush bloomed in tandem. Bud after bud, row after row, erupting into a sea of red.

The garden came alive.

Luminous blue moss spread over the garden stones like fire catching dry brush. Vines slithered up the walls. Insects glowed in the air around her, drawn to the magic curling from her pores.

She stood in the center of it all, breathless.

Then her legs gave out.

Thea dropped to her knees.

The energy was euphoric—but draining. She'd pushed herself too far. Her hands gripped the soil, and even the earth responded—trembling under her touch like it recognized her.

"You were born of power. It was never meant to be forgotten."

Her grandmother's voice echoed from memory.

Thea didn't cry. Not this time.

Instead, she smiled.

She was no longer powerless.

She was becoming.

And this time, no one—not even Silas—would decide what that meant.

The garden pulsed with power.

Thea knelt in the dirt, heart still racing from the burst of energy that had just poured from her. Roses bloomed in impossible harmony around her. The air shimmered faintly, fragrant and thick with magic. She could still feel the weight of the memories behind her eyes—her grandmother's touch, Silas's smile, her own voice whispering spells long buried in time.

She didn't hear him approach.

Not until a quiet voice, rough like gravel over velvet, broke the night.

"You remember."

Thea gasped and spun around, heart thundering as Silas stepped out from the shadows between the hedges. Moonlight painted sharp lines across his face—stern, unreadable. For a moment, he looked like something carved from marble and secrets. His black coat fluttered behind him, but his expression was unreadable.

"I—I didn't mean to—" she began, but the words fell apart.

He stepped closer, and something in his eyes softened.

"You remember everything."

Thea swallowed thickly, rising to her feet, brushing soil from her palms. "I do."

Silas didn't move.

The garden hummed around them, heavy with tension and night.

"I know what I did," she said softly. "What she did. What I did to you." Her voice cracked, but she didn't look away. "But I also know... I'm not her. Not exactly. I don't want to hurt you, Silas."

She hesitated, eyes burning.

"I don't want to kill you. I just... want my life back. Whatever this version of it is."

Silas stared at her like he'd never seen her before. His shoulders slumped slightly. "You have every reason to want revenge."

"I don't want revenge," Thea whispered. "I want peace."

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the faint rustle of vines still shifting in response to her magic.

Silas took a breath that sounded like it hurt. "Then let me help you get it."

She looked up at him, stunned. "You'll teach me? Again?"

He nodded slowly. "Like I used to."

Something fragile passed between them.

Trust.

Tentative. But real.

Silas extended a hand. Thea looked at it, then placed her own within his. His palm was rough, scarred from lifetimes of violence, but warm. Steady. The moment they touched, a whisper of energy passed between them like the first spark of flint to steel.

"You're stronger than her," he said quietly. "Than you were then. But you have to learn control. Magic like yours... it blooms from emotion. It feeds on it."

Thea nodded. "I know."

Silas pulled her gently to the center of the garden again, beside the stone fountain. "Start with what you know. One element. Feel the earth beneath you. The blood inside it."

Thea lowered her hands again.

She closed her eyes and breathed, this time steady, guided by his voice.

"I'm here," he murmured. "Like before."

With a slow exhale, Thea curled her fingers toward the soil. The roots listened this time. They responded like old friends. A small green shoot burst from the stone c***k near her toes, climbing toward her hand.

Silas smiled faintly. "Good."

Thea opened her eyes and looked up at him, breath catching as she saw how proud he looked. And how heartbroken.

"Why does it feel like you're already saying goodbye?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he stepped closer, lifted her hand in his, and kissed the back of it—soft and reverent.

Then he whispered, "Because when it comes to you... I've never known how to stay."

The night had softened. A warm breeze carried the scent of rose and damp soil through the garden as silver moonlight filtered through tangled vines and arching branches. Thea stood barefoot in the grass, her palms open and tingling, heart still echoing with memory.

Silas stood behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him without being touched.

"Again," he said quietly. "Feel the roots beneath you. Call to them."

Thea closed her eyes, breathed in deep. She focused on the soil beneath her toes, the threads of life weaving unseen through the earth, waiting—listening.

"Don't force it," Silas murmured. "Invite it."

She exhaled slowly.

This time, she didn't reach with her mind.

She welcomed.

And it came.

From the cracks between the flagstones, from the shadows of the trees, small green vines began to stretch forward. A dozen buds bloomed in harmony at her feet, curving upward as though bowing toward her. She opened her eyes and gasped, staring as the petals shimmered a soft lilac beneath the moonlight.

"You did that," Silas said softly. "Not her. You."

Thea turned to him, smiling in disbelief. "It feels like... music. Like something waking up inside me."

"It is."

He stepped closer now. Barely a breath between them. The edge of his coat brushed against her hip.

"Try again," he whispered. "But use your hands this time."

Thea lifted her arms, fingers trembling. Silas moved behind her, reaching forward to gently wrap his hands around hers. The contact sparked something hot and ancient in her blood.

"Guide the air," he murmured at her ear. "You were always gifted with wind."

She tilted her chin upward, remembering.

"Aer levata..." she whispered.

The leaves stirred.

"Spira in manibus meis..."

A current swirled through the garden, brushing back her curls and lifting the hem of Silas's coat. It danced around them like a spirit, tugging the petals from the roses and sending them spinning in a lazy cyclone.

She gasped in wonder as they floated, spiraling upward like they were caught in a dream.

Silas's hands were still on hers. She hadn't even noticed how tightly they'd locked together.

He turned her slowly to face him, their fingers still joined.

The spell faded.

The wind stilled.

And yet, the air between them only thickened.

"You remember how to wield power," he said. "But you've forgotten how dangerous you are when you feel."

Thea looked up at him, breath hitching.

"Then show me," she whispered. "Remind me."

Something broke in his eyes—like restraint snapping beneath the weight of memory and desire.

Silas leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first. Soft. Reverent. As though they were afraid of waking some ancient beast between them.

But then her fingers curled into his shirt.

And his mouth deepened against hers.

It wasn't gentle anymore.

It was need.

It was centuries of longing and betrayal and loss and hope crashing into the present with a heat that scorched through them both.

Thea gasped as he pressed her back gently against the stone edge of the fountain, lips tracing along her jaw, down her neck. His hands—once steady—shook as they slid around her waist.

She could feel his pulse. He could feel hers.

And it called to him.

He pulled back suddenly, breath ragged, eyes darkened with something feral.

"We should stop," he said, voice thick with hunger and restraint.

Thea's chest heaved. "Do you want to?"

Silas looked at her, truly looked—and she could see the war inside him.

He reached up and gently brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. "You don't know what you do to me."

"I think I'm starting to," she whispered.

For a moment, he just stared at her like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.

Then he smiled. A real one. Soft and aching.

"Let's try fire next."