A wary throb.
It recognized me.
I let a trickle of that now‑familiar warmth uncoil from wherever it lived in my ribs, down my arm, into my palm.
It's not a full shove.
Not a command.
Just… presence.
I’m here, I thought. I'm not sure if I was directing it at him or the thing inside him. You don’t get to own all of him.
The humming under my hand receded a fraction, like a snake retreating deeper into a hollow as light touched its head.
Lucian exhaled slowly.
Some tension bled from his shoulders.
His eyes closed, lashes dark against his cheeks.
“Better,” he murmured.
For a moment, we just stood like that.
My hand on his chest.
His heartbeat is heavy and steady under my palm.
His scent—pine, smoke, and the sharpness of old pain—wrapped around me.
He opened his eyes and looked d
