The world shimmered, bending around his will.
Stone dissolved into shadow. And shadow into light. The dream reshaped effortlessly in his hands, taking the form of the sacred cave—a place born of longing, memory, and magic older than even the gods dared whisper.
The walls curved with ancient purpose, their markings worn with time yet humming with power. Pillars carved in an elegant style, flanked the room with quiet reverence. In the center, beneath a circular opening in the ceiling that bled moonlight like silver wine, a bed waited. Black silk sheets rustled faintly as if stirred by invisible hands.
And she was there. His mo duinne.
Therrin's body was cradled in the center, curled loosely on her side, her breathing slow and unknowing. Her chest rose and fell with that gentle rhythm he remembered too well. The sight of her did something to him—split his soul wide with desire, memory, and something darker. Something hungry.
Ciaran stepped forward silently, his bare feet brushing against the polished stone as the soft scent of wisteria filled the air, vines curling from the hole above the bed like nature herself bent to his will. Mauve blossoms bloomed with every step he took.
He knelt beside her, letting his fingers hover just above her skin for a breath, reverent and unashamed.
Her hair spilled across the pillow like ink. Slowly, he brushed it back, fingertips grazing the shell of her ear. She didn't wake—but her body shifted, responding. A sigh left her lips.
"You were always beautiful," he murmured, voice a velvet whisper as he leaned down. "Even then. Especially then."
He cradled her face in one hand, thumb brushing the curve of her cheek. She leaned into his touch, unconsciously chasing the warmth. His lips followed, pressing to her temple, then down to her cheekbone, slow, possessive. Marking her in the only way this dream would allow.
Then lower—his lips against her neck, pausing where her pulse fluttered.
He tasted her skin, just once. A ghost of a kiss that held an eternity of memory behind it.
Still she didn't wake, but her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched against the silk. Her legs shifted, pulling the sheet higher over her hip.
He watched every movement, committing it to memory, letting it stoke the flame curling in his gut. And yet—he didn't rush. This wasn't about need. It was about reclamation.
Ciaran stretched out beside her, curling his body around hers. One hand rested lightly on her waist, the other braced against the sheets as he watched her stir.
She blinked slowly, lashes fluttering as her mind began to surface.
"Where…?" her voice was husky, dazed.
"Our place," he answered, brushing her hair back again. "Do you remember?"
Therrin turned her head slowly, eyes meeting his. For a moment, she didn't speak. And he could feel it—the tug in her soul, the ache of a bond once broken, now drawn taut between them again.
"I don't—know you," she breathed.
But she didn't move away.
Ciaran smiled. "You do. You just forgot. They made you forget."
She looked up toward the ceiling, the cascade of wisteria glowing softly in the moonlight. Something in her face shifted.
He leaned closer. "You used to meet me here. In dreams. In silence. You'd wear nothing but moonlight and defiance. And you'd challenge me to love you harder than death could."
Her lips parted.
"You called me yours," he said softly. "Even when the world said I couldn't be."
Her brow furrowed. "That's not…possible."
"But it is." He reached for her hand, bringing it to his chest. "Feel it. The bond. We were soul-tied, mo duinne. Torn apart before we could finish what we started."
As her fingers curled against his bare skin, something passed between them. A hum, a pulse.
Familiar.
Her eyes widened.
He rolled onto his back, guiding her slowly to straddle him without breaking their gaze. She didn't fight it. The dream made her lighter. Softer. The hesitation in her body was replaced with something else—curiosity. Yearning.
His hands traced the length of her thighs, skimming over the thin nightdress she wore—of his design, of course. He could feel her shiver.
"You always wanted to be seen. Truly seen." His voice was low, coaxing. "Not worshipped. Not protected. Just… understood. Touched where no one else dared."
Therrin gasped quietly as his hands moved up, cupping her waist.
Her hips shifted forward instinctively, pressing into him. A subconscious offering.
"I know your fears," he whispered, brushing his nose against hers. "The way you crave control… because the world took too much too soon. I know your secrets. The ones you bury even from her."
Therrin's breath stilled.
"I know the darkness that calls to you," he said, voice a promise, "and I would never shame you for it. I am that darkness."
His lips hovered over hers. But he didn't kiss her—not yet.
Instead, he brought her hand to his chest again, guiding it slowly downward—over the tattoos inked into his skin. Symbols of protection, power, worship.
Until she found the one nestled low, just above the waistband of his pants.
Her fingers traced it.
A single word, marked in a flowing script that shimmered faintly beneath her touch.
Mo duinne.
Her nickname. His claim.
She sucked in a shaky breath.
"What are you?" she whispered.
He smiled, brushing his fingers against her lower back. "Yours. Always."
And then—he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was a possession. A sealing of something that had always been unfinished. Her lips parted with a soft cry and he deepened the kiss, guiding her body flush against his. The bond solidified, growing and building like a storm.
Heat pulsed between them.
She moaned into his mouth, responding instinctively. The silk twisted around them, and the moonlight above flared brighter, painting their bodies in silver-blue glow. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.
And he gave it. Slowly. Fully.
But even as he worshipped her body in the dream, his eyes never lost that edge of shadow. He didn't need her heart.
Not yet.
He needed her surrender.
He needed her soul.
And now—it was almost his.