Dion's POV
The first thing Dion became aware of was the steady warmth of her body.
Therrin lay curled beside him, her bare back pressed into his chest, skin soft and still flushed from the night before. The silken sheets rustled as he shifted, lips brushing the curve of her shoulder. She didn't stir. Not even a murmur.
"Morning, love," he whispered against her neck, letting his nose trail along the sweet line of her scent. It had changed—grown deeper, darker. But it was still her. His Therrin.
He kissed her again, this time at the crook of her neck, and then moved to her jaw. Still, she didn't move.
Dion propped himself up on one elbow, brow furrowed as he looked down at her. Her breathing was slow. Rhythmic. Peaceful. But there was something… wrong. She wasn't just sleeping.
"Therrin," he said gently, brushing her hair from her face. "Come on, little star. Wake up."
No reaction.
His chest tightened. He leaned in, kissing her lips softly, then firmer. Nothing. No flutter of lashes. No sleepy smile. Not even the lazy hum she always gave when he kissed her like that.
Panic coiled low in his gut.
"Therrin." Louder this time. He shook her shoulder, not hard, but firm enough that she should've jolted at least a little. "Therrin, wake up. Please."
Still nothing.
Until her entire body jerked.
A choked scream ripped from her throat — ragged, raw, and utterly guttural. Her limbs thrashed as if something had seized her from the inside out. Dion caught her, wrapping both arms around her tightly to keep her from hurting herself.
"Therrin! Hey—hey, I've got you!" His voice cracked. "You're okay. Just wake up. Come back to me."
Her body trembled violently. But her eyes stayed closed.
It felt like forever — heartbeats dragging out like lifetimes — before she suddenly gasped and her eyes snapped open. But something was… off.
Her pupils were blown wide, silver irises swimming in heat. Her breathing was shallow. And her skin? A sheen of sweat clung to it, flushed and glowing like she'd just—
He froze.
Dion's heart pounded as he searched her face. "What happened?" he asked softly, brushing her damp hair back from her forehead. "Are you hurt?"
She blinked slowly, almost dazed. "I'm… fine."
But he could smell it. The scent rising off her like a storm after drought.
Arousal.
Sharp. Intoxicating. New.
But it wasn't from him.
Dion swallowed hard, jaw tightening. "What do you mean fine? You weren't here—you weren't with me. Something happened."
Therrin only looked at him, lips parted, but said nothing. Her silence was answer enough.
He moved down her body slowly, hand trailing over her ribs, her hips, until he settled between her legs. He lowered his head, breathing in the heat radiating from her core.
And then he saw it.
Not imagined. Not faint. But vivid.
A mark.
Branded into her flesh like a sigil of possession. Bold. Intimate. Claiming.
His entire body went still.
"What the fuck—"
He jerked back, his breath gone like a blow to the ribs. Hands curled into fists, eyes wide in disbelief and fury.
That mark wasn't his.
He couldn't breathe.
The symbol scorched into her flesh was foreign — not his magic, not his design. But it pulsed with power all the same. A raw, primal claim.
And it was intimate.
No, it was worse than that.
It was personal. Territorial. Made to be hidden. Meant only for someone who would know where to look. Someone who had been there. Inside her.
Dion reeled, staggering back from her body like he'd been burned. "What… what the hell is this?"
Therrin stirred faintly but didn't speak.
The rage in his chest flared white-hot, threatening to consume him. But beneath it was something more dangerous—hurt.
Deep, soul-splitting hurt.
"No," he muttered, shaking his head, eyes never leaving the mark. "No, you didn't let someone do this. Not here. Not like this."
But her scent said otherwise.
The magic embedded in the mark said otherwise.
Ciaran.
It had to be him. The only one strong enough. Tied to her deeply enough. Twisted enough to do this.
His hands curled, and sparks of magic flared from his fingers, rippling across the sheets.
He wanted to tear the world apart.
Dion stood, pacing away from her because if he didn't, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He gripped the back of his neck, dragging his hand through his hair as a growl formed low in his throat.
"While I was holding you—sleeping next to you—he was in your head?" His voice broke around the words. "He got inside? And you let him…?"
His voice cracked into silence.
He turned back, voice lower now. More wounded than angry.
"You let him mark you," he said. "And not just anywhere."
He swallowed.
"You let him leave something I can't even erase."
She sat up then, slowly, still dazed. Her eyes flicked toward him, then down her body, where the mark glowed faintly like it had always belonged.
And then, finally—softly—she said, "I didn't fight him."
Dion closed his eyes like the words had gutted him.
"I should've felt it," he whispered. "I should've known."
He was shaking now, from restraint or betrayal, he wasn't sure. His heart thundered in his chest, but everything felt still.
Dead still.
He didn't move toward her. He didn't reach for her. He just stood there, breathing like he was trying not to shatter into a thousand pieces.
"…Tell me why," he said. "Please."
Therrin didn't answer right away.
She looked down at the sheets, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. The mark was still glowing faintly on her skin, like it had branded itself into her very soul — a truth written in flesh.
Dion waited.
His chest ached with the weight of too much silence.
Finally, she whispered, "Because I needed to feel in control again."
Her voice was quiet. Honest.
But it cut deeper than a blade.
"Control?" Dion echoed. "You think that—" He gestured toward the mark, his hand trembling with restrained power. "—was about control?"
She nodded once, her voice barely audible. "You were breaking me apart, Dion. Tearing down every wall I had left. And I wanted it. I still do. But… I needed to give myself, not just be unraveled. Ciaran offered me that."
Dion turned his back to her. He couldn't look at her while she said that name.
"I gave you space. Time. My soul," he said hoarsely. "And while I was holding you, you gave him everything."
His voice cracked on the last word.
"Not everything," she said.
He laughed — low and bitter. "No? Just the part of you I hadn't touched yet? Just the part I'd been waiting for you to offer freely?"
Silence.
His breath came faster now, his magic flickering around him, his shadow dancing wild across the walls.
"I would've worshiped you," Dion whispered. "I still would."
Her eyes welled. "I know."
"And still, you let him mark you there. Like a trophy."
"No." Her voice was sharper this time. "Not a trophy. A choice."
Dion turned, and the look in his eyes was no longer just pain — it was something darker. Wounded. Possessive. Something that had been pushed too far.
"You chose him?" he asked quietly.
"I chose me," she said.
That stopped him cold.
They stood there in the aftermath, the tension thick enough to choke on.
Finally, Dion stepped closer — slow, deliberate. His eyes burned into hers.
"I'm not done," he said. "With you. With this."
She didn't move.
"I don't care what he took in a dream. What he thinks he claimed." Dion's voice dropped to a low, dangerous rasp. "You're still mine to fight for."
Her breath hitched.
"I will undo that mark if I have to," he growled. "Not with force. With fire. With patience. With pleasure. I'll make you beg to forget his name."
Still, she didn't speak.
He leaned in, just close enough to feel her breath, but didn't touch her. Not yet.
"I hope he's listening," Dion whispered. "Because I'm not backing down."
Then he turned and walked toward the edge of the clearing, vanishing into the trees — but not in retreat.
In reckoning.