The Fire We Feed

The first thing Taryn noticed when she woke was heat—solid, inescapable, and entirely too close. Then came the weight of the chain, pulling uncomfortably at her wrist, tethering her to Lucien. Her pulse leapt, confusion flickering through the haze of sleep, until the memories hit like a punch: Lucien's arm sliding around her waist, the brush of his breath on her neck, the way she hadn't moved away.

And now it was morning.

Her heart kicked against her ribs as she registered his hand, still resting low on her waist. Not tight—just there, like he belonged. His breath was warm and steady against her hair, far too intimate for a night that shouldn't have happened. And the worst part?

She hadn't moved.

Lucien stirred behind her, a low groan rumbling through his chest, vibrating against her back. The chain at her wrist gave a sharp tug as he shifted, dragging her even closer against him.

Taryn clenched her jaw, hating the way her pulse jumped. She shifted slightly, wincing as the chain clinked between them, its links catching awkwardly against her wrist. Every movement she made only tightened the pull between them, as if the chain had its own will—dragging her back toward Lucien no matter how hard she tried to slip away. She shifted once more, trying to ease away without making it obvious. The second she did, his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her back against him with infuriating ease, as if the chain wasn't the only thing keeping them bound together.

"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, low and dangerous and far too close to her ear.

"Let go," Taryn hissed, her voice sharper than she intended.

"You didn't seem to mind last night," Lucien murmured, giving the chain an idle tug. The metal links rattled softly, tightening just enough to remind her that she hadn't moved away—and still couldn't.

Her skin burned. She twisted in his grip, glaring at him over her shoulder. "You were—"

"Comfortable?" His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but there was no mistaking the smug amusement lurking behind them. "Because you were very comfortable."

"You're a bastard," she muttered, though the words carried no real weight.

Lucien's grin deepened, and he shifted just enough to brush his nose along the curve of her ear. "You say that a lot."

Taryn bit back the urge to shove him—hard. Instead she wrenched the blanket aside and tried to sit up, but the chain between them snagged painfully, jerking her wrist before she could move too far and sending a jolt of pain through both of them. They hissed in unison, but Lucien didn't stop her this time. His hand lingered a second too long at her waist before he let her go. His fingers trailing away in a slow, deliberate glide that made her shiver, as if to remind her that even though the chain let her go, he still could have kept her close.

"You're welcome, by the way," he murmured, voice dipping low as she swung her legs off the bed.

Taryn shot him a glare over her shoulder. "For what?"

"For keeping you warm." He propped himself up on one elbow, his grin lazy and satisfied. "You'd have frozen without me."

"I would have been fine."

"Mmm. Sure you would."

She hated the way her cheeks burned under his gaze, hated the way her pulse raced every time he so much as looked at her. She stood abruptly with more force than necessary.

Lucien watched her with a lazy sort of amusement, his glowing eyes following her every movement like a predator watching prey. "You're adorable when you're angry."

"I am not—"

"Adorable?" He grinned wider, and she swore he enjoyed every second of her frustration. "You really are."

Taryn clenched her jaw, fumbling with the laces of her boots, swearing softly as the chain snagged on the edge of her sleeve. The metal links rattled with every movement, an irritating reminder that no matter what, she couldn't shake him—not even for a moment.. "I don't have time for this."

"That's a shame." Lucien swung his legs off the bed, moving with that same unhurried grace that made everything he did feel like a deliberate provocation. "I was starting to enjoy myself."

Her heart faltered painfully as he stood to close, his movements lingering, like he had all the time in the world. He didn't just invade her space—he owned it. And somehow, that was more infuriating than anything he'd said.

She shot him another glare, ignoring the way her heart stuttered at the sight of him—hair tousled, shirt rumpled, and far too pleased with himself.

"Are you done?" she snapped, yanking open the door.

Lucien stretched lazily. "Almost."

Taryn clenched her fists, standing stiffly by the door, as far from him as she could, as she tried to ignore the slow, lazy sweep of his gaze as it traveled over her.

"You're impossible," she muttered.

"And yet, here you are." Lucien's voice followed her, light and amused, and just smug enough to make her teeth grind.

Before she could fire off a retort, he stepped up beside her—too close, as always— the chain swaying between them, magic pulling taut as he moved closer. The soft clink of metal accompanied his every step, an inescapable tether binding them even as his breath ghosted over her ear, low and dangerous.

"For the record, warrior…" His voice dropped lower, a teasing hum that sent a flicker of heat spiraling down her spine. "You were the one who didn't move."

Her breath caught, and her heart slammed against her ribs, more painfully this time. She cursed under her breath, shoving the door open and stepping into the cold morning air without looking back, preparing herself for the pain in her wrist the didn't come.

"Keep talking and I'll stake you," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Lucien's laughter followed her, soft and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Careful, Taryn." He stepped up beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. "You're starting to sound like you care."

She scowled, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the cold bit at her skin—though it didn't stop the lingering warmth that still clung to her from the night before.

"Don't flatter yourself," she spat, though even she didn't believe it.

"I don't need to." Lucien gave her one last grin, the kind that made her want to punch him and kiss him all at once, and then started down the path. "You do a fine job of it yourself." He said over his shoulder.

Taryn followed behind him, fists clenched at her sides, heart pounding too fast in her chest.

Because the truth—the awful, maddening truth—was that he was right. She hadn't moved. And what scared her most?

She almost didn't regret it.