The second night, he returned.

This time, she let him in.

He didn’t force his way. He didn’t need to. She stood aside, the knife still warm in her grip, and watched him walk into her home like he’d never left it.

He sat at the hearth. Smiled. Told her she hadn’t changed. Told her she smelled like rain and ash and guilt.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

“I am,” he said. “You brought me back. Not with your blade—but with your heart.”

He pointed to her chest. “It still beats for me. Doesn’t it?”

She said nothing. But her silence was enough.



The third night, she dreamed of him.

Kael’s hands around her throat—not cruel, but claiming. His mouth on hers, bruising. His words like prayers whispered into bone. And in that dream, she let him touch her. Let him peel away her defenses and as he's kissing g her his hand slipped between her legs touch her sweet spot, a moan escaped into his mouth. Her hands tightening their grip on the blankets. He then thrust a finger into her making her gasp, he continues and goes at a fast tempo while rubbing her clint he could feel her starting to get to her climax and right before she got there he pulled his fingers out and replacing it with his dick, not waiting he thrust into without warning. He starts slow trying to get a store out of her, but when he gets no response he speeds up his thrust which cause Lyra screams.

She woke wet. Throat raw. The sheets clawed to ruin.

And Kael sat by the window, smiling.

“I waited,” he said.

She didn’t ask how he got in.

She stopped locking the door.