Breakfast at Wild Bloom Inn crackled with a tension so thick it seemed almost edible. Dax stood in the shadow of the doorway, hands curled into tight fists. Ellira picked at her croissant, her gaze drawn to the window, searching for a horizon only she could see. Vionwyn chopped herbs with unnecessary ferocity at the counter, the blade’s rhythm the only thing steady in the storm. Across the table, Neryth locked eyes with Ellira, the silent question between them: What happens now?

Ellira’s fiancé, Ashlen, sat prim and rigid, his mouth set in an immovable line. When he finally broke the silence, his words rang like cold iron: “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or should I do the guessing?” His diamond cufflinks flashed in the dappled sunlight, a stark symbol of the life Ellira had been bred to choose.

Dax’s jaw tensed. “Nothing’s going on,” he said, but the lie curdled even before it left his tongue. He couldn’t stop glancing at Ellira—at the way her shoulders trembled, the pulse fluttering at her throat.

It was Vionwyn who answered with a bark of laughter, slicing through the pretense. “You could always join us in the real world, sweetheart,” she said, eyes glittering with challenge. Neryth’s frown was subtle—a flash of protectiveness for Ellira, or perhaps something else.

Ellira felt everyone’s eyes on her, felt the invisible leash tightening: duty, lineage, expectation. She had never defied anyone before, not really. But her heart pounded for Dax, for the taste of stolen nights and wild hunger. Her voice shook. “Ashlen, I’m not coming back with you. I can’t.” The confession left her raw, skinless, but she kept going. “I want something real. And I’m done pretending.”

Ashlen’s anger was swift and scalding. He stood, voice raised, accusation flying, shattering the quiet façade the inn had offered. Dax stepped between them, not to intimidate but to shield her, eyes burning with a protectiveness born from his own guilt.

“You—” Ashlen spat, finger stabbing the air, “—you’re just a distraction. You’re nobody.”

Something in Dax snapped. He didn’t raise his voice, but every word landed like a blow. “She’s more alive here than she ever was with you.”

Ashlen glared, the finality in Ellira’s expression unmissable. Chairs scraped as he turned to leave, pride and heartbreak warring across his face. The door slammed. The silence that followed was seismic.

Ellira crumpled, tears streaking her cheeks, her whole body wracked with the release of years of fear. Dax scooped her into his arms, carrying her past the others, up the stairs—ignoring the sympathetic ache in Neryth’s eyes, the way Vionwyn watched after them, lips pressed thin.

Alone in the candlelight of Ellira’s room, they fell into each other without hesitation. Her hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him close until their lips crashed, angry and desperate. Dax pressed her back against the door, unshed tears trembling along her jaw as his mouth traced their path. Neither of them spoke—they couldn’t, not with the ache in their chests and the throb between their bodies.

He tugged her dress over her head; she fumbled with his belt, their clothing shed in a fevered blur. Dax’s scars caught the light, and Ellira kissed each one, a benediction. She encircled him, pulling him onto the bed, sheets tangling around their bare legs, the rest of the world dissolving.

They made love like drowning, every gasp and moan slick with relief and terror and hope. His hands roamed her curves as if memorizing them for the first and last time—the softest of touches, the roughest of need. Ellira arched beneath him, breath catching on his name, nails digging crescents into his spine as he drove into her, slow and then faster, as if the future could be claimed by urgency alone.

Dax’s mouth was everywhere: her throat, her breasts, her parted lips. Ellira met every thrust with a wild need of her own, their bodies moving as one, pleasure so potent it left them sobbing and silent, faces slick with tears and sweat. When they finally collapsed together, limbs interwoven, Ellira whispered, “Don’t ever leave,” and Dax answered, “Never. Not unless you ask me to go.”

Elsewhere, in the steamy hush of the inn’s private bath, Vionwyn slid her fingers through Neryth’s hair, the water lapping at bare skin. Neryth leaned back against her, the boundaries between them dissolving with every gentle touch. Vionwyn’s hands skated over Neryth’s thighs, up her ribs, teasing, coaxing out secrets with slow, deliberate circles.

Neryth shivered, resting her head on Vionwyn’s chest. “I’m not used to being taken care of,” she murmured. Vulnerability cracked her voice, but Vionwyn only smiled, pressing a kiss beneath her ear.

“Let me,” Vionwyn whispered. And so she did: with deft fingertips, with patient, worshipful kisses, guiding Neryth to climax and beyond, all questions falling away in the heat.

After, wrapped in towels and moonlight, fears came spilling out—Neryth’s guilt over past betrayals, Vionwyn’s terror of trusting anyone so completely. They held each other as if holding on could keep the darkness at bay, laughter and tears tangled like their fingers.

Downstairs, Kintar’s investigation deepened. He cornered Dax in the corridor, voice low, words heavy with intent. “I know what you did here three years ago,” he said, leaving Dax cold and breathless, hope crumbling to ash.

Farther away, Vionwyn’s phone buzzed. One glance sent fear stabbing through her chest—her abuser’s number flashing like an omen.

Above, Ellira and Dax lay entwined, safe for now yet oblivious to the storm gathering below.

To be continued...