Chapter 8: Feel it
A sharp clatter jolted Rhea awake—metal on tile, a sound that sliced through the haze of restless sleep. She bolted upright on thet, crimson hair a wild snarl spilling over her shoulders, the blue blanket tangled around her legs. Her amber eyes darted to the source: Kael, standing in the doorway, a black case dropping from his hand to the floor with a deliberate thud.
The Haven's gray walls loomed in the half-light, dusk bleeding through the boards, and thellar around her neck hummed faint and steady, a leash she'd almost forgotten.
"Strip the jacket," he said, voice firm, cutting through the stale air like a whipcrack. No greeting, no warm-up—just him, hazel eyes glinting with intent, his dark shirt clinging to his frame as he stepped forward.
Rhea blinked, breath catching, her scarred hands hovering over the leather. She hesitated—a beat, two—then shrugged it off, letting it slump to thet in a creased heap. Her rched shirt clung to her lean frame, frayed edges brushing her hips, exposing the jagged scars snaking across her arms.
"Happy now?" she muttered, voice rough from sleep, but her amber eyes held his—a mix of defiance and a flicker of something softer, drawn tight.
Kael grinned, a slow, dangerous curve. "Better." He knelt, snapping the case open with a flick, the sound sharp in the quiet. "You hide behind the fire—always have. No hiding now." His words spun a flimsy thread of rehab—exposure, peeling back layers—but it was thin, a mask she was too deep to call out.
Her lips parted, a retort forming, but it died as he stood, pulling something from the case: leather cuffs, simple and black, no tech, just restraint.
"Trust me," he said, stepping close—close enough that the cedar tang of him brushed her senses. He grabbed her wrists, fast and sure, fastening the cuffs with a soft creak of leather. She tugged once, testing, as he chained them to thet's frame—short links clinking against the metal, pinning her arms above her head. Her breath hitched, amber eyes flaring, but she didn't fight—just watched, caught in the pull.
He didn't pause. From the case came a feather-tipped rod—long, slender, its soft end glinting in the dim light. He dragged it along her scarred arm, light and teasing, the tickle brushing her skin like a whisper.
He touched her skin lightly, then his Empathic Resonance flaredld for him, a flood for her—amplifying the sensation into a rush of arousal that surged from the feather's path. Rhea squirmed, the cuffs rattling, a sharp "Nh—" slipping out as the pleasure prickled across her chest, warm and insistent.