Chapter 30: CH- 30

Sebastian POV

She’s unraveling.

And I can feel every thread snap.

Aria's bond should have belonged to me the moment I saw her, bleeding and beautiful at Blackthorn’s gates. The moment her scent made my fangs ache and my instincts roar mine.

But I waited.

I played nice.

Now she’s glowing with someone else’s magic.

And I’m done waiting.

The Trial of Restraint was a joke, a staged performance meant only to keep up appearances. What they truly wanted to see was who would break first under the exquisite pressure. It wasn’t me. But I knew, with a chilling certainty, it was going to be her.

Because I’m done pretending I don’t want her. The pretense has become a suffocating lie, and I am a creature of brutal truths.

She slips out of the hall after the Trial, her body trembling with unreleased tension, heat leaking from every inch of her bond, a silent beacon to my senses. She's trying so hard to hold it in, to maintain the fragile control she prides herself on.

I follow without a sound, my steps tuned to her rhythm, like a second heartbeat, a predator stalking its rightful prey.

When she reaches the dark corridor behind the old alchemy wing, a place of shadows and forgotten secrets, I strike. Not with brute force, but with presence. A subtle shift in the air, a whisper of my power.

“Going somewhere?” I murmur from the shadows, my voice a low, dangerous caress that makes her spin.

She gasps, already breathless, her eyes wide as they land on me. “Sebastian—”

“You’re burning up,” I say, stepping closer, each word a deliberate invasion of her space. “Did Lorien even touch you tonight? Or is he still pretending to be a saint while he watches you fall apart?” The accusation is sharp, laced with contempt for his weakness, his restraint.

“I’m not falling apart,” she lies, her voice strained, a desperate attempt at defiance.

But her pulse, hammering visibly in her throat, says otherwise. Her sigil is flaring, a painful, insistent throb of light. Her pupils are wide, dilated with unspent desire and the fight for control. She’s barely holding it together, a fragile dam against a surging flood.

I trap her against the cold, unyielding wall, careful not to touch her yet. Not until she begs. Not until she acknowledges the truth of her own overwhelming need.

“You’ve been leaking heat through the bond all day,” I whisper, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Do you even realize what that does to me? What it does to us?”

Her lips part, a soft, involuntary gasp escaping them. “Sebastian…”

“That’s not an answer,” I say, my voice firm, demanding.

She glares, defiance still sparking in her eyes, even as her body betrays her. “Maybe I don’t owe you one.”

I smile, a slow, predatory curve of my lips. Then, with a gentle, deliberate motion, I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze, to acknowledge the undeniable pull between us.

“You owe me everything.”

Her breath stutters when I lean in—our mouths a breath apart, the bond between us a live wire.

“Say you want it,” I say softly.

“No.”

I lower my mouth to her ear. “Say it.”

“I—” Her voice catches. “I won’t beg.”

I slide a hand down the wall beside her, not touching her skin—yet. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait here, while you soak your own thighs thinking about what it would feel like if I did this—”

My fingers ghost an inch from her waist.

She gasps.

“And this—”

Another inch lower.

She groans, teeth clenched, refusing to give in.

But her bond is screaming for me.She’s sweating, a fine sheen on her skin, her body shaking with suppressed need. Still silent, still fighting.

But I know the sound she makes when she breaks. I’ve heard it before, centuries ago, and the memory only fuels my hunger.

I lean close, my lips brushing against her neck, and whisper the words that I know will shatter her control.

“Don’t make me beg.”

That does it. The last vestiges of her defiance crumble. Her hands fist in my coat, gripping the fabric like a lifeline. “Fine,” she snaps, her voice raw, ragged with surrender. “I want it. I want your mouth on me. I want your hands. I want your fangs. I want you to—”

I silence her with a kiss. Hard. Deep. Desperate. A bruising claim that leaves no room for thought, only sensation.

And she kisses me back like she’s dying, her lips parting, desperate to taste me, to consume me. The wall behind her becomes her only anchor, holding her upright as her legs threaten to give out. My hands become her answer, gliding down her body, finally giving her what she craves.

I drop to my knees before her, without shame, without hesitation. And she shudders, a moan escaping her lips, as I part her thighs. The intoxicating taste of her is already in the air, thick and sweet, drawing me in.

But I take my time, prolonging the exquisite torment. A slow, reverent kiss to her inner thigh, teasing, building the anticipation. A low growl against the seam of her underwear, a promise of imminent pleasure.

When I finally slide my tongue across her, a primal sound escapes her throat—a raw, desperate whimper. And I smile against her, a grim satisfaction blooming in my chest.

She comes twice before she can even say my name, her body arching against me, tremors rippling through her. By the third, she’s sobbing into her sleeve, her shoulders shaking, trying desperately not to scream and alert the entire academy to her utter surrender.

But I don’t stop. I won’t stop until the taste of her, the essence of her surrender, erases every trace of the other one from her soul.

When I finally rise, her body is limp against the wall, utterly spent, her chest heaving, her mouth parted in a dazed gasp. She is a creature of pure sensation, her mind still lost in the aftermath of pleasure.

And then…

She opens her eyes. And something flickers in them, something that chills me to the bone.

Not lust. Not even gratitude for the release I’ve given her.

Fear. Raw, unadulterated terror.

“I felt him,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but it’s enough.

My blood runs cold, an icy dread spreading through my veins. “What?”

Her hand trembles as she touches her thigh, where the silver sigil glows faintly, a testament to the third bond.

“While I was coming…” She looks up at me, her eyes wide with a horrifying revelation. “He was inside my head.”

Before I can speak, the corridor lights burst—not one by one this time. All at once.

A pressure slams through the air.

Aria jerks, spine arching like she’s being yanked upward by invisible strings.

Her sigil pulses red, then silver, then something else.

Black.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream.

And then—

A voice speaks, not from behind her…

But from her own throat:

“You tasted her flesh.”

“But I will take her soul.”