Chapter 105 INTIMACY AS ANCHOR
SELENE'S POV
Night settles differently after Lyra leaves.
It does not rush in with cold or threat. It seeps. Quiet. Patient. Like it knows I am already fraying and has no need to hurry.
I stand alone at the edge of the eastern terrace long after the pack has dispersed, my palms resting against the stone balustrade, my breath shallow and deliberate. The moon hangs above me, full and distant, its light touching my skin without sinking in. That absence still unsettles me. The way my power no longer answers instinctively. The way the night no longer claims me as its own.
Something inside me aches because of it and another thing coils tighter.
“Selene.”
Damien’s voice reaches me before his footsteps do. He never tries to mask himself around me. Never pretends distance is safety. I do not turn when he stops behind me, but I feel him there, solid and warm and real in a way the moon has not been for days.
“You’re burning,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
The truth is, it hurts.
It hurts like pressure held too long beneath the skin. Like heat with nowhere to go. My Moonfire does not flare anymore, does not rush to the surface when emotion spikes. Instead it churns, restless, pressing against my ribs, my spine, my throat. Waiting.
Damien’s hand hovers near my back. He does not touch me yet.
“May I?” he asks.
The question matters.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His palm settles between my shoulder blades, steady and grounding. The reaction is immediate and involuntary. My breath stutters as the pressure inside me shifts, easing just enough to make me sway. He catches me easily, his arm firm around my waist, his other hand bracing my hip.
The contact burns.
Moonfire stirs, reacting to him the way it always has, but wrong. Slower. Uneven. Like a heartbeat trying to find its rhythm again.
“I can feel it,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against my temple. “It’s tangled. Fighting itself.”
“I don’t know how to calm it,” I admit.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “Let me.”
I turn into him then, my face pressing against his chest. The scent of him fills my lungs, grounding me more effectively than any ritual ever has. Shadow and steel and something unmistakably his. My fingers curl into the fabric at his sides, anchoring myself as another wave of heat rolls through me.
It hurts again.
A soft sound slips from my throat before I can stop it.
Damien stiffens. “Selene.”
“Don’t stop,” I say quickly. “It’s worse when you pull away.”
His breath shudders. Slowly, carefully, he guides me backward until my calves hit the stone bench behind us. I sit, and he kneels in front of me without breaking contact, his hands warm against my thighs.
The closeness magnifies everything.
My heartbeat. His breathing. The way the bond hums between us, strained but intact. It is no longer a seamless flow. It tugs and resists, shadow brushing flame in hesitant strokes.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
His eyes are dark, intense, filled with worry he tries and fails to hide. “This isn’t just desire,” he says. “This is anchoring.”
“I know,” I reply. “That’s why I need it.”
His jaw tightens, but he does not argue.
When he leans in, the kiss is not gentle.
It is careful.
Measured.
Like he is afraid that too much pressure will shatter me.
The Moonfire reacts instantly.
A sharp pulse of heat ripples through my chest, radiating outward, curling around my spine. I gasp into his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders as the pain spikes, then softens. The fire does not explode. It compresses. Draws inward.
“That’s it,” Damien murmurs. “Breathe.”
I do, clinging to him as the sensation crests again, hotter this time. My skin glows faintly beneath my clothes, silver light bleeding through in uneven waves. His shadows ripple in response, crawling up his arms, wrapping around my waist like living things.
They hurt too.
He hisses softly, breaking the kiss as his brow creases. “It’s burning me.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be,” he says. “It means it’s working.”
We move together then, not in urgency, but in intention. Each touch is deliberate, grounding rather than consuming. His hands trace familiar paths, memorized contours, reminding my body of itself. Reminding my power that I am still flesh, still human, still here.
The pain does not disappear.
It changes.
It becomes bearable.
The Moonfire surges again when I pull him closer, my forehead resting against his as I breathe through the heat. The bond tightens, not snapping this time, but knitting. Stitch by careful stitch.
“Damien,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “If this stops working—”
“It won’t,” he says firmly.
“You don’t know that.”
He exhales slowly. “No. But I know this.” His thumb brushes beneath my chin, lifting my gaze. “You are not alone in this. Whatever the moon is doing, whatever the Goddess plans, she doesn’t get you without going through me.”
The words settle into me like a vow.
The Moonfire reacts violently to that.
A sudden flare erupts from my chest, bright enough to light the terrace like daylight. I cry out as the pain spikes, sharp and blinding, my back arching instinctively. Damien swears, pulling me fully against him as his shadows surge, wrapping around us both.
“Stay with me,” he commands softly. “Stay here.”
I cling to him, my fingers fisting in his shirt as the fire rages, then slowly, reluctantly, begins to calm. The silver light dims, retreating beneath my skin, leaving me shaking and breathless.
When it finally stills, I sag against him, utterly spent.
Damien holds me without speaking, his chin resting atop my head. I can feel the tremor in his arms, the cost this takes on him.
“It hurts you,” I say quietly.
“Yes,” he admits.
“Then we can’t rely on this forever.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it buys us time.”
I pull back just enough to look at him. “Time for what?”
His expression darkens. “To find another anchor. One that doesn’t demand pieces of us every time.”