CHAPTER 21
ARIA
I tried to focus, turning my attention back to his wounds as I gently dabbed the antiseptic-soaked cotton along his arm. But my gaze kept flickering down to the scale resting in my other hand.
It was beautiful.
The scale gleams under the low light, a shimmering mosaic of iridescent blues, greens, and purples—just like the wings he no longer has.
My fingers brush along its curved edge, smooth as polished glass, but somehow alive beneath my touch.
How did he even get this?
His wings were gone—ripped from him long before I ever saw him in chains or knew him.
My gaze flicks to him.
He’s watching me again.
Not the way he usually does, with stoic silence or lingering pain in his eyes.
No, this is different.
There’s a spark.
Something playful.
A quiet mischief blooming in his expression, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking—or worse, what I’m feeling.
I quickly lower my gaze, focusing on the cut along his collarbone.
The gauze in my hand trembles slightly as I dab it over the wound, trying not to let my thoughts unravel.
Trying not to remember.
But the memory rises like a tide—sharp and sensual and maddeningly vivid.
The feel of hands on my skin.
A mouth tracing every inch of me with reverence.
Heat curling low in my belly, my body arching, aching—wanting.
It had to be a dream.
But now, with him so close, the scent of his skin filling the space between us, the scale in my palm still pulsing faintly—it doesn’t feel so imaginary.
I swallow hard, the motion tight and awkward. My cheeks burn with heat that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
Focus.
I lean closer, breathing gently on the cut to soothe the sting of the antiseptic.
His skin twitches beneath my breath, and I feel the soft exhale he releases.
When I risk a glance up, his eyes are already on me—dark and unreadable, but no longer hard.
There’s something softer, something gentler pulling at the corners of his mouth.
God. He’s smiling.
And I’ve never seen him smile.
It knocks something loose inside me.
There was something in his eyes—dark, mischievous, knowing—that sent a jolt of heat straight through me, igniting a part of me I didn’t even realize had been waiting for him.
My fingers froze on his skin, the antiseptic-soaked cotton forgotten in my hand.
I’d never seen him this calm before.
Never seen his eyes this soft.
Something in them lingered—not just gratitude, not just relief—but something gentler, quieter… almost reverent.
It should have comforted me.
Instead, it made my chest tighten in guilt.
Because despite everything he’d endured—despite the trust he’d placed in me by handing over a piece of himself—I couldn’t stop thinking about the dream.
But that look… it did something.
It pulled at a thread deep inside me, and before I could stop it, memories flooded in—fragments from that dream I’d had while unconscious.
Except it hadn’t felt like a dream.
It had felt real.
Real enough that the echoes of it still clung to my skin, my breath, my pulse.
I remembered the way he touched me in that dream—rough, urgent, as if he couldn’t get close enough. His lips had been soft but hungry, his hands unrelenting, claiming every inch of me like I belonged to him.
I remembered how my body had responded—arching into him, breathless and burning, lost in a haze of aching pleasure and barely-muffled moans.
The rawness of it.
The surrender.
The shameful thrill of wanting more even as I whispered his name.
It had felt so vivid, so devastatingly intimate, that even now, my skin tingled with phantom touches.
I could still taste the salt on his shoulder, still hear the low, feral growl in his throat as he moved over me.
I press the gauze to a smaller cut on his forearm, grateful for something to do—anything to keep my hands busy and my thoughts from spiraling.
But still, the warmth between my legs pulses traitorously, echoing sensations I shouldn’t be feeling.
Not now.
The chains on his wrists rattle softly as he shifts. His body leans subtly into my space, not enough to crowd me, but just enough that I feel it. His presence.
His heat.
His intent.
As I dabbed antiseptic along the shallow cut on Lean’s forearm, I tried to keep my focus on the task.
I clench the scale tighter in my hand, as if it might anchor me.
As if it might stop this storm brewing inside my chest.
It pulsed faintly with warmth—alive in a way that felt impossible, yet undeniably real.
And then his voice cut through the haze.
"You’re so beautiful when you're lost in thought," Lian murmured, voice low and husky, sending a shiver rippling down my spine.
I blinked, startled, my cheeks flushing with heat. His fingers were moving, slow and deliberate, tracing lazy patterns along the inside of my wrist—feather-light and maddening.
My breath came short and uneven, and my body—traitorous, confused—was already reacting.
My nipples tightened beneath my shirt, a rush of heat blooming low in my belly.
“Lian,” I breathed, unsure if I was asking him to stop or to come closer.
“I... I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched me with that unreadable expression, something feral and tender flickering in his eyes.
When he moved, it was slow—like he was giving me time to pull away.
His hand came to rest gently on my chest, right over my heart. I felt it stutter beneath his touch. When I tried to sit up, to create space, his palm pressed down—firm but not forceful, a silent plea for stillness.
“Shh,” he whispered, his voice a velvet rasp.
“Don’t think, Aria. Just feel.”
His thumb brushed the curve of my breast through the thin fabric, circling once, twice—slow, deliberate strokes that stole the air from my lungs. The sparks it sent through my body made me tremble.
A part of me wanted to resist—to remind myself that this was dangerous, reckless, overwhelming.
But another part, the one that remembered the feel of his mouth on my throat, the weight of his body in that not-quite-dream, had already surrendered.
I should have stopped this. I should have pulled back.
But I didn’t.
Because in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the confusion. Not the chains still wrapped around his wrists. Not the world outside this room.
Only the fire that he’d awakened in me.
Only the way I was burning for him now.
Every time my eyes met his, that ghost of sensation echoed through me, making my body betray me in the worst ways.
It wasn’t fair.
I shouldn’t feel this way.
Not after everything he’d suffered.
Not while he was still bound in chains.
I was supposed to help him, to care for his wounds, not get lost in some fog of fantasy I couldn’t even understand.
A wave of shame crept over me like a chill.
How could I let my thoughts go there—how could I let my body respond—when he was the one hurting?
When he’d looked at me with such trust, handed me that shimmering scale like it meant something sacred?
My hand trembled slightly as I dabbed the last of the dried blood from his wrist. He didn’t flinch.
He just kept watching me with that same unreadable expression, as if he already knew the war I was waging inside myself.
I reached for a clean bandage, but instead, my hand found the chain around my neck. It was a simple necklace—a small polished stone I’d worn since I was a child.
Nothing magical.
Nothing particularly valuable. But it was mine. One of the few things I’d held onto from the life before all this.
Before Lean.
Maybe it was a stupid gesture, but I felt like I had to do something. Something that wasn’t selfish.
Something that gave back.
Without thinking too hard, I slipped the chain over my head, the cool metal brushing my collarbone as I held it out to him, fingers curled around the pendant.
“Here,” I said softly, barely more than a whisper.
“It’s not much, but… I want you to have it.”
His eyes flicked down to the necklace, then back to me.
Something shifted in his expression—something deeper, sharper, and warmer all at once. The quiet between us thickened, like the moment itself had stretched out, held its breath.
And then—before I could register what was happening—he leaned in.
His fingers brushed my cheek, tentative but sure. My breath caught.
Then his lips met mine.
It was not soft.
It was hungry.
Urgent.
A kiss that felt like it had been waiting, buried beneath silence and pain, needing only the smallest spark to ignite.
For a heartbeat, I froze.
My mind blanked, my thoughts scattered like leaves in wind. But my body—my traitorous body—answered before I could even think.
My fingers curled against his chest, and I felt the heat of him soak into my skin.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Seconds? A lifetime?
When he finally pulled back, his breath was shallow, and his eyes searched mine like he was bracing for rejection. But I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
I wasn’t sure what this meant. I wasn’t sure I understood any of it. The scale in my hand. The kiss. The connection that buzzed between us, undeniable now.
But I knew one thing: something had changed.
And there was no going back.