Page 59 of The First Scar
His chest rose against mine, his breath catching as he fought for control. I felt his hips shift under me, the sudden flex of his muscle against my own.
Move, Amaria.
I didn't.
A spark flared under my collarbone. Our marks were inches apart.
Then a pull. Oscillating between pleasure and pain. Deep and sudden, like a hook behind my collarbone yanking toward him. They weren't asking permission. Theylunged—both of them, reaching through my skin. Silver tendrils spilled from my Luminar toward his Soulbinder, and I couldn't—wouldn't—stop them. My body had surrendered before my mind could vote.
No. No, no, no. Pull back. Cage it. Cage it now.
It didn't listen. It never listened when it came to him.
Eryndor's breath held. His eyes went wide.
Beneath me, through the thin fabric of his shirt, his Soulbinder mark blazed to life—a crimson glow threaded with silver, throbbing in time with mine.
I felt it sync—his mark to mine, beat for beat, like two drums finding the same rhythm without meaning to. Something primordial and marrow-deep split open between us. A recognition that didn't bother knocking—just walked right in and saidthere you are.And I wanted to scream because I didn't ask for this. Didn't consent to whatever was crawling up through my chest with his name on it. And the worst part was the way my body stopped hurting the second his mark answered mine. Like the ache had been waiting for him to release.
I hated him for that. For making the pain stop without asking if I wanted to keep it.
And then I saw it.
A filament. Thin as spider silk, luminous as a dying star. It snapped taut between us—between my breast and his—a threadof pure energy that keened with a sound I felt more than heard. Red and silver wound together, suspended in the air for one impossible heartbeat.
It hung between us like a dare. Like avow the gods had no business offering.
I couldn't look away. The thread whined. A vibration I felt in my spine, in my core, in the roots of my hair. They were braided so deep I couldn't tell where his ended and mine began.
His eyes were unguarded for the first time since I'd met him—and his hands stilled on my hips. He remained fixed. He was a warrior gripped by a promise he should have been running from.
The cavern went dead silent.
And then a crack split the air.
The Marks surged—straining to merge and destroy each other. Light blazed between us, scouring the shadows from the cavern walls.
As the flare guttered, a secondary corruption emerged. Onyx-black ink rippled on his skin. His face wrenched. That armor of control vanished in a spasm of agony. Before I could even gasp, his hands slammed into my shoulders and shoved.
I hit the ground hard, breath punched from my lungs.
When I looked up, the mask was back—smooth, arctic, as if the pain had never existed.
I sat in the dirt, both hands flat against my sternum where my Marks hammered like they were trying to crack through bone. My nerves misfired, a frantic ticking under the skin of my palms.
From thenothingwhere the thread had been. It had snapped when he shoved me and the place it anchored turned into a vacant vacuum.
I wanted to be furious. Iwasfurious.
But my hands kept fumbling over my heart like they were looking for something that wasn't there anymore. I dug them into the dirt and held them there.
Serenya was there in an instant, knees hit the ground beside me, arms pulling me close. "Amaria—are you alright? Talk to me. What was that?"
I couldn't answer. The Uncrowned had erupted into chaos—whispers layering over whispers, intense gestures, wide eyes. I heard fragments: ...the thread... ...never seen... ...bound?...
I peered through the commotion.
Eryndor stood at the edge of the hall now, beside Kaelen—rigid and controlled.
