Citrus, Jasmine, and Lemongrass—the same thing I’ve smelled every time he’s gotten close to me, every time our bodies have pressed together. But now it’s unmistakably threaded with something else, something new. I can’t place it, but I know it means Thorne is mine. I want to bite him, possess him. Claim him.

I press my hand over my nose and shudder, looking across the training room at him. He’s on his knees again, one hand placed over his heart and the other reaching out to me.

“Laurel,” he whispers again, and now tears flow freely down his cheeks. But he’s not in pain or upset. I think these are tears of joy.

“What—I don’t—I don’t understand,” I finally manage to choke out.

“But you do,” he soothes. “Look inside yourself. Find the source of your magic and listen to the aether that courses through your blood. It will tell you what you already know.” He keeps staring at me with a soft expression, one that I’ve never seen on him, even in his most vulnerable moments.

Trembling, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, following his instructions. Thorne’s scent invades my senses, as it grounds and centers me. I first focus on the aether pulsing through the leylines around me. I use that to guide me to the aether in the room. I can sense Thorne’s presence as a being made of aether, can feel exactly where in the room he is. That’s new. I take that awareness and apply it to myself. I feel the aether mingling with my blood, with my muscles and tendons. I follow it down into the center of myself, where it converges around my heart. There’s a tight ball of aether humming inside of me. It’s a chaotic and swirling mess, but I let my awareness focus fully on it…

Realization slams into me, knocking me to my knees. Tears stream down my face now, and I can’t stop them, but I keep my eyes shut tight. I feel Thorne slowly move to close the distance between us, then take my hand. He strokes my palm gently with his fingers, waiting for me.

“When you’re ready, open your eyes,” he says with so much gentleness it nearly sends me spiraling again. I breathe him in one more time before I open my eyes and stare into those deep green pools that have become so familiar to me these past few months. Eyes that, impossibly, no longer haunt my dreams.

“How?” is all I can say, and he laughs, beaming at me.

He shakes his head, his expression one of awe. “I don’t know, witchling. I just know what my heart, what my soul and my magic, tell me. What I should have realized the moment we met. Somehow, impossibly—”