He hesitates, fingertips still brushing my skin as his molten gold eyes fill with a depth I can't comprehend. "I've… lost people. Before I came here, I swore I wouldn't care like that again. If I let nobody in, they couldn't hurt me. But you didn't care, did you? You barged into my fucking heart uninvited, and now you're here." He takes my hand and presses my palm to his chest, eyes never leaving mine. "You're here, and I can't do a single fucking thing to stop it. So you will not let anything happen to yourself. You're going to live. You're going to thrive, or I'll never forgive you."

His pulse pounds through my palm, racing like he's in the middle of a sparring match. I feel like I can't breathe as I process his words. All I can do is nod, the faintest smile playing at my lips. "You're going to be mad at me if I die? Isn't that a strange threat?"

"Nessa. I'm serious. When I saw you in my bed these past few days, all I've been able to think about is what I'd do if I lost you. And… it's not something I can stand to think about. You have to protect yourself. No matter what. I've already made sure your friends understand."

"Wait… what does that mean?"

"I warned them I'd hold them responsible if anything happened to you."

"Raith. You can't threaten my friends."

"I already did."

"I like him," Typhon rumbles in my mind.

"Not now, Typhon."

I'm about to continue the argument, but Raith leans in and kisses me.

His lips are firm against mine, nothing hesitant in the way he claims my mouth. Unlike our previous kisses, there's an urgency here, a desperation that makes my knees weak. I press closer, my hands finding his shoulders for balance as liquid heat floods through me.

The kiss deepens, but I can feel the rigid control he's maintaining—holding back, mindful of my weakened state even as his hands frame my face with a possessiveness that makes my pulse race. His heartbeat thunders through the tether between us, matching the frantic pace of my own.

I even feel whispers of desire, arousal, relief, and excitement. I can hardly say which of those are my own emotions and which are his.

"This is all I've thought about since the last time," he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with barely contained desire.

"What took you so long?" I breathe, my fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform.

He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. "You know exactly why."

And I do. He's been protecting me—from himself, from his secrets, from whatever darkness haunts him. But now that I've tethered myself to him, those barriers are crumbling, piece by piece.