Page 152 of Bound to the Dreadlord

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SERA

He doesn't speak when I follow him out of the ruined throne room.

And I don't let him.

We move in silence, tension a blade between us, cutting deeper with every step.

He stops in the old war chamber—stone walls, high ceilings, echoes of war still clinging to every surface. We need to talk and this is as far as we can get before everything explodes.

He turns to me.

“You didn’t say why you came back,” he says, voice low, ragged.

I meet his eyes. “You didn’t ask.”

He exhales through his nose, fists clenched at his sides. “I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

My voice is sharp. “You think everything is about permission now? Where was that when you betrayed me?”

The words hit like a slap, but I don’t care. Let it hurt. Let it draw blood.

He steps toward me. “Ihadto?—”

“Youchoseto,” I hiss, cutting him off. “Don’t rewrite it.”

His jaw flexes. “And yet you’re here.”

“Do not mistake presence for forgiveness.”

His eyes blaze with pain and longing. “Then what the fuckisthis, Sera? What do you want from me? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Veylan chokes on the last sentence.

“I don’tknow!” I shout. “I want to scream at you. I want to hurt you. I want to run—and I want you to chase me andnever stop.”

He grabs me. Not harshly. Not gently. Justdesperate. Like he's drowning and I’m the air.

I shove him back. “You don’t get to touch me!”

“You came back,” he snarls. “And now you want me to pretend like I don’t fucking ache for you? Every second? You’re in my blood, Sera. You never left.”

His words rip through me.

“Ihatethat I still want you,” I whisper.

“Then take it out on me,” he growls. “Rage. Bite. Bleed me. But stop pretending this isn’t real.”

I move first.

I slam him into the wall, fisting his collar and crushing my mouth to his. It’s not a kiss. It’s war.

He growls into my mouth, spins me around, pins me to the wall with his hips and kisses me like I’m something he’s waited a thousand years to have again. His hands are everywhere—my jaw, my ribs, my thighs.

“You hate me?” he pants, voice shredded.

“More than anything,” I breathe.

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