Page 100 of The Madness Within

That’s where this would end.

Where it had to.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” came Dorian’s voice behind me, low and smooth as silk pulled tight over a blade.

I turned and saw him there in the doorway, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes from dayswithout sleep. And still, he was the most dangerous thing in this house.

And the only one I trusted.

“I’m just… processing,” I said, voice soft.

He stepped forward, slowly, like I might bolt. “You’re doing better than I ever did when the madness took over me. I killed the first thing that took my brother away from me.”

“I know,” I said softly, remembering the blood-soaked page in his book.

He smiled crookedly. “Yeah. And then I went on a killing spree that eventually led me to you.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips tugged into a reluctant grin. “Charming.”

“I know.”

A beat passed between us.

The room felt heavier somehow. Not because of fear. Because ofknowing.

“What we did, our bond,” I whispered. “It’s not something we can undo.”

His jaw flexed. “I don’t want to undo it.”

My breath caught. “We never said it, though. Not once.”

“No,” he murmured. “Because I think if I said it, I’d never stop.”

I stared at him, heart thudding. “And if I say it, it becomes real.”

He crossed the room, closing the distance, and cupped my cheek like I might break, but we both knew I was the one who burned. “It’s already real, Ember. Everything about this is real. You feel it, too. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” I said, stepping closer, our foreheads brushing. “I feel it.”

His hands were on me before I could blink, urgent, rough, claiming.

And I needed him.

Because tomorrow we might not survive.

Tonight, I wanted to forget the war, the rift, the Watchers, the monsters in borrowed skins.

I wantedhim.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t wait. He pressed me back against the war table like the plans could wait. His mouth met mine with the kind of hunger you only taste when you know the world could end by morning.

Clothes tore.

Things flew.

I was naked against polished wood, the map of our doom under my spine, Dorian between my legs like a man starved of sin and salvation alike.

“You’re mine,” he growled, dragging his mouth along my throat, his fangs grazing but not biting. “Say it.”

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