Episode 3 — Beneath the Storm

The silence in Alder’s penthouse was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. Rowan stood just inside the doorway, still unwilling to take another step.

Alder removed his gloves slowly, methodically, as though unwrapping a weapon. “You’ve guided before,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Rowan’s tone was flat. “And I’ve survived all of them.”

Alder’s gaze sharpened, the faintest flicker of something like interest passing through his eyes. “Good. Then you know what comes next.”

Rowan’s stomach sank. “Here? Now?”

“Do you think I wait until my storms break?” Alder stepped closer, the bond between them flaring to life. “I don’t let my power decide for me. I decide.”

The chain in Rowan’s mind tightened, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. It wasn’t painful—not yet—but it demanded his focus, pulling his awareness toward Alder. He could feel it: a low, steady thrum like distant thunder.

“You’re pushing,” Rowan said quietly.

“I’m opening the door,” Alder replied. “Step through.”

Rowan exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Guiding wasn’t about submission—it was about connection. At least, that’s what he told himself as he let his mental barriers part just enough for Alder’s presence to slip in.

The first touch was heat. Not warmth—heat. Alder’s mind pressed against his like a stormfront, every edge sharp, every movement deliberate. Rowan anchored himself, sending a calm wave forward, a silver thread weaving into the black mass of Alder’s psychic energy.

The storm swirled, testing him. Lightning cracked in the distance—metaphor, but vivid enough to make his chest tighten.

“Too deep,” Rowan murmured, steadying his breath. “Ease back.”

“You think you can set the terms?” Alder’s voice was calm, but the pressure increased, coiling around Rowan’s mind like smoke and steel.

Rowan’s hands curled into fists. “You’ll burn me out if you push harder.”

“And you’ll hold,” Alder countered. “Because you’re mine.”

The words cut sharper than the psychic pressure. Rowan’s pulse spiked, and his focus nearly slipped—but he held. He fed another wave of calm into the link, letting it flow through Alder’s mind. The storm slowed fractionally, lightning dimming.

For a heartbeat, Rowan felt something unexpected beneath the chaos: an ache. Loneliness, raw and buried deep, so well-hidden it almost slipped past him.

He hesitated. “You…”

Alder’s presence surged forward, smothering whatever Rowan had been about to say. The storm roared back, this time with heat curling low in Rowan’s stomach. He realized with a cold jolt that Alder was using the bond not just to test him—he was tasting his reactions.

“Steady,” Alder murmured. It wasn’t a command this time. It was an observation.

Rowan forced the bond to stabilize, refusing to let Alder see the spike of adrenaline in his system. Slowly, the psychic storm eased, pulling back until it hovered just at the edge of his mind, restrained but watchful.

Alder opened his eyes first. “You didn’t break.”

“You sound disappointed,” Rowan said, his voice hoarse.

“Not at all.” Alder reached past him, taking his gloves from the table. “It means you’ll last.”

Rowan took a step back, his chest still tight from the lingering pressure. “If that’s all—”

“It’s not,” Alder said, slipping the gloves back on. “We’ll do this again tomorrow. And the day after. Until you learn not just to hold me… but to want to.”

The words hung between them, heavy as the chain in Rowan’s mind.

And as Rowan turned away, he hated himself for the truth he couldn’t ignore—somewhere in that storm, a part of him already did.

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