CHAPTER 181: TIGHTENING

He shot her a look, his jaw tightening. "This isn’t funny."

Kiara leaned closer, her lips curling with mischief, her blue eyes glinting in the lantern light.

"It’s a little funny." Her voice dropped, teasing and low.

"You in a mask, fucking strangers, it was a noble gathering right? So that means you were fucking some cocky bastard’s trophy wife. Gods, I wish I’d seen it."

He swallowed hard, heat flaring at her tone despite the anger simmering beneath.

Shaking his head, he pressed on, his words rough.

"When I came home, exhausted, I thought I’d sleep. But she woke me. The spirit. Her mouth was—" His throat caught, the memory of that cold, wet pull vivid enough to make his skin crawl.

"She was sucking me off before I even realized what was happening. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just her glowing eyes looking up at me like I was nothing but a cup to be emptied."

Kiara’s teasing faded, her smile dimming as her eyes narrowed, sharp with thought.

"Then she must have been watching you at the orgy. Saw your performance. Decided you were ripe."

A flash of frustration cracked her expression, her jaw tightening. "Gods damn it. All that lust energy you should have poured into me—ours—she stole it. Robbed me."

Lor almost flinched at the venom in her voice, the raw possessiveness that wasn’t just about him but something deeper, something tied to her witch-blood.

"So you admit it, then?" he said, his voice low, edged with accusation. "You witches... feed on it, starve it?"

Her gaze met his, unflinching, her eyes burning with a fierce honesty.

"I have already told you what I was from the beginning. You agreed to be mine. Yes, I feed. But it’s ours, Lor. Shared. She’s a parasite."

He couldn’t argue, not with the fury in her eyes, the conviction that made her words feel like truth.

He sighed, rubbing his temple, trying to ease the tension coiling there.

"And it didn’t stop there. I saw her again today."

Kiara’s head snapped up, her voice sharp. "When?"

"At Nellie’s house." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he cursed himself as her eyes gleamed with recognition.

"Nellie?" Kiara’s mouth quirked into a sly, wicked grin, her head tilting. "Sweet little shy thing, glasses, freckles... big thighs?" She leaned closer, her voice dripping with amusement. "You’re hitting that ass too? I am guessing you went all the way through with her didn’t you?"

Heat crept up Lor’s neck, a guilty smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

"...Yeah." He forced the grin away, his tone sobering.

"But this is serious. I ate an apple there, and the next thing I know, I’m out cold. And then—she was there again. Pink, glowing, climbing inside me. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t even move or speak."

Kiara’s eyes darkened, her smile vanishing.

"The apple." She nodded slowly, her voice edged with ice. "It must have been enchanted. Mana-laced. A trap to dull your body and hold you still while she feasted."

Lor’s stomach twisted, the memory of the apple’s sweet juice turning bitter on his tongue. "So she drugged me. She’s hunting me."

Kiara stepped closer, her hand gripping his arm, firm and unyielding, her seriousness a steel blade cutting through the evening air. "And she won’t stop. Not unless we find her first."

His breath caught, the street’s noise swelling around them—carts clattering, merchants calling, lanterns flickering like watchful eyes.

But all he could hear was the echo of Kiara’s words, heavy with truth.

Not a prank. Not a dream. A witch, alive and ravenous, stalking him through the shadows of his mind.

Lor’s mind raced, outpacing his body, thoughts spiraling into a frantic need to act, to fight, to do something.

He pressed his palms together, fingers locking and unlocking, the motion a tether to keep him grounded.

"Then teach me," he said, turning to her, his voice tight with a desperate edge. "Teach me witch magic. Everything. Spells, circles, artifacts, tomes—whatever you’ve got, I’ll learn it. I don’t care what it takes. I can’t just lie there, helpless, while some—thing—uses me like some kind of mana energy drink."

Kiara blinked, her blue eyes catching the lantern light, then let out a short, humorless laugh. "Lor... you can’t."

"Can’t what?" he snapped, his voice sharper, frustration flaring.

She shook her head, her tone firm, unyielding.

"Witchcraft is blood-born. You don’t carry it in your veins. If you try to force it—mana will choke you from the inside. It’s not dramatic exaggeration, it’s fact. Humans who handle what isn’t theirs die foaming, shaking, bleeding from the eyes. Mana poisoning."

The words hit like a bucket of ice water, stealing his breath.

He stumbled back half a step, the cobblestones cold beneath his boots. "Die? Just for touching it?"

"Yes." Her voice held no softness, no hesitation, only the stark truth of her world.

She stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm gently, a small concession to the shock written across his face.

"That’s why it’s kept secret. That’s why witches are hated for wielding this power but they protect it with blood and silence. Because it kills anyone who doesn’t belong."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and cold.

The city’s evening hum pressed in—children’s laughter, the creak of a cartwheel, the crackle of a freshly lit torch—but it felt distant, muffled by the weight of her words.

Lor’s chest rose and fell, shallow and quick, his mind grappling with the impossibility of fighting something he couldn’t touch.

"So what the hell am I supposed to do, then?" he muttered, his voice cracking under the strain. "Just... wait until she drains me dry?"

Kiara’s eyes softened, but the steel in them never wavered. "You don’t wait. You don’t fight alone. You let me stay with you."

He blinked, her words catching him off guard. "What?"

She squeezed his arm, her grip firm, possessive.

"I’ll stay by your side. Every night. Every time. The spirit won’t touch you while I’m there. If she tries, I’ll catch her. You’re mine, Lor." Her voice dipped, low and fierce. "She won’t take what’s mine."