CHAPTER 180: EXPRESSION

When she met his eyes again, her face was pale, her expression sharpened with something close to fear.

"I felt it too. Last night, or early morning. Our bond—it flickered. I couldn’t feel you anymore. No lust. No pulse. Nothing. Like someone had cut the string between us."

Lor stared, his pulse thudding in his ears.

Her words landed like stones, heavy and unyielding.

"That’s why I went looking for you," Kiara rushed on, her voice low, urgent, her fingers flexing against his chest. "I went to your house this morning. Your mother said you weren’t home. I thought—" Her throat worked, a rare crack in her composure.

"I thought maybe you’d gone off, maybe the bond broke. So I searched. All day. I had to find you." Her eyes softened, but her grip tightened, possessive.

"To see if you were safe. To remind myself you’re mine. And yes—to fuck you, because we’re lovers now, and I missed you. But those dreams?" Her gaze bored into his, fierce and unwavering. "That wasn’t me."

Her conviction shook him, unraveling the certainty he’d clung to.

If it wasn’t her, then who—?

He licked his lips, dry despite the kiss, searching her face for any hint of deception.

"If it wasn’t you," he said slowly, his voice low, "then what was it? Who was it?"

Kiara’s expression darkened, storm clouds swallowing sunlight.

She took a half-step back, bracing herself, her posture shifting as if preparing for a fight.

When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of her witch-blood heritage, low and deadly serious.

"The pink spirit you saw," she said, her eyes locking onto his with a piercing intensity, "isn’t me. It’s another witch. And she’s sucking your lust dry before it can reach me."

The words fell like a blade, sharp enough to slice the evening air itself.

The lanterns flickered around them, their light wavering as the street’s noise faded beneath the weight of her revelation.

Lor’s blood turned to ice, his breath catching sharp in his chest as Kiara’s words clawed through him.

He jerked back from her, the cobblestones beneath his boots feeling unsteady, as if the street itself might tilt.

"Another witch?" His voice cracked, too loud in the quiet evening, drawing a glance from a passing dog, but he didn’t care.

"Shhh..." Kiara hushed, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a secluded alley. With a swift motion, she cast a soundproof barrier around them once more.

The hair on the back of Lor’s neck prickled, that primal fear from childhood ghost stories surging back—shadows reaching like hands, whispers in dark halls, the kind of tales that made you check under the bed twice.

"Are you telling me I’ve been letting some... some spirit crawl inside my head? Some ghost-witch thing?" His fists curled, nails biting into his palms.

"Gods, Kiara—this is worse than a prank. This is possession."

She reached for him, her fingers brushing his sleeve, but he shook her off, his heart hammering.

The memory of that pink-glowing spirit, her cold lips, the wet pull that wasn’t wet at all, churned his stomach.

His skin crawled, the dream’s touch lingering like a stain he couldn’t scrub clean.

Kiara’s voice cut through, firm and grounding.

"Listen to me. It’s not a ghost." Her eyes gleamed faintly, a witch-born sharpness that pinned him in place.

"It’s a witch. In her ethereal form. Do you understand? She’s alive, somewhere close to you, but she’s projecting herself into your dreamlike reality. Feeding."

Lor froze, the words sinking like stones.

A living witch.

His throat tightened as the pieces clicked into a shape he loathed.

"You mean... witches can do that? Walk out of their bodies and—" he gestured wildly, his face pale—"slide into other people’s heads? Milk them like cattle?"

Kiara’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze steady but strained.

"Some. Not all. It takes training. It takes... hunger."

He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head, disbelief warring with dread.

"So it’s true. Every nightmare story I heard growing up—witches bending shadows, stealing breath, sucking life out of men while they sleep—it’s all true." His voice dropped, bitter and low. "You didn’t mention this earlier but I guess this is another good reason why the witches are hunted."

Kiara’s eyes flashed, sharp enough to cut through the evening’s haze.

"Careful," she hissed, pain flickering behind the glare, raw and unguarded. "You’re talking to one."

He winced, the weight of his words crashing back on him, but the fear still gnawed at his spine, raw and relentless.

He forced a breath, willing his anger to settle, his voice steadier when he spoke again.

"Fine. I am sorry but it’s not you. But her. That thing. Whoever she is—she wants me drained. She wants me empty. And I—" His jaw clenched, his voice cracking with frustration. "I don’t even know if I can stop her."

The tension hung thick between them, the street’s lanterns flickering as if mirroring the unease.

Kiara’s shoulders softened, just a fraction, her voice quieter, more controlled.

"Then let me help you," she said, her tone earnest, almost pleading. "But I need to know everything. No skipping details. Tell me exactly what happened, starting last night."

Lor exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck, a bitter half-laugh escaping.

"You’ll think I’m filth."

Kiara arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes stayed sharp. "I already know you’re my filth. And I love it. So spill."

His ears burned, but he forced himself to meet her gaze.

"I went to a... masked gathering. In a neighboring town."

Her brow lifted higher, her head tilting with a knowing glint. "A gathering?"

"An orgy," he admitted, his voice flat, bracing for her reaction.

For a heartbeat, Kiara just stared, her expression unreadable.

Then a sly, wicked smile curved her lips, her eyes glinting with something that wasn’t quite anger.

"My, my. Naughty boy." Her voice dipped, teasing but edged with a strange heat. "I have no idea why I’m getting excited knowing my boyfriend cheated on me with other women."