He said it as if we were discussing library hours. No smirk. No wicked grin. Just calm.

  Which was infinitely worse.

  “You’re a succubus,” he went on, lowering his voice. “Adaptive energy. You adjust to whatever element you’re exposed to. Even incompatible ones.”

  Oh, brilliant.

  “So you’re suggesting I—”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” he interrupted. “Succubi don’t only take. They can contribute.”

  “I am not going to do… that with you!” I burst out, face heating up like I’d swallowed his fire magic. “And certainly not with an audience!”

  Finn inhaled sharply and nearly expired.Elvira rolled her eyes.Drake looked entertained.

  “They can avert their eyes.”

  I stared.

  He inclined his head.

  “I’m joking. A kiss will suffice.”

  “But I’m not a succubus,” I insisted stubbornly.

  “Just trust me,” he said softly.

  Trust me. The audacity!

  The trap tightened again, helpfully reminding us that existential crises should be scheduled for ter. Logically, his reasoning made sense. It was rational. Emotionally? Entire disaster.

  And yet, somewhere deep inside, another treacherous thought flickered: What would it be like?

  He was annoyingly attractive. Tall. That cold, dangerous stare. Hair that looked artfully dishevelled in a way that suggested deliberate effort. But I barely knew him. Yes, he’d removed my curse. Yes, I was bound to him now by a magical oath, and that alone should have been reason enough to stay away.

  Why was I even thinking about this?

  “What exactly am I supposed to do?” I asked, aiming for dignity.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Leave it to me.”

  Of course.

  He stepped closer. Hands on my shoulders. Warm. Certain. Suspiciously steady for someone who had allegedly exhausted himself. And before I could object, retreat, or stage a moral protest, he kissed me.

  Confidently. As if he’d intended to for some time.

  The magic responded instantly. I felt my reserve reach toward him in a thin thread — not tearing away, not emptying me entirely, but flowing gently. The world tilted. The air grew thick, warm, heavy.

  But the problem wasn’t only magical. His lips were warm — no, hot — and the kiss deepened slowly, deliberately, until the colpsing trap and impending death politely vacated my awareness. My hands fisted in his robe. My knees betrayed me.

  He caught me before I realised I was falling. His hand slid to my waist — firm, steady. I felt his breathing — uneven now. Heavy. I was no better.

  At some deeply mortifying point I realised I was no longer just steadying myself. I was practically climbing him. And when he pulled back, I had the dreadful suspicion I’d looked like the aggressor.

  His hand remained at my back. His gaze lingered just slightly too long on my lips and something dark flickered in his eyes

  I swayed.

  “You…” I said weakly. “You just drained half my life.”

  It came out like an accusation. Even though I knew perfectly well that half the weakness had nothing to do with magic.

  He gave a brief smirk.

  “You’ll recover.”

  The trap slid closer, forcing us back into reality. It was practically within arm’s reach.

  Drake turned.

  All four elements fred at once.

  Fire sliced through the centre of the weave.Air tore apart the knots.Water extinguished the stabilising lines.Earth struck the core.

  The ttice shuddered.

  The trap convulsed, compressed, and disintegrated into ash, as though it had never existed. Silence dropped like a curtain.

  He didn’t even wobble.

  “Sorted,” he said calmly.