Chapter 405: Chapter 405

Trevor turned from the window, the faint reflection of lightning playing across his cheekbones. "That’s the point," he said gently. "You need to see what happens when you stop holding back."

Lucas gave a soft, humorless huff. "That’s the thing. I don’t even know how to hold back or let go. It’s not a switch. It’s..." He gestured vaguely, words failing him. "It’s like asking me to breathe underwater because you’re sure I have gills somewhere."

"Then let’s find them," Trevor replied.

Windstone glanced up from his datapad, his tone mild but factual. "Your Grace, perhaps you might start with something simple. Try reaching for your scent the way you would for your voice."

Lucas arched a brow. "That’s your grand strategy? Whisper my pheromones into existence?"

Windstone didn’t blink. "It works for some."

Trevor tried, valiantly, not to laugh. "Go on, love. Pretend you’re whispering to the air."

Lucas shot him a glare that should have melted steel. "You are so lucky you’re attractive."

"Extremely," Trevor agreed easily.

Lucas exhaled, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience, then shut his eyes. For a moment, there was nothing, only the faint sound of the rain, the ticking of the clock, and the steady warmth from the fire.

Trevor watched him, expression soft but alert. Lucas’s breathing evened out; his lashes trembled, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing as he tried to follow whatever strange inner thread Windstone had described. But the air remained unchanged, nothing but the familiar traces of cedar soap and tea.

After a few minutes, Lucas opened one eye. "Did it work?"

Trevor smiled faintly. "Not unless you were trying to summon disappointment."

Windstone cleared his throat delicately. "Perhaps try again, Your Grace. Imagine warmth spreading from the base of your throat, down through your chest. The pheromones respond to emotion, not command.

Lucas tilted his head back, visibly skeptical. "Emotion? You mean panic and irritation?"

"If necessary," Windstone said smoothly.

Trevor chuckled under his breath. "You’re very good at those."

Lucas groaned and sank back against the couch. "There is no use; maybe I don’t have one."

Windstone’s eyes flicked up from the datapad, one brow arching with the faintest trace of disbelief. "With respect, Your Grace," he said evenly, "that is statistically improbable. Even the most dormant carriers emit trace signatures."

Lucas gave a dry laugh. "Oh good. I’m a statistic now."

Trevor’s tone softened, amusement curling beneath the words. "You’re more than that. You’re the exception everyone’s been trying to define."

"That’s not comforting," Lucas muttered, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "It sounds like something they’d write on my tombstone after I accidentally vaporize a wall."

Windstone, utterly unruffled, replied, "I assure you, Your Grace, the manor’s walls are reinforced for exactly that possibility."

Lucas stared at him. "You’re joking."

"I never joke about structural integrity," Windstone said gravely.

Trevor tried and failed to hold back a laugh, earning himself a look from Lucas that could have set small fires. "Don’t encourage him," Lucas warned. "He’ll start suggesting I practice near the fountain next."

"I was considering the garden," Windstone said mildly. "Plenty of airflow. And fewer valuables to replace."

Lucas groaned again, dragging a hand through his hair. "You two are unbelievable. I’m sitting here trying to manifest the biological equivalent of smoke, and you’re planning field tests."

Trevor’s voice dipped lower, steadier. "You’re not failing, Lucas. You’re resisting."

Lucas blinked, caught off guard. "Resisting what?"

"Yourself," Trevor said simply, crossing the space between them and lowering himself to one knee beside the couch. "You’re trying to control it, the same way you control everything else. Think of your pheromones like a weapon; think about something that makes you mad enough to want to do something about it yourself."

Lucas’s eyes flicked briefly toward him, the corners of his mouth tightening. "Mad enough to do something?" he repeated quietly. "That’s easy."

He didn’t close his eyes this time. Instead, he looked past Trevor, past the rain-streaked glass, to the faint reflection of himself in the window. He thought of every room he’d stood in where his silence had been mistaken for obedience. Of every hand that had touched him like ownership. Of Misty and Velloran using him like he was less than a piece of furniture.

It wasn’t visible at first, only a tremor that moved through the air like a low note under the sound of the rain. The scent followed a heartbeat later, faint and strangely sweet: honey left too long in the jar, sea-salt on skin, and the first breath of something that shouldn’t be remembered but is.

Windstone’s hand, poised over the datapad, stilled. The muscles in his jaw slackened slightly.

Trevor felt it brush over him too, but where another might have fallen into it, the bond between them caught the pull and dispersed it, heat spreading down his chest like a warning flare.

"Lucas," he said carefully, the single word low, grounding. Updates are released by novelꜰire.net

Windstone didn’t hear. His gaze had gone unfocused, pupils dilated as though seeing something far beyond the room. He murmured, "Caro...?" so softly it barely broke the air, an old name, lost decades ago. His fingers trembled where they rested on the arm of the chair, as if reaching toward something that wasn’t there.

Lucas’s brow furrowed. "Windstone?" His voice lilted up at the end, unguarded, almost curious, and the undertone of it deepened, wrapping around the older man’s pulse.

Trevor rose at once, moving between them. "Stop."

Lucas blinked at him, startled. "What... what did I do?"

The spell, if that’s what it was, fractured like glass underfoot. Windstone drew in a ragged breath, the datapad slipping from his hand to the rug. For a long moment he just sat there, eyes wide, color returning slowly to his face.

"I... beg your pardon, my lords," he said hoarsely, his voice a fraction off its usual composure. "That was... unanticipated."

Trevor crouched beside him, checking his pulse out of reflex. "He’s fine," he said, glancing back at Lucas. "But whatever you just released... had controlled him."

Lucas looked pale. "I didn’t feel anything."

"That’s because it’s not meant for you," Trevor said quietly. "Seems like you are making people see something they miss."

Windstone managed a faint, shaken smile. "Accurate, but not necessarily something... more like someone," he admitted, straightening his jacket with trembling hands. "For a moment, I thought I heard her singing. Decades gone, and still..." He exhaled. "Remarkable ability, Your Grace. Terrifying, but remarkable."

"What does it mean?" Lucas asked, even more confused.

Windstone looked out the window for the moment, gathering his thoughts. "The only thing that feels right to say is... you are like a siren."