Untouched: Of Fire and Shadow

Morning came too soon.

The alarm’s tone was sharp, sterile — the sound of the human world reclaiming her. Samira blinked against the pale light filtering through her blinds and waited for the familiar weight of routine to settle. It didn’t.

The glow hadn’t faded overnight. It pulsed faintly beneath her skin, golden threads tracing her collarbone and wrists, soft as candlelight but undeniable. She scrubbed at them with cold water until her skin reddened, then wrapped her arms in linen sleeves. It didn’t help. The warmth remained, thrumming from within — steady, rhythmic, alive.

Her reflection in the mirror looked like someone pretending to be fine.

That had always been her strength.

When she reached the Botanical Quarters, Wren was waiting near the loading bay — tablet in hand, expression brisk. “Change of plans,” she said. “The Council wants a direct delivery to the upper business district. A presentation arrangement for one of the trade administrators. You’re the only one cleared to transport cross-species flora. Be quick about it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The delivery was routine enough — boxed samples of the new hybrid vines, carefully labeled and sealed. The route took her north through the cleanest part of the city, where the streets shone with mirrored stone and the air smelled faintly of static from the power wards. The buildings rose taller here, windows tinted against the sun, glass facades reflecting a perfection that no longer existed anywhere else.

She moved like a ghost among the order — head down, expression neutral, the faint hum of the vines in her cart the only sound. The guards at the checkpoint scanned her and waved her through with a bored gesture.

The business tower loomed before her — sleek, dark glass, the name etched in silver across the entrance:

Veyr Holdings.

She didn’t know why the name sent a shiver through her. Maybe because it sounded familiar in a way she couldn’t place. Maybe because the glow beneath her sleeves flared the moment she stepped inside.

The receptionist barely looked up. “Delivery from the Botanical Quarters? Take it to the top floor, office 47. The administrator will sign for it.”

The elevator ride was silent, but the air changed as it climbed. The scent of ozone sharpened, the light dimmed subtly, and she swore she felt the faintest shift in pressure — the kind she’d learned to recognize as the residue of power.

When the doors opened, she stepped into a space that didn’t belong to the rest of the city. The top floor was quiet, lit by slanted sunlight that filtered through narrow windows. No guards, no assistants — only the low hum of machinery and the faint scent of smoke.

“Come in,” a voice said.

She froze. It wasn’t possible.

But when she stepped forward, box in hand, there he was — standing behind a wide obsidian desk, sleeves rolled, head bent over a datapad. The same eyes, the same gravity. The same man who had kissed her forehead beneath the streetlight only hours ago.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them.

“Xalen,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

He looked up, and the air seemed to hold its breath.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly — as if tasting the irony of fate itself — he smiled.

“I was wondering how long it would take before our worlds collided properly,” he said. His voice was calmer here, controlled, but no less magnetic. “You’re early.”

“I— I didn’t know,” she stammered, still gripping the box like a shield. “They said this was for the trade administrator.”

“It is,” he said simply. “I own the administration.”

She blinked, trying to reconcile the shadowed man of the Grayline with the figure before her — composed, immaculate, the quiet authority that ran half the city’s economy.

“I didn’t think you... worked here,” she managed.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “And I didn’t think you’d wander into my world so soon. But here you are.”

Her pulse raced, the glow beneath her sleeves bright enough now to catch his eye. He noticed, but said nothing — only a faint, knowing tilt of his lips that made her chest tighten.

“Set the delivery there,” he said finally, gesturing to the table beside him. “And close the door behind you.”

She did.

The soft click of it sealing felt like the start of something neither of them could stop.

The silence between them was almost physical. The hum of the city outside was distant here — the air thick, contained, charged.

Samira stood near the table, unsure where to look, her pulse still thrumming from the shock of seeing him again.

“Take off your coat,” Xalen said quietly.

It wasn’t a command — not exactly. More like an inevitability spoken aloud.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfastened the clasps. The fabric slid from her shoulders, revealing the simple gray dress beneath. But what drew his gaze wasn’t the dress — it was her. Her skin shimmered faintly in the filtered light, threads of gold running just beneath the surface, alive and pulsing.

He stepped closer, eyes tracing the faint glow. “I didn’t realize,” he said softly. “You’re Fae.”

“I’m not,” she whispered.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Then explain this.” His hand hovered near her arm — not touching, but close enough that the air between them seemed to spark. “My dear, you’re more powerful than you have any idea.”

Samira swallowed hard. “It’s just a reaction— from the plants, from the Quarters. It’ll fade.”

He smiled faintly, the kind that made her knees weaken. “No, Samira. This isn’t something that fades. This is what happens when something inside you finally wakes up.”

Her breath caught. There was gravity in his tone — not lust, but reverence. He stepped closer until the space between them vanished, and for a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.

“I want to take you—” he paused, searching her face, his voice low, deliberate. “All of you. Out of the cages they’ve built for you. I want you to feel what you’ve been denied.”

She wanted that too — even if she didn’t yet understand what “that” meant. Every instinct told her to step back, to protect herself, but she couldn’t. The air between them was magnetic, her body responding before her mind could intervene.

When he reached for her, she didn’t resist. His hands rested at her waist, the touch both grounding and shattering. He lifted her effortlessly and set her on the edge of the desk — not in aggression, but in quiet awe, as if she were something fragile he feared might vanish.

He knelt before her, the light catching in his eyes — not red like the others of his kind, but shadowed gold, deep and human in ways that made her ache.

“May I?” he asked.

The question wasn’t about touch. It was about trust.

Samira nodded once, her voice barely a breath. “Yes.”

And in that word, the world tilted — not just into passion, but into promise.

Eyes locked to hers He softly slid his hand from her knee up her thigh, then ever so gently resting upon her center.

She let out a sigh, A current surged through her, racing through her veins like light spilling through cracks in stone. Every sense sharpened; her heart no longer beat in rhythm with itself but with him.

His mouth found hers with a careful hunger, slow at first, then deeper — a promise and a confession in the same breath

He slowly worked his way down, kissing every inch of her body the dress would allow.

Her body began to betray her, showing her need for more her hips, moving, and motion with his mouth - slow and steady, her hands running through his hair, pulling him closer.

Her heart raced, her vision blurred, her skin radiating.

Every breath brought her closer to breaking, until she couldn’t tell where she ended and the rush of light began.

He looked at her with a smile, ” that’s my girl”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, lips pressed to hers as he eased himself inside her. Magic surged between them as they joined, a collision of heat and power that bent the air around them and left the room humming with light.

Her body shuddered with the effort of holding the feeling back, that perfect ache that teetered between pleasure and release, between wanting and becoming.

Resistance was a thin thread, fraying with every heartbeat. When it finally broke, the air between them changed—no longer a contest of will but a harmony. The light that pulsed from her skin wasn’t weakness; it was freedom, and the joy that crossed his face was that of a man witnessing a miracle.

🔥 Want more?

The full, updated book is available now on Wattpad — @SBFaera.

Link in my profile.