Chapter 62 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES
The Guardian’s Mark
The glow of the moon had long since dipped behind the
mountain peaks, casting the dragon chamber into gentle silver hues. The scroll
now rested on the floor, ancient symbols shimmering faintly where Taehyung had
left off.
His crystal blue eyes turned down.
Jungkook.
He was curled on his lap, cheek resting against his bare
chest, his breathing slow and steady. The faint rise and fall of his chest, the
way his lashes fanned against his cheeks, how his arms clutched at Taehyung’s
side without even knowing — it all made something tighten inside him.
Taehyung stared, unmoving, for several long moments, then
exhaled through his nose. “You have no idea,” he whispered, voice low and
rough, “what you do to me.”
Careful not to wake him, Taehyung slipped his arms beneath Jungkook
and gently lifted him from his lap. He murmured something incoherent in his
sleep but didn’t stir as he lay him down on the bed, body curling instinctively
toward the warmth of the blanket. His hand hovered over his forehead.
“Sleep deeper, little troublemaker,” he muttered, weaving a
thread of his power through the air. The magic shimmered briefly and took hold
— he sighed and sank deeper into slumber, a soft peace painting his expression.
Taehyung straightened, but the weight in his chest didn’t
ease. “he didn’t even wear what I asked,” he said to himself, half amused, half
dark with frustration. “And it didn’t help with calming me one damn bit.”
His gaze narrowed with mischief. “he’ll get his last
punishment…” He bent closer, lips brushing Jungkook’s hair. “...when he won’t
even know.”
He reached for a lock of his own hair, long and gleaming
black with streaks of ruby light, and plucked a single strand. As it floated
between his fingers, he whispered something in the ancient dragon tongue. The
strand shimmered, twisted, and transformed into a feather. Iridescent,
sparkling, shimmering with a rainbow of colors only visible in dragon light.
Then, very carefully, he moved closer. With a single touch,
he loosened the ties at the neck of Jungkook’s shirt. The fabric slipped away
slightly, exposing his smooth, milky collarbone and the delicate slope of her
shoulder.
Taehyung’s breath hitched. His eyes drank in the sight
before he caught himself, cursing under his breath. “Shameless,” he muttered.
“Utterly shameless.” Still, his fingers dipped the feather into the air, and it
began to glow faintly. He started tracing. Slow, sweeping strokes.
He drew vines first, delicate and curling over his
collarbone, twining into leaves and petals. Little blossoms unfolded in
iridescent hues — hues only dragon magic could sustain. Across Jungkook’s
shoulder, patterns spiralled, weaving toward the centre of her chest.
At the heart of it all, in a swirl of ancient dragon runes,
he inscribed a name — Taehyung — but not in a language mortals could ever read.
The symbols were beautiful, decorative in appearance, yet powerful in their
meaning. Only royal dragons would recognize the true message: He is claimed and
marked by royal blood.
When he finally finished, the feather dissolved into glowing
mist, sealing the magic.
Taehyung sat back and looked at him. The glowing designs
shimmered like enchanted jewellery against her skin — bold and beautiful.
Possessive.
His lips lowered and brushed just over the top of Jungkook’s
decorated collarbone. A kiss — tender, yet claiming.
“It will always remind others…” he murmured, his voice now
hard, resolute. “And you... that you already belong to someone. And that can be
no one but me.”
His finger traced the markings he had drawn, softly running
along the shimmering vines and ancient runes. As his fingertip moved, Jungkook
shifted slightly in his sleep, and the loosened dress slipped lower — far
enough to reveal a delicate, flushed chest beneath the fabric. Taehyung froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
That tiny, teasing glimpse — the edge of his soft brown
cherry almost peeking out, the way the fabric clung — it knocked every rational
thought from his mind. His hand lifted instinctively, brushing a reverent touch
across that exposed flesh. Just a graze, feather-light.
Then realization slammed into him. He jerked back as if
burned, standing abruptly and turning away, fingers clenched at his sides.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, eyes shut tightly. "Get a
grip." He dragged in a shaky breath, heart pounding, then slowly let it
go. For several long seconds, he said nothing, gathering every last shred of
self-control. Finally, with careful, trembling fingers, he turned back and
stepped closer.
Gently — almost too gently — he adjusted the fabric back
over his shoulder, flinching slightly every time his skin brushed Jungkook’s.
Once his dress shirt was securely in place, he stepped back. “Stupid,” he
muttered to himself. “he tests every inch of control I have.”
With a final glance, he lifted the sleeping spell. The magic
lifted like mist, leaving Jungkook’s breathing soft and steady. And then,
without another word, Taehyung turned and left the room — because if he didn’t,
he wasn’t sure what might happen next.
Outside, the stars burned like promises.
.
.
.
Comments
Post a Comment