Claws and Bonds (Ashmark #2)

Chapter 1

ROWAN

When I wake, the world is wrong. The air’s too still, the light too dim, and the silence presses against my skull like cotton soaked in ice. My pulse echoes in my ears—steady, human—and that’s the first sign I know something’s off.

Wolf isn’t here.

The bond that used to hum in the back of my mind is dead quiet, like someone unplugged half my soul.

But that’s not all. Flashes flicker behind my eyelids. Blinding images, the metallic scent of blood, and the crackle of raw magic tearing through the air. The horror I left behind. The devastation I caused.

The cowardice of giving in to an escape the second it was offered.

My eyes pinch painfully as I remember the magical influence. I hadn’t even tried to fight it.

The battle had been chaos—gruesome and hopeless—and I’d done what I thought was right. But how many people did I hurt? How many didn’t walk away because of me?

Cade’s face haunts my mind. His look of utter confusion and even betrayal. Then the memory of a cold, steady hand encouraging me to leave behind the blood-soaked field.

My power had torn loose, wild and consuming. An energy I still don’t understand, but the cloaked stranger promised to give me relief, and I hope with that, answers.

Maybe even redemption.

But now, he’s nowhere in sight.

I’m on a bed that feels like a cloud made of guilt and expensive fabric. The sheets are soft enough to drown in. The walls are carved from black stone lined with thin streaks of silver, pulsing faintly beneath the torchlight like veins under skin.

I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress. There are no windows. No breeze. No scent of life. Just shadows and the faint thrum of power vibrating in the bones of this place.

For a heartbeat, I wonder if there’s even a door.

I should panic. Any sane person would. But my senses still feel muted, like someone had dimmed the volume of the world for me. Maybe it’s the aftermath of using my power. Maybe it’s the influence of the stranger. Maybe it’s the silence left behind by Wolf’s absence.

Maybe it’s all of the above. Either way, I’m not alright.

I give myself a once-over, frowning at the change in my attire. Not only have I been dressed in cream silk pajama pants with a matching top, but I’m clean from the blood and dirt I know were covering me before. And while I’m sure my hair has been washed, it’s still tangled from sleep.

There’s a twisting unease in my stomach as I wonder who took care of those tasks. One that intensifies when the wall in front of me begins to glow briefly.

A door I swear wasn’t there moments ago reveals itself, gliding soundlessly. My body freezes, every instinct screaming at me to move, but I can’t.

“It’s good to see you awake, Rowan.”

The voice is smooth, measured, and practiced. He steps inside like he owns gravity. I can’t be positive this is the same person who offered me this escape, but my instincts say it is.

He’s dressed in varying shades of black and gray, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled to the forearm, silver embroidery catching the light as he moves, matching the faint streaks in his perfectly combed, obsidian hair.

Everything about him says control. His darkened silver gaze skims over me like a scalpel, precise and impersonal, before landing on my face.

“I’m Malrik Vane.” He stops in front of me, like he’s waiting for me to acknowledge his existence, but I have no clue who this guy is, outside of assuming he’s the cloaked man who brought me here.

His stare is blank, making his face seem like it’s been carved from the very stone this room is made of. I shudder. He doesn’t appear to be a monster. Monsters at least have the decency to look the part, which I think may make Malrik Vane worse.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, hands clasped loosely before him, the picture of polite concern.

I rub a palm over my chest, grounding myself in the rhythm of my heartbeat. “Like I died and haven’t quite come back to life this time.”

His smile is faint, but his eyes sharpen with interest. “You’re not someone who dies easily, Rowan Prescott. That’s what makes you interesting.”

“Interesting?” I stand, hoping to even the field, but he’s easily a foot taller. “How so?”

A chill slips down my spine when that smile deepens, faint lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re the answer to a question that’s eluded me for far too long.”

Maybe it’s the lingering numbness, but I’m not afraid of him. Just…wary.

I cross my arms, expression flat. “Which is?”

He crosses the room, movements fluid and deliberate, and turns back to me, poised and almost elegant.

“How much power can a single bloodline hold before it begins to consume itself?” He offers the answer to me casually, yet his eyes are full of delight.

“Drink. You’ll feel steadier,” he adds as almost an afterthought.

I glance around, about to tell him there’s nothing to drink, when he snaps his fingers.

A small table materializes beside us—black marble legs and more silver inlay—on it, a crystal pitcher of lemon water and a single glass that wasn’t there a moment ago.

I hate lemons in my water. Figures.

“What are you?” I ask with a crinkle of my nose. “Some sort of witch?”

That gets me a glower so deep, I take a step back.

“You think me that pitiful? No, Rowan. I’m the only other person who might truly understand you because we are similar, you and I.

” He pauses, and I swear my whole world stops.

“Except better. I’m a Sorcerer Ashmark. One who intends to change this world now that you’re here. ”

He nods toward the water, but I ignore the gesture and fold my arms tighter. “You talk like you’ve just won the lottery.”

His soft chuckle grates over my nerves, frown lines completely removed. “Only time will tell.”

The way he says that makes the tiny hairs on my arms rise. He watches me, unblinking and without breaking eye contact. It’s like he’s cataloging every reaction I give him, every twitch and breath, until I feel like a specimen pinned beneath glass.

I observe him closer. He says he’s Ashmark, but I thought I was the first and only.

If I’m not… Does that mean the prophecy doesn’t actually apply to me?

Have I been terrified of becoming evil incarnate for no reason?

I don’t know, but maybe this guy can tell me.

Though something tells me the answer to that won’t come easily.

With the way Malrik is still looking at me, that hungry look in his eyes, I doubt he’s going to give me the only answer that could set me free.

I grab the glass of water just to end the staring contest. “If this is some kind of kidnapping, you’re missing the ransom part.”

At least my sarcasm is still intact.

“Kidnapping is such a crude word,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

“I’ve done so much more than that for you, even before last night.

Now, not only am I offering you a haven—from them and from yourself—but also the chance to become who you really are without judgment.

In return, I only ask for patience. There’s much you need to learn before our time is over. ”

I take a sip. The cool liquid burns like lightning down my throat, but he was right. The fogginess in my head begins to fade.

“What do you mean you’ve already done things for me?” Now that I can think better, I want to know how long this guy has been after me and what the hell kind of trap I might have just walked right into.

He clasps his hands, a small smirk rising. “Who do you think hid the body of that dead shifter for you that you so carelessly left in the forest?”

“I was going to come back and bury him.” I swallow thickly. I’m not sure this makes me feel any better.

“Well, I saved you the trouble and the risk.”

“Right,” I mutter. Something tells me that’s a lie. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to be learning?”

Malrik’s expression doesn’t change, but the faint hum in the walls grows louder, like the structure is preparing to answer me.

He comes closer, moving quicker than I expect, and sets a hand on the cold stone table beside me. “Control. Before your power decides for you what kind of creature you’ll become.”

I set the glass down, pulse kicking hard. “I already know what I am.”

“Do you?” His voice drops, a near whisper. “Because I think you’ve only seen what happens when you’ve been left… Untamed. You could be so much more than a weapon, Rowan. But first,” His smile sharpens, “you need to stop pretending you don’t want anything to do with the power that lives within you.”

The words land like a strike to my ribs.

Because he’s wrong. And he’s right. Both. At once.

I square my shoulders, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. “If this is your idea of therapy, I want a refund.”

Malrik chuckles—a low, velvety sound laced with frost. “Therapy, my dear, teaches you how to process your pain. I’m going to show you how to wield it.”

The torch lights on the walls flicker violently, shadows dancing like restless spirits. The hum threading through the stone deepens, vibrating beneath my skin until it’s almost painful. And for the first time since I opened my eyes, I realize the magic in this room isn’t just reacting to him.

It’s me.

The buzzing deepens and throbs under my skin, pulsing with the same rhythm as my heartbeat. The flames in the sconces inch higher, shadows stretching across the walls like ink spilled in water.

Malrik watches, unbothered. Like everything that’s happened since we were attacked is exactly what he wanted, what he expected.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

My voice may be soft, yet I’m beginning to feel anything but.

He tilts his head. “Nothing yet. My castle simply responds to its occupants’ mood. At least when they’re not obeying its master.”

I blink, confused. “This place knows you as its master?”

His smile is soft yet infuriating. “Well, yes, but in this room, you are who it responds to. At least within the confines of the rules I’ve set.”