Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
ORION VOSS
W e don’t stop running until I see the cabin.
It’s small, weathered, hidden deep in the thickest part of the forest where even warlocks rarely tread. Smoke curls from the chimney, a sign that my contact is already waiting.
Vivienne is panting beside me, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts, but she keeps up. She always keeps up.
I squeeze her hand once before letting go, stepping ahead to knock on the wooden door.
It swings open before my fist lands a second time.
Levi Durnham.
He stands in the doorway, broad, heavy-set, his sharp gaze scanning me, then lingering on Vivienne. His eyes flicker down to my wrist. He sees the mark.
A slow breath leaves his lips. “Shit.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Levi steps aside, letting us in without another word.
The safehouse is exactly as I remember. Rough stone walls, a wooden table with a few mismatched chairs, a fireplace burning low. A single narrow hallway leads to the rooms. It smells of damp earth and dried herbs.
Vivienne hovers just inside the doorway, her fingers gripping the edges of her cloak like she’s holding herself together. I can feel her exhaustion through the bond, the way she’s fighting to stay upright, strong.
Levi catches me watching her and lets out a low whistle. “You bound yourself to a witch. You really do have a death wish.”
I don’t flinch. “We just need a room for the night.”
Levi rubs a hand down his face but doesn’t argue. “One left. You take it, you clean up, and at dawn, you’re gone. The longer you’re here, the bigger a target you make this place.”
I nod once. I knew the terms before I knocked on his door.
Levi gestures toward the hall. “End of the corridor. There’s a wash basin. Should be enough warm water left.” His gaze flickers between us, but he doesn’t say what he’s thinking. He just sighs and waves us off.
I don’t wait. I take Vivienne’s hand again, leading her toward the room.
The moment the door clicks shut, Vivienne releases a shaky breath. I watch her carefully.
The room is small. Barely more than a bed, a wooden chest, and a washstand with a bowl of warm water. The fireplace flickers dimly, throwing soft golden light across the walls.
One bed.
The thought sits heavy in my chest.
Vivienne doesn’t say anything about it. She just walks over to the wash basin and presses her hands against the edges, leaning into it as if the weight of the night has finally settled on her.
Her reflection stares back at her in the small mirror mounted above the table.
She looks wrecked. Exhausted. There’s dried blood on her temple, streaks of dirt along her arms.
I step behind her, not touching her. Just close enough that I know she feels me.
“I need to check you over,” I say, my voice lower than I expect.
She meets my gaze in the mirror, her eyes stormy, unreadable.
“I’m fine,” she whispers.
I exhale sharply, reach for the small cloth folded beside the basin, and dip it into the water. “Let me be sure.”
I bring the cloth to her skin, swiping it gently over her forehead, erasing the dirt and dried blood. She doesn’t stop me.
Her breath shivers as I move lower, tracing the cloth over the curve of her jaw, her throat.
I swallow hard.
She closes her eyes, leaning into my touch.
The cloth slips lower, over her collarbone, brushing the edge of her dress. My fingers graze her skin where the fabric dips, and her lips part, a soft exhale leaving her mouth.
Heat coils low in my stomach.
I force myself to keep moving, cleaning the last of the grime from her arms, her hands, lingering on the places where I gripped her too hard.
She turns then, facing me fully.
I’m too close.
Her gaze drops to my wrist—to the mark glowing softly against my skin. She reaches for it, her fingers barely brushing the edges of it.
“This feels… different,” she murmurs.
I nod. “It is.”
Silence stretches between us. Thick. Heavy. Charged.
Then, softly, “I meant what I said before.”
I still.
She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze with something fierce, vulnerable. “You ruined me.”
I swallow against the lump forming in my throat.
“You ruined me first,” I murmur.
Her breath hitches.
She reaches for me, her hands sliding up my chest, her touch burning through my clothes. I catch her wrists, stopping her.
“You’re exhausted,” I rasp.
“I don’t care.”
I do.
I should.
But then she moves against me, pressing her body flush to mine, her hands slipping behind my neck.
I’m done for.
My mouth crashes onto hers, and she moans into me, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me deeper.
I grip her waist, lifting her onto the washstand, knocking the basin aside as I step between her legs.
She gasps against my lips, her thighs tightening around me, pulling me closer.
I slide my hands up her back, tracing the shape of her body, drinking in the way she feels against me, under me.
“I need you,” she breathes.
Fuck.
I tilt her chin up, my lips brushing her jaw, her throat, her pulse hammering against my mouth.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper against her skin. “Because if you don’t?—”
She shakes her head, cutting me off.
“Don’t stop.”
That’s all I need.
I grip her thighs, lifting her into my arms, and carry her to the bed.
Her fingers are already pulling at my shirt, dragging it over my head, her lips tracing the lines of my chest.
My hands wander, tracing the dips and curves of her body, memorizing her all over again.
When I push her back against the mattress, she reaches for me.
And this time, I don’t hold back.