7. 5
5
Thorn
I crack the eggs against the iron pan’s rim, letting the yolks and whites spill out to sizzle. The scents of butter and porridge waft through my little cottage, temporarily masking the lingering traces of Draven’s spicy, masculine scent that somehow permeates the small space.
As I stir the simple breakfast, I try to ignore his looming presence behind me. Why must he insist on hovering whenever I cook? It’s a small miracle I haven’t burned down this place with my magic acting up so badly.
I hear the clinking of jars being removed from my shelves. I don’t have to glance back to know Draven has taken it upon himself to again “help” with the meal preparation, likely grabbing ingredients at random with no concept of how to cook.
Sighing, I turn to find him scrutinizing a handful of mismatched spices and herbs.
“I’ve got this covered, thanks,” I say tersely, plucking the items from his grasp before he can upend them haphazardly into the porridge.
Honestly, parsley and nutmeg? What does he think I’m making? Soup dumplings? The man knows nothing about cooking.
I firmly guide Draven away from the kitchen area with an insistent hand on his back and ignore the tingle I feel on my fingertips. Touching him is a mistake.
He grumbles but allows me to sit him near the fireplace with a book taken from my shelf. Anything to keep him occupied and out of my way.
“Here. Read this, and let me focus. I will tell you when food is ready,” I state, earning a dramatic sigh from him.
Still, Draven cracks open the aged tome, apparently accepting temporary literary imprisonment if it earns him breakfast. I’ll take the reprieve, no matter how fleeting .
Soon enough, we eat in strained silence, and I desperately wrack my mind, trying to think of activities to occupy Draven’s attention. Our forced togetherness in my tiny cottage is painful without some kind of diversion.
My gaze wanders around the room as I search for inspiration. I could teach him to knit his own scarf. It’s tempting just for the look on his entitled face, but we would probably kill each other halfway through. Teach him basic chores again? Equally risky. Herbalism lessons? Not on your life, vampire.
I eye my box of polished spell stones atop the mantle. Their smooth surfaces reflect the firelight hypnotically. Crafting a checkers set could work… although that would require interacting collaboratively. I sigh, letting the notion go. Better to avoid fueling conversation.
The fire crackles, sending a cascade of sparks up the chimney. I watch their glowing dance, transfixed by their ephemeral beauty. If only distracting this restless vampire were as simple as reading tea leaves or tossing bones. Divining his future would at least pass—
Wait! Now there’s an idea. Perhaps I could disguise a reading as a part of chess. I could create a board with markings of the gods on my divination stones for our pieces, and I could read how they are arranged after the game. He would never need to know, and perhaps I can discover who this vampire really is.
“Here. Take these back to the hearth,” I direct, allowing no room for argument.
Draven’s eyebrows lift, but he complies without verbal protest, returning to the fireplace with the new reading materials.
Satisfied he’s settled again, I scour my cabinets in search of suitable supplies. In a lower cupboard, I unearth a section of sanded pine board leftover from some forgotten project, its surface smooth and intact. Perfect for crafting the grid.
Next, I rifle through baskets and jars until I find my paints—pigments painstakingly derived from plants, minerals, and other natural sources. I select two rich contrasting tones—deep emerald and burnt umber. Their vibrancy will lend life to the otherwise mundane board.
Finally, I retrieve my box of polished spell stones from the mantle. I pick through the array of translucent crystals and marbled minerals, seeking eight each of two complementing colors. The stones feel pleasantly cool and grounding against my palms as I roll them between my fingers, enjoying their soothing energy.
With my materials assembled, I settle myself at the table and lose myself in crafting our makeshift checkers set. First, I mark out the grid pattern on the board using a ruler then begin carefully applying contrasting coats of paint to the squares.
The smell of the pigments mingles with lingering wood smoke in the air. I find myself breathing deeper, the familiar scents and focus required for the delicate work loosening the persistent knot between my shoulders. Creating with my hands has always calmed me and helps me find my sense of self again when the outside world grows overwhelming and strange.
As I turn the board to complete the alternating pattern, I feel Draven’s gaze on me from across the room. I don’t acknowledge him openly, but I slow my brush strokes, suddenly self-conscious under his silent scrutiny. What must he think of me, whiling away the snowy hours on childish diversions? Not exactly mysterious and enchanting behavior befitting a witch.
Shaking off the self-doubt, I square my shoulders and continue painting. So what if I indulge in simple arts and crafts? It centers my spirit in this chaotic, unpredictable world. I refuse to explain or defend my private passions, especially to a vampire interloper.
At last, the board is complete, two tones traversing the grid in perfect contrast. Setting it near the fire to dry, I turn my focus to the stone playing pieces. I inspect the stones, enjoying the way the firelight dances across their glossy surfaces.
Though crafted from mundane minerals rather than enchanted, these stones impart a subtle sense of calm and balance, their natural magic seeping gently into my skin. I handle each in turn, channeling my focus into imbuing the ordinary objects with intention—to bring distraction, levity, and fellowship for two isolated souls. A simple spell yet profoundly needed.
I quickly paint on the markings of the gods to the bottom of each piece and wait for them to dry.
Occupied with my crafting, I’m caught off guard when Draven appears at my elbow. “This game possesses quite an elaborate battlefield for mere child’s play,” he remarks, inspecting the painted board .
I resist the urge to cover it protectively and meet his gaze challengingly. “Deceptively so. Don’t assume it lacks sophistication based on familiarity.”
Draven’s lips quirk upward. “Point well taken,” he acknowledges. “I shall reserve judgment until you educate me on this mysterious game.’”
I nod in satisfaction and turn back to drying the stones, blowing on them gently with a hint of my magic to speed up the process.
He returns to his seat by the fire and opens his book. I can feel his gaze every time it glances my way, but I can’t let it get to me. Nothing is allowed to happen. Ignore the bond, Thorn.
With the painted checkers board dried and stones marked for my covert divination, I set the makeshift game atop the table. Though I crafted it as much for personal insight into my vampire guest as entertainment, I cannot deny a spark of eagerness to test my wits against Draven’s.
“The board is prepared. Are you ready?” I call over, feigning casual disinterest.
Draven lifts one brow in silent appraisal but closes his book and approaches. He studies the painted grid and stone pieces with an analytical eye, saying nothing.
Suppressing a flicker of annoyance at his haughty scrutiny, I launch into explaining the rules before he can make any disparaging remarks. “The gameplay is simple enough even for you to grasp,” I say pointedly. “We take turns moving diagonally to capture each other’s pieces and block advances. Whoever removes all their opponent’s stones wins. Understand?”
Draven blinks then flashes me an annoying smirk. “Straightforward, though I may need a practice round to get the hang of this treacherous battlefield.”
I purse my lips. He’s clearly trying to get under my skin. Well, I won’t give him the satisfaction of taking the bait.
“Then pay close attention to this first match,” I reply coolly, taking my seat.
After a dramatic pause, Draven settles across from me, moving smooth and graceful as a cat. I ignore how the firelight catches his sharp features.
“White stones go first,” I state, nudging one of the carved crystals forward.
Draven copies me, and we’re off .
We play in tense silence, the only sounds the periodic crackling fire and clacking stones. I notice Draven studies the board hard before each move, cautious and shrewd despite his casual vibe.
When he makes a surprise diagonal hop to nab two of my pieces, I mask my shock with effort.
“Not bad,” I bite out.
Draven’s mouth twitches. “Your generous praise overwhelms me.”
I nearly fire back a scathing retort but catch myself. The infuriating vampire is intentionally trying to throw me off. He will not mess with my focus.
But as we play on, keeping composure gets tougher. Draven keeps making annoyingly smart moves, predicting my strategy and dodging capture. That knowing glint in his silver eyes fans my temper.
We both reach for pieces at the same time, hands barely brushing. I jerk back instinctively from the electric sparks that brief contact ignites. Draven’s nostrils flare, but he stays silent, just scanning the board again.
After agonizing minutes, he finally slips up. I pounce and capture three of his stones fast .
He leans back with a rueful chuckle at my win. “Well played. Seems you’ll take this round.”
I bite my cheek to keep from grinning, still flushed with victory, but tallying the remaining pieces wipes the smile away. We’re only two stones apart. Hardly a decisive victory.
Draven notes my expression and laughs. The rich sound washes over me in irritating waves. “Come now. Revel a bit longer in your oh-so-narrow win.”
“It is victory nonetheless,” I retort, yet the hollow words only deepen my annoyance. I should have bested this pompous vampire by a wider margin.
“Indeed, but such a close call suggests I am a quick study of your little game,” Draven points out, insufferable smugness returning. “Perhaps a rematch is in order?”
I bristle at the challenge in his words. Does he think I will back down?
Squaring my shoulders, I begin gathering the scattered pieces with more force than necessary. “Oh yes, we shall play again, and this time, I will be sure to win by a more significant lead.”
My pride will accept no less .
Draven’s eyes gleam, seeming to relish provoking my competitiveness.
We reset the board silently. As much as his arrogance grates on me, I cannot deny a small thrill at the chance to test my wits against him once more.
This time, I make the opening move. Draven counters quickly, but I anticipate him. Within three turns, I capture one of his stones.
He lifts a brow. “You are playing more ruthlessly this round, I see.”
I offer a thin smile. “I am simply demonstrating the full potential of my own strategy now that you have grasped the basics.” Unable to resist taunting him in turn, I add airily, “Of course, if you require more time to familiarize yourself with the rules, we could take a break.”
Draven snorts. “That won’t be necessary.” His eyes flash with steely determination.
Game on.
The real battle kicks off then. We play quickly, neither willing to give ground as we maneuver our armies of stones across the painted grid .
I gain a slight edge with aggressive offense, but Draven refuses to yield, always finding creative ways to dodge capture and put my pieces in vulnerable spots.
Our hands keep colliding as we move our stones, eyes locked challengingly across the table. My pulse races with exhilaration at this test of wits. For now at least, vampire and half-witch are total equals, too focused on strategic victory to care about petty divisions.
The endgame approaches, both our forces badly battered. I’m only one stone ahead of Draven now, not the advantage I’d envisioned.
Sitting back, I realize I’ve revealed too much of my own skill here, usually reserved for solo play. What will I tell Draven when he remarks on my talent? That it was a childhood hobby in the remote village where I grew up? There we kids scratched grids in the dirt, using rocks or seed pods as markers…
My spiraling thoughts are cut off by a clack as Draven makes his last move. I stare at the board, stunned. Somehow, between mental math and racing pulse, I missed his path to nab one final crucial piece.
We’re left with a single stone each, perfectly tied .
For several tense seconds, neither of us speaks. The crackling fire seems muted beyond our locked gaze.
Draven straightens first, exhaling slowly. “A draw then. How very interesting.”
My cheeks burn, half embarrassed about losing focus, half ticked he forced such a close match. I should say something scathing, resentful.
But meeting Draven’s quirked brow and dancing eyes, I’m surprised to feel my mouth twitching upward. The sincere joy of a challenging game wells up, melting away defensive irritation. When was the last time I matched wits so equally with someone? It was… invigorating.
“Well played.” I nod in acknowledgement. “Seems we’re evenly matched in this arena.”
Draven’s grin widens, softening his sharp features into something more roguish and warm. “Indeed. I haven’t enjoyed such stimulating sport in many years.” He extends his hand across the table.
After a heartbeat’s hesitation, I clasp it in mine. A tingle runs up my arm and floods my body instantly, leaving my head feeling as if it’s drunk.
Draven releases my hand and rises from his seat, stretching his arms overhead. An ache immediately settles in my heart at the loss of his touch, but I shake it off. This can’t happen. I don’t want this. I can’t get attached.
“I shall add a log or two to the fire before we commence with a third round,” he declares.
I nod absently, eyes following him as he crosses to the woodpile. Once Draven’s back is turned, I seize the opportunity to study the marked stones still scattered across the board and the ones he’s placed on his side. Every little movement he made with these pieces leaves traces for me to read.
My fingertips skim over the arcane symbols, mentally deciphering their mystical import. Let’s see. The rune for deception lies by the home row, suggesting disguise of true intentions. Temptation aligned with recklessness points to rash impulses. Oh, fate, you fickle temptress you.
I quickly commit the other auspicious and ominous patterns to memory before Draven turns back around. There is much to unpack from this covert reading, but I must ponder it later.
For now, I sweep the stones into a pile and begin setting up the board once more. Draven returns to the table, oblivious to my surreptitious divination .
“Ready for me to best you this time?” he asks lightly, though determination glints in his eyes.
I lift my chin. “Bold words. Why don’t we let the stones decide?” I nod to the reassembled board between us.
Draven grins, sharp and wolfish. “By all means. Let the games continue.”
He settles back into his seat as I make the opening move. My mind whirls with revelations from the runes even as I refocus on the strategic battle at hand. I must tread carefully indeed. This vampire may prove more complicated than anticipated.