8. 6
6
Thorn
T he last checker stone clicks into place as I soundly trounce Draven for the third time in a row. He leans back with a huff, raking a hand through his unruly dark hair. I would say it was nice to see him slightly disheveled, but if I’m being completely honest, it’s just making it harder to ignore our mate bond. Why is he so damn attractive no matter what he does? How can I still want him when half the time he makes me so… frustrated?
“I must concede that your skill far exceeds mine at this game,” he states begrudgingly.
I can’t restrain a smug smile. “Perhaps with more practice, you’ll provide me a true challenge someday.”
Draven narrows his eyes at my gloating, though the corner of his mouth quirks. “Such confidence from someone I nearly bested last round. How do you know I’m not just letting you win?”
“Nearly being the key word,” I retort with relish, enjoying this rare upper hand over the vexing vampire.
Inwardly, though, I’m troubled. He might be right. He’s losing the game in an almost laughable way. A way that usually requires knowing the game well enough to intentionally lose. On top of that, the marked stones revealed little insight into Draven’s true nature when reading their scattered patterns. I need him to eat more of my spelled bread to keep his senses clouded to our bond.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Draven leans back lazily in his chair. “That was quite the mental workout. What say you conjure up another of those delicious loaves to replenish us?” He pats his flat stomach for emphasis.
I hide my smile, oddly pleased he enjoyed the bread so much despite its magical ingredients. “Fresh out at the moment, but I was just about to prepare another batch.”
Draven’s eyes light up. “Well then, I shall eagerly await the fruits of your skillful baking, my lady. ”
“If you call me lady one more time, I’m going to slip something into your bread that will make your stay far less comfortable.”
I shoot him a wry look as I tidy up the game. We seem to have moved into a cautious rapport, interacting almost… pleasantly. I mustn’t forget Draven leaves at first chance. Whatever cAudreyderie we build here will make that parting no easier.
Clearing my throat, I gesture for him to pull up a seat near the stove’s warmth. “If you insist on observing, at least make yourself useful and stoke the fire.”
Draven grins and grabs the iron poker while I assemble ingredients for the dough—flour, salt, yeast. Kneading bread always steadies my thoughts, and I need that now after the checkers game rattled me with its glimpse at his layered nature.
As I work the dough, I feel Draven’s gaze on me. I straighten my shoulders under his silent scrutiny and add a sprinkle of nullifying herb to the mixture, softly chanting the suppression spell. If only this snow would cease so the vampire could take his mysteries and be on his way!
Yet as I sense him studying my baking, curiosity about what goes on behind those clever eyes pricks at me.
I sneak a glance up from the loaf I’m shaping. “You seem surprised by my dough technique,” I note. “Don’t common folk bake where you come from?”
Draven blinks as if startled to be caught watching. “Oh yes, of course. I’m sure they do. Just admiring your skill at handling such a… temperamental lump of food.”
I snort. “You almost sound disappointed it isn’t fighting back.”
“On the contrary. I prefer my meals passive,” he retorts, yet a shadow crosses his face that gives me pause. For all his teasing, much about this vampire remains closed off.
My instincts bristle, warning me not to prod deeper.
We pass the time with lighter conversation until I need to place the dough by the warm stove to rise, covered with a tea towel. Draven lounges with his usual casual entitlement, but I notice he sticks close, eager to talk or offer unsolicited opinions. I tell myself that he’s just bored and that he doesn’t truly enjoy my company.
“You know, once this storm passes, I will be quite famished after our bread and porridge diet,” he remarks. “How about making a pack for my return? Maybe an extra loaf to go?”
The thought of Draven leaving twists my gut strangely.
I keep my tone light. “Eager to escape me, are you?”
He tilts his head. “I have things and people who are relying on me. I need to return as soon as I can, but I admit it’s tempting to stay.” His voice drops lower, warming me more than the fire.
I still my hands, heartbeat quickening. Drat this bond tightening between us!
“Well then, you will be glad to hear that you won’t be walking anywhere. I can use my magic to send you home. We just need to wait the storm out first.”
“You can do that? Why didn’t you send me home right away?”
“First, you weren’t exactly coherent when I found you. Second, the storms in this part of the forest are filled with wild magic. It could affect the spell and send you somewhere completely random… if you reappear at all.”
A smirk spreads on his face, “You’re concerned for my safety so much you couldn’t bear the thought of me coming to harm?”
I turn away, flustered. “Let’s check your fire. I’ll need much more wood for baking.”
Draven frowns at the deflection but obediently grabs the iron poker. I exhale in relief as he crouches before the hearth, stoking the logs back to crackling life, then swiftly crosses the creaking floorboards to peer outside.
My heart sinks. Snow still falls in relentless sheets, coating the landscape in undulating drifts. The weather remains firmly against us. Against me, specifically, it sometimes seems, preventing Draven’s departure and this troublesome attraction brewing between us.
I bite my lip, scanning the wooded horizon until my gaze snags on the snow-capped shed. The firewood stores! Between distracting games and conversation, I’ve let them dwindle far too low for Draven’s voracious appetite these past few days .
I turn back to suggest he take an inventory, only to find him watching me expectantly from his casual sprawl in my armchair.
“We’re nearly out of firewood,” I announce. “I’ll head to the woodshed while the dough rises. There’s a rope to help me find it in the snow.”
Draven is on his feet in an instant. “Nonsense. You’ve already done plenty of cooking and cleaning. You’re exhausted. Allow me.”
He grabs his cloak off its hook before I can respond. I watch, bemused and conflicted as he wraps the woolen garment tightly around his shoulders. Odd to see someone else volunteering to do the household chores that normally fall solely to me, though likely Draven aims more to escape boredom than assist.
I nod. “Very well. There’s a rope from door to shed. Don’t let go of it, or you will get lost in the storm.”
Draven scoffs but indulges me with a slight nod.
I bundle him up further in my thickest cloak, muffler and mittens, trying to ignore his distracting nearness. Last, I put a bracelet on his wrist with a small charm and whisper a spell of connection. Gods, his hands brushing mine almost kindle sparks through my body again. I quickly step back once finished .
“Be quick, and call if you need me. The storm is loud, but I will be able to hear you with this,” I say brusquely to cover my fluster as I point to the bracelet.
Draven’s eyes gleam at my poorly masked concern, but he simply hefts the snow shovel and strides out into the swirling whiteness. I watch his silhouette fade, an odd anxiety twisting my gut. Draven is clever, I tell myself. He won’t take unnecessary risks.
I occupy myself preparing the oven, but as the minutes creep by, unease mounts. Draven should have returned by now. I glance outside but can barely make out the shed’s shape through the deepening snow banks.
A strange tingling feeling pricks at the back of my neck, like invisible strings tugging me out into the storm. I frown, rubbing the odd sensation away. Is it some mystical prompt from our unwelcome mate-bond spurring me to action? Or simply my own conscience worried for the safety of a guest under my care?
I hesitate, uncertain if going after Draven would make the pull of fate between us even stronger .
The premonition intensifies, my heart growing anxious as I imagine him lost and disoriented in the blizzard’s fury.
Worry wins out. Securing my second warmest hooded cloak around me, I whisper a warming incantation into the fibers before braving the blizzard, staying tied to the rope. Snow whips around me, but my cloak’s magic keeps the worst chill at bay.
I find Draven midway, laden with an armful of split logs, or, rather, I crash right into that armful as he sways disoriented in the maelstrom. The impact knocks us both down into the snow.
“What are you doing out here?” Draven exclaims through chattering teeth, dropping the spilled logs.
“Rescuing you, it would seem!”
I help Draven to his feet, pulling his arm over my shoulder and clasping his waist. Together, we battle back up the now wholly obscured path, my cloak fortunately large enough to shelter us both in its enchanted space with a few logs still in his arms..
I halt us just outside the glowing cottage window, its light blurred behind ice crystals. “What happened?” I pant. “You were taking too long. ”
Draven shakes his snow-crusted head ruefully. “Got turned around in the whiteout. I’d still be lost if you hadn’t come to find me. Seems I owe you my life again.”
He looks down at me, our faces flushed from cold and close proximity. I read the question in his eyes, the same nameless draw I feel.
I clench my gloved fists, shaken. We cannot keep tempting fate this way.
“You shouldn’t have let go of the rope. It was right next to you, but you couldn’t see it because of the storm. Never let go of the rope if you can’t see it.“ I huff and try to calm my frustration, reminding myself that he isn’t someone who usually does this himself. “Let’s get inside.”
I hurry us in before he can speak further. Once we’re sheltered in the cottages warmth, I force myself to step back, busying myself stoking the stove’s fires.
When I finally turn back, Draven stands shivering, his numb fingers fumbling unsuccessfully to remove his snow-encrusted outer layers.
“Here. Allow me,” I say gently, approaching to help peel off the sodden cloak and muffler .
Draven exhales, shoulders slumping. “Appreciated. My hands have gone quite useless.”
He surrenders to my ministrations, silver eyes intent on my face as I carefully unwrap the frozen garments. I feel suddenly shy under his gaze but continue steadily freeing him from the clinging wet fabric.
With his tall frame bent toward me, an intimate hush falls over us, broken only by the crackling fire. I peel the last soaked glove from his hand, pathetically numb and white. Clasping it between my own, I begin gently massaging warmth back into his icy fingers.
Draven’s breath catches. His skin thrills under my touch as blood flow returns. I diligently focus on restoring sensation to each digit, acutely aware of his nearness.
When at last his hands are rosy and flexible again, neither of us moves to break contact. Our eyes lock, heat rising between us. I know I should step back, but some magnetism keeps me transfixed.
Slowly, Draven lifts his free hand to brush a raven lock from my cheek. His cool fingertips trail sparks across my skin. Entranced, I lean into his touch, my breaths coming fast .
“Thorn…” Draven murmurs, low and thick with longing. He begins to dip his face toward mine.
At the last moment, panic grips me. I turn my head sharply, his lips just grazing my hair instead. The half-forged moment shatters.
I pull back, the loss of his touch a palpable ache, and I force a teasing tone to cover my turmoil. “Let’s get you warmed up with some tea.”
I don’t meet Draven’s eyes again as I busily retrieve the kettle. The cottage air now hangs heavy with dangerous possibility.
With effort, I ignore my racing heart. I must keep my wits about me. Much more is at stake than mere attraction.
Yet as we sip tea in brooding silence, I cannot deny part of me wishes I surrendered to the fire blazing between us.