10. 8
8
Thorn
M y hands tremble as I hastily gather up the abandoned mugs and kettle, clattering them loudly in my distress. The tea items rattle on the tray, evidence of my inner turmoil I cannot seem to still.
What came over me? Kissing Draven without a second thought. I have so many secrets that would get me killed, and I just gave a vampire that I don’t really know anything about a massive clue to learn who I am.
I chance a glance over at him where he sits watching me, no doubt confused by my sudden frantic energy after our heated embrace. Heat rises in my cheeks. I avert my gaze quickly, afraid he’ll read the truth spelled out in my eyes—that, for a blissful moment, I forgot myself entirely and gave in to desire .
Such foolishness cannot happen again.
Breathing deeply, I brace myself on the edge of the wash basin. The past has taught me that passion only brings pain. In this case, Draven’s involvement threatens the safe solitary life I’ve built, away from prying eyes and powers intent on using me.
I must regain control. Apply logic. Establish boundaries. Suppress dangerous feelings that would only lead to heartbreak again. I am the only one who can shape my destiny, and I will not have it derailed by an ill-fated mate bond and my own pathetic longing.
Gods above, what did I just unleash by kissing Draven like that?
Draven’s still watching me with those penetrating silver eyes, no doubt wondering what in fiery blazes has come over the forest hermit who was snogging him senseless moments ago. I quickly avert my gaze.
Get it together, Thorn! This cannot happen again. That smoldering passion only brings pain. I need to be logical and set some boundaries between us before I do something reckless like smile or make eye contact.
I ignore Draven’s confused staring and hunker down at my table to scratch out a list of rules for keeping myself in check .
No touching the hot vampire whose kiss still smolders through your veins.
Seriously, stop fantasizing about his hands on you!
And no more gazing dreamily into his eyes either or you’ll spill all your secrets.
The quill scratches loudly on the parchment as I outline precautions against getting closer to Draven. I see him stand cautiously, looking like he wants to say something, to ask what’s wrong, but I keep scribbling, willing him to leave me be with my frantic list-making.
He hesitates then sinks back down by the fire, his expression going from confused to hurt in a flash. Great, now I’ve wounded his pride. Honestly, it’s for our own good. I cannot let myself fall any deeper under this man’s spell, or I’ll end up burned again.
I continue filling the parchment with strict rules to keep my dangerous heart in check.
Light topics only.
No discussion whatsoever of unbreakable bonds or my mixed bloodline. Way too risky, like dancing with fire.
There, guidelines established!
I survey my list critically, checking for any loopholes. Satisfied I’ve got enough here to avoid further entanglements, I set aside the parchment. No need to explain all this to Draven. He’d argue fate has it out for us or some nonsense. I have to start following these rules pronto before we do anything else we’ll regret at sunrise.
Having decided on this logical course, I rise to fix us a bedtime snack, avoiding his eyes. I focus wholly on slicing bread and cheese, willing my hands to be steady. Nice and simple food prep. No more intimate dinners that end with us gazing longingly across the table.
I hear Draven approach behind me, his footsteps cautious. My shoulders tense instinctively. Don’t turn around. Don’t you dare make small talk or let him get close again! I brace myself on the worn countertop as he hovers over my shoulder.
“Thorn.” His voice is gentle, full of questions I can’t answer. “Have I done something to upset you? Please, talk to me.”
My treacherous heartbeat picks up at the sound of my name on his lips. Shut up, stupid fickle heart. We are sticking to the plan.
I shake my head, keeping focused on fixing these sandwiches. From the corner of my eye, I see Draven start to reach for me then think better of it. Even his near touch raises goose bumps on my arm. Dangit! I quickly step away to put more space between us. Take that, pesky mate bond.
Looking uncertain, Draven stands there in the middle of my cottage, seeming so lost it tugs at my blasted soft heartstrings. Get it together, Thorn. This temporary cold shoulder routine is necessary if we’re ever to break free of each other.
As I arrange the food on two plates, I hear Draven approach behind me, cautious as one might creep up on a cornered wolf. I brace myself, gripping the table edge. Do not turn. Do not invite conversation or the temptation of his nearness.
“Thorn.” His voice comes gently over my shoulder. “Why won’t you tell me what I’ve done? We don’t know how long we will be stuck together in here. Does it have to be so painful?”
My eyes flutter half-closed. Just the melodious sound of my name on his lips sparks a warm blossoming in my chest that spreads and aches. I harden my heart against it. You will not sway me from logic, vampire.
ly, keeping my focus on preparing the snack. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Draven’s hand rise as though to touch my shoulder then fall away once more. The ghostly impression of his touch lingers on my skin. I shiver and step out of his reach, crossing the room to set his plate on the far end of the table. Distance. Yes, that’s best.
Draven stands uncertain in the center of the cottage, eyes clouded, looking utterly lost. I feel a pang at being the cause of such sadness in his striking features, but this standoff cannot be helped if we’re to have any hope of breaking this accursed bond.
I gesture woodenly at the seat opposite me, not meeting his gaze. “Come. Eat before it gets cold.” I know it makes no sense. The sandwiches are already cold, but I can’t think clearly anymore. I need him to leave before I slip up and go too far.
He doesn’t argue, though a muscle in his jaw twitches as if he’s biting back questions.
We eat mostly in silence, my rules a chaperone forcing space between us at the small table. When Draven’s hand accidentally brushes mine as he reaches for his mug, I jerk my own back swiftly, ignoring the tingling remnant on my skin.
We make stilted small talk about the weather, the food, and the firewood, inane topics like two strangers forced into close quarters, not whatever it is this mating bond seeks to make us.
I endure Draven’s brooding silences and sad-eyed glances with stoic resolve. It is better this way, I remind myself, even as my chest twists at the absence of our easy banter. Never should we have allowed such familiarity between us. Once the storm clears, things can go back to how they were before fate meddled—Draven free to his wanderings and I, once more, blissfully alone. Two lives woven only by the barest filament now painstakingly severed.
It doesn’t matter if my cottage will feel several degrees colder, missing the lively fire Draven sparked within me. This numbing emptiness is far safer than the terrifying precipice of hope and intimacy I briefly peered over before fear yanked me back. His kind are why I am here, why I have to stay hidden. I can’t let myself soften for any reason.
No, it’s decided. My rules will steer us clear of that chasm’s edge until Draven can safely get on his way and I can get back to my solitary existence. We only need to endure the discomfort of this new awkward tension between us a little while longer. Once the snow melts, hopefully this fated mate connection will melt away too, like footprints in the drifts outside.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
By the time we’ve cleaned up the quiet, stilted meal, I’m exhausted from constantly battling my feelings, which keep getting in the way of logic. I need a break from those soulful silver eyes, which seem to peer right through my fortified walls.
Murmuring some excuse about being tired after nursing an ill Draven—which isn’t a total lie—I retreat to my bed in the nook by the fireplace and pull the curtain closed for privacy. Only then, in the sanctuary of shadow, do I finally unclench my jaw and allow my shoulders to slump, drained from keeping up that rigid, impersonal facade all day. Denying my desires is proving more difficult than anticipated, but I can’t let myself weaken, or Draven might rekindle flickers of hope in my heart. I can’t do that. I’ve already learned what happens when I let hope blossom. It never turns out well. I’ve lost everything before because of it.
I sit, listening to the muffled sounds of Draven moving quietly about the cottage. Thanks to our supernatural connection, I’m annoyingly attuned to his presence even through the divider curtain. He probably thinks I’m being fickle and moody, getting all passionate with him one minute only to give him the cold shoulder the next. If only he knew the ghosts of my past that make it too perilous to act on our feelings.
I rub my arms against the pervasive chill despite the fire crackling steadily in the hearth. Keeping my distance from the man I’m meant to take comfort in leaves me feeling hollow and lonely. I chose this guarded separation between us for our own safety. So why does it have to sting so bitterly?
***
Ugh, these old pages are making my nose itch something fierce, but I’ve gotta keep searching through this spellbook if I’m gonna find a way to break the mate bond that is still somehow forming between me and Mr. Tall, Pale, and Mysterious over there.
I tip the heavy leather tome titled Cryptic Spells at an angle so Draven can’t peek at the contents from where he’s sitting and poking at the fire. As far as he knows, I’m just casually perusing some light reading to pass the time in our snowy imprisonment together.
If only he knew the truth—that I’m desperately trying to find some untraceable magic to undo whatever supernatural connection is sparking to life between us before it’s too late. Before he realizes we’re being tied together by the red strings of fate and uses that power to get all controlling and suffocate my freedom.
Been there, done that. To them, I wasn’t a person, just a powerful monster to be controlled and exploited. Then, it all turned on me, literally, and I was hunted by the very people I helped.
I force several deep breaths to calm myself down. This tricky mating bond could destroy the safe little world I’ve built if I don’t find a way to snip those tangled ties pronto.
I must stay focused if I’m gonna uncover some solution here, even as my inconvenient crush on Draven wars with my logic. Isn’t there a spell for dissolving connections without a trace? I skim past confusing incantations for summoning spirits, forgetting memories, and manipulating feelings. Ugh, nothing helpful!
I risk a peek over at Draven, who’s rising from his chair all sinuous and cat-like. A sliver of pale skin shows as he stretches, making my pulse skip embarrassingly. Get it together, Thorn! Focus on research, not the hot vampire whose kiss you can’t stop thinking about!
“Gonna grab some more firewood before it gets dark,” he says casually.
I make a vague sound of reply, pretending to be lost in my reading. Honestly, I’m hyperaware of his every movement, our bond pulling me toward him like a magnet.
I have to shake myself out of staring at the door long after he’s gone. Pull yourself together! This weird attraction is exactly what I need to break. With Draven out fetching wood, I can use this time to work uninterrupted. I’m sure he will make it back in safely this time. The storm is starting to edge a bit. It should be safe to send him home soon.
Okay, there’s got to be some hidden jewel in this book that can save me from getting all doe-eyed over Mr. Can’t Keep His Smug Smirk To Himself. Come on, come on… Aha! A spell called Rite of Sundering. That sounds promising!
Skimming the description, it seems like it can sever metaphysical connections. Perfect! This mystical witch’s brew of herbs shouldn’t be too tricky to whip up either. The ritual’s incantation is elaborate but doable if I focus. Tonight when the crescent moon rises, we’ll be free!
I’m carefully brewing up the magical draught when Draven shoulders his way back inside, arms loaded with logs. Snowflakes twinkle in his windswept hair, and he flashes that infuriating grin. “Couldn’t go another minute without me, huh?”
“Hardly,” I retort with an exaggerated eye roll. “Just looking forward to not freezing to death overnight once you actually haul in enough firewood.” I pointedly bury my nose back in the spellbook.
He chuckles, clearly trying to get a rise out of me, and starts rebuilding the fire.
I sneak glances at him over the top of my book, admiring how the flames bring out reddish hints in those raven locks. Part of me hates how appealing he looks bathed in firelight. Cast the spell first. Moon over the hot vampire later!
Once the cottage is again filled with crackling warmth, I retrieve the brewed draught. In the flickering firelight, I pour all my magic and intention into it, reciting the spell’s shaping incantations. The liquid starts to glow and hum with power.
I look up to find Draven watching me curiously. Before he can ask, I quickly close my eyes. Just gotta focus on the mystical connection between us and sever it with this rite.
I start chanting the Sundering spell under my breath. The temperature instantly plummets, and an ominous creaking shakes the entire cottage. My eyes fly open, but it’s too late to back out now.
Draven jumps up, looking spooked as stuff starts rattling violently on the shelves. “Uh, Thorn? Wanna tell me what you’re up to right now?”
I don’t answer, pouring all my will into completing the volatile ritual, but my control is slipping, and the spell takes on an explosive life of its own. I have to see this through! I can’t let the havoc that the mate bond is wreaking on my magic take control.
Shouting the final verse, I direct the breaking point of the ritual squarely at the link between me and Draven. A deafening crack splits the air. At the same moment, a psychic rope snaps tight in my mind .
“Argh!” I double over from the rush of foreign emotions flooding my senses—confusion, concern, anger at my betrayal…
Crap. Felt that loud and clear. The spell backfired and connected our minds instead of cutting us off.
I glance up to see Draven looking just as shell-shocked, gripping his head.
“What the hell did you do?” he demands. “I can sense your feelings… hear your thoughts!”
Oh no. Please tell me he didn’t just pick up on my raging thirst to jump his bones. Awkward.
I turn away so he can’t see my flaming cheeks. “Um, slight magical mishap? Meant to restore our peace and privacy.” My voice comes out shaky and unconvincing. So much for stealth.
Warm fingers catch my chin, gently turning my face back toward him.
I brace for anger but see only earnest concern in his searching eyes. “You wanted space from me. I understand.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “But my presence does not have to be an intrusion.”
My treacherous heart flutters at his nearness. Words bubble up before I can stop them. “I wish I wasn’t so afraid…” Mortified at the unchecked confession, I pull away. No more risks while he’s leashed to my unfiltered mind!
Pulse pounding, I rush to the window. Thank the gods, the weather’s eased up quite a bit more than I had realized.
I start gathering up Draven’s things, movements jerky. “Storm’s passed. Time to be on your way!”
He frowns in confusion as I shove bread and his cloak at him, but I’m hyper-focused on preparing the transportation spell before our mental link gives me away completely.
Channeling crackling magic between my palms, I bark out, “Where am I sending you?”
“The royal castle in Everdusk,” Draven answers slowly. “But couldn’t we discuss—“
Everdusk? Ice floods my veins. He is really nobility? Every primal instinct in me shrieks trap.
I cut off his unspoken plea, forcing stiff composure. “And your position there?”
“I’m one of the princes.” His empty smile and guarded eyes spell reluctance.
Time’s up. The spell is fraying !
Clawing back tattered magic, I cast the transportation orb with my last shred of control and unceremoniously dump a baffled Draven into its vortex.
The absence hits me like a sledgehammer, and I collapse, gasping.
Well, I got my wish. No more entanglements or heartache. Just me and solitude once more.
Why does victory feel so cold and hollow?
I curl around the gaping wound in my chest, sobs wracking my frame. I’ve never experienced agony like the severing of our short-lived bond. It smothers me until I’m numb, and I long for just one more moment by the fire with him, secrets be damned.