17. 15
15
Thorn
T he crumbling walls of the cottage loom before me as I approach, their weathered stones seeming to lean inward as if protecting long-held secrets. How many years has it been since I last walked this overgrown path? I’ve lost count of the decades that have passed in my self-imposed exile.
I pause at the edge of the clearing, my boots sinking into the snow. The cold bites at my cheeks, but that physical discomfort is nothing compared to the ache in my chest. This place holds so many ghosts.
With slow, hesitant steps, I make my way to the front door or what remains of it—a few rotting planks cling stubbornly to rusted hinges. I trace my fingers over the carved oak frame, remembering the day my father hung this door with such pride .
“There!” he declared, wiping his brow. “Now our Thorn will be safe and snug in her own room.”
I beamed up at him, filled with the contentment only a child can know. My world was small and perfect then. How swiftly that innocence was shattered.
Steeling myself, I duck inside the gloomy interior. The main room is just as I remember it. Modest wooden furniture sits covered in layers of dust and leaves that have blown in over the long years of abandonment. The stone hearth that once glowed warm with crackling fire now gapes cold and empty. Cobwebs shroud the corners like gossamer veils.
At the back of the room, a rickety staircase winds up to the second floor. I avoid looking at it just yet, not ready to confront those memories. Instead, I drift over to the simple wooden table, running my hand across its scarred surface.
This is where my mother would stand mixing her potions and tinctures, the shelves behind her lined with glass bottles and jars containing roots, herbs, and other mystical ingredients. I can almost see her silvery hair glinting in the firelight as she hums one of her old folk songs passed down through generations of cunning women .
Next to the table sits a rocking chair sized for a child. I picture my younger self there, curled up with a book of spells while my mother worked. I begged and begged her to teach me even the most basic magic.
“All in good time, little thorn,” she would laugh. “Once you’ve mastered your runes and charms.”
I never got the chance to learn more before my world shattered. Now, the only magic left in this place gathers as dust.
At last, I turn reluctantly toward the stairs. Each creaking step protests my weight as I climb upward. The smell of smoke still lingers faintly in the charred walls after all this time.
I pass the room that had once been my parents’, unable to look within. My small bedroom awaits at the end of the hall. The door hangs crookedly off one hinge, and I duck underneath it into the shadows. A crude wooden bedframe and stool sit untouched, the mattress nothing but rags. My feet stir up swirls of dust on the floorboards.
Kneeling down, I run my hand over the whorls and knots in the aged oak floor, seeking the loose board. There. I pry it up gently, as I’ve done so many times before, to reveal the small hollow space underneath, the one secret place the king’s men did not discover that horrific night.
Nestled inside lies a cloth doll with a smiling painted face and yarn hair—the last remnant of my lost childhood. I lift it carefully, a bittersweet smile touching my lips.
“Hello again, Nettle,” I murmur. “I’m home.”
Clutching the doll close, I move to sit on the edge of the bed. The ancient ropes creak in protest beneath my weight. Looking around at these ruined walls, I can almost see the shy village girl I once was, playing contently with her homemade toy.
Nettle was my confidante, the keeper of all my young secrets and dreams. I told her of my desire to become a great witch like my mother one day. I described the tall, handsome stranger I imagined would come sweep me off my feet when I was older.
The innocence of those fantasies now pains my heart. I know too well the cruelty the real world holds.
I was eight years old when the soldiers came. Like monsters from a nightmare, they stormed our remote cottage as we slept, acting on the king’s paranoid fears of witches. My mother’s magic could not save her or my father in the end. Her wounds were too much .
In my terror, I hid here in this secret hollow, clutching Nettle to muffle my whimpering. The horrors I heard that night haunt me still. I lost everything—my family, my home… My entire world burned down around me.
Somehow, I survived. The fact that I couldn’t save her, or any of them, still haunts me. I would never place that kind of pressure on a child, yet it’s hard not to place it on myself.
Over the years, I scraped by on the fringes of society, raised by family that wasn't my own, teaching myself what magic I could, and all the while my hate for the royals festered.
When I came of age, I returned to the capital city under a disguise to infiltrate the castle. I sought to end the king’s bloodline and gain vengeance for all that was taken from me. My intricate plans ultimately failed. The king still lives still, rotting in his tower.
And so, I retreated back into exile, choosing isolation over risking more loss. This cottage, both a refuge and a reminder of my past.
Looking around its ruined shell now, I see clearly how I’ve allowed the traumas of my past to consume too much of my present. I’ve kept my true self locked away as securely as I once hid from the king’s men in this secret hollow.
Perhaps after all these years, it is time to let in some light, push open that crooked door, and sweep aside the cobwebs in my heart. I cannot change the tragedy that befell my loved ones, but I can still shape what future remains for me.
I tuck Nettle back into her hiding place, replace the floorboard, and stand with new resolve. The ghosts of this cottage will always haunt me, but they need not rule me. I will find a way to honor my family’s memory through more than bitterness.
Stepping back out into the winter air, I feel as though a weight has lifted from my shoulders. The cold breeze no longer bites but refreshes.
I call softly for Luna, knowing my faithful friend is likely off frolicking in the woods.
As I wait, movement catches my eye. A dark figure strides toward the cottage, the morning sun glinting off silvery hair. My breath catches. Prince Draven.
I brace myself as the past collides with the present. After what we shared, things will never be the same. For either of us .
Luna suddenly darts between my legs, a blur of white fur. Before I can react, she hides behind me, peering out anxiously. I brace myself as I see Prince Draven emerging from the tree line.
He strides toward us with purpose, his pace unfaltering even as his silver eyes meet my stern gaze. I curse myself for being so distracted by the memories of this place that I failed to notice his approach through our persistent bond. I should have been more alert.
Drawing myself up, I fix the prince with a fierce look as he nears me. “You should not have come here, Prince,” I state firmly, hoping the tremor in my heart does not reach my voice.
Draven halts before me, tall and imposing in his dark tunic and riding boots, but I stand my ground. I cannot allow him to further entangle our fates against my will. He has no right to invade this private haven, no matter the pull between us.
“Yet here I am,” he replies, undeterred as always. His striking eyes trail over the ruined cottage behind me.
I tense, cursing the vulnerability of this moment. I do not wish to lay my painful past bare, especially to one who represents all I have lost .
Luna whimpers softly, and I reach a comforting hand down to rest on her back, bolstering my resolve. Draven may be my fated mate, but I will determine the course of my future, even if it means shutting him out, as much as the thought secretly pains me.
“Leave.”
“No, we need to talk.”
Draven’s persistence tries my fraying patience. “I ask again. Leave this place. We have nothing to discuss.”
His jaw sets stubbornly. “I cannot, not until you hear me out.” He takes a step closer, and I fight the urge to retreat. “Thorn, I know we are fated mates.”
I inhale sharply, stunned by his bold declaration. Fate be damned, I cannot let him sway me with his pretty words.
“Lies. I forge my own path, Prince. The fickle whims of destiny hold no power over me.”
Hurt flashes in Draven’s eyes, but he forges on. “Why don’t you want this? Am I truly so bad?”
Anger simmers in my blood. How dare he presume to know my heart or my secrets? “You understand nothing,” I bite out. “Now leave, before… ”
Luna presses against my leg, either seeking comfort or trying to calm me. I take a deep breath, regaining some composure.
Draven watches me intently. “Thorn… do you know of our bond? Did you feel it too that night we met?”
I falter. The truth presses at my lips, but I force it back down. I cannot give him that power over me.
Perhaps sensing my hesitation, he steps closer, hand raised as if to touch my face. I shy back out of reach. “Please,” he implores softly. “No more lies between us.”
The sincerity in his eyes wars with the fear in my heart. I waver, wanting to unburden myself yet terrified of the vulnerability.
Finally, I drop my gaze. “Yes,” I whisper. “I knew then of our… connection, but it changes nothing.” Lifting my eyes, I pin him with a defiant look. “I choose my own fate. I don’t want a mate.”
“How can you deny what is between us? Do you not realize how rare it is to find your fated mate?” He reaches for me, but I step back sharply.
I harden my heart against the ache in his voice. “Please, just go. We will only bring each other pain. ”
Draven shakes his head. “I don’t accept that.” He moves closer, and my pulse quickens treacherously. “We could be happy, if you gave us a chance.”
His hand catches my wrist when I try to pull away. Our skin touching ignites something deep within me, primal and undeniable. I gasp softly as our bond flares, my senses hyper-focusing on Draven with preternatural intensity—the velvet timbre of his voice, the heat of his body so near mine, his woodsy scent mingled now with mouthwatering traces of blood…
Alarm shoots through me as I realize too late it’s been days since I brewed my tea to subdue my vampiric urges. Draven’s nearness is proving too great a temptation. When hungry, even another vampire can be tempting as a meal.
I tear my wrist from his grasp, stumbling back. “Please, I need you to go,” I choke out through the haze of thirst, “before the monster in me takes over completely. Before we cross a line there is no returning from.”
Draven hesitates, confusion in his silver eyes as they search my face .
I wrap my arms around myself, willing him to leave before my fragile control shatters completely.
“Thorn, talk to me,” he implores. “What is this about?”
I shake my head helplessly. How can I explain the dark cravings rising within me, threatening to overwhelm all reason?
“Go, quickly,” I plead through gritted teeth.
Draven does not flee. Instead, he steps closer, radiating concern. “Let me help you. I can see you’re struggling. Are you ill?”
A growl escapes my throat before I can stop it, a feral warning. Draven freezes. We stare at each other, tension crackling.
“Please…” My voice breaks as I meet his gaze beseechingly. I am losing this battle.
Slowly, Draven lifts his wrist to his mouth. My eyes widen as I realize his intent. With a flash of fang, he bites down. Crimson blooms, rich and intoxicating.
He extends his arm in offering, droplets falling to stain the snow at our feet. “Take what you need,” he says gently. “A vampire’s blood can cure almost anything. I can help. ”
As my self-control crumbles, I cannot resist the primal urge that consumes me. With a desperate gasp, I grasp his wrist and bring it to my lips, eager to taste his essence. Draven’s blood floods my mouth, hot and metallic and infused with his alluring flavor. Every sip replenishes my strength, fueling the intense desire that courses through my body. I’m careful not to let my fangs descend so as not to reveal myself but lap up every drop.
At last, I tear myself away, breaths ragged. Draven cups my face in his hands, his eyes locked with mine, both a plea and a promise of everything to come. In the air, there’s a tension that seems to hum with energy, a current that crackles with the anticipation of our desires.
The snow crunches beneath our feet, a reminder of the cold that surrounds us, a backdrop of white and shadows, yet it’s the world that seems to fade away as Draven and I become the center, the focus of the universe.
His lips hover over mine, the pure definition of all that I’ve been waiting for. I can’t help but lean in, lost in the intoxicating pull, the undeniable force that has connected us from the start. The kiss begins tenderly, a whisper of a touch that speaks volumes about the depth of our connection and the intensity of our passion.
As Draven’s lips part, a soft moan escapes me, and I surrender completely to the seductive dance we have embarked on. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, coaxing them apart in a tantalizing invitation. I grant him access willingly, our tongues meeting in a fiery clash that sets my senses ablaze.
The cold winter air becomes an afterthought as our bodies press together, seeking warmth and solace in each other’s embrace. With every touch, every stroke of his skilled hands against my fevered skin, I feel the flames of desire intensify within me. The hunger that once consumed me now transforms into a fierce craving for Draven, for the ecstasy only he can provide.
He breaks away from the kiss momentarily, his stormy eyes filled with a primal hunger that mirrors my own. Without a word, he lifts me effortlessly into his arms, carrying me with a grace that defies logic. The world spins around us as he moves us into the most solid part of the ruins around us, leaving Luna behind .
The ruins, once haunting and desolate, now take on a new energy. The cracked stone walls stand as witnesses to the passion unfolding within their confines, and I shove out any thoughts of my past in this space. As Draven gently lowers me onto a fallen pillar, the feel of his hands on me ignites a fire that courses through my veins. A small voice in my mind tells me to stop, but I can’t quite remember why.
The remnants of light peek through the cracks in the ceiling, casting ethereal shadows across our bodies. Draven’s hands explore every curve and hollow, leaving a trail of electric sensation that makes my breath catch in my throat.
His lips find mine again, a hungry urgency seeping into the kiss. Our mouths fuse together in an intoxicating rhythm, fueling the fire that burns between us. The taste of him, mingled with the lingering remnants of winter air, is addicting. It’s as if time stands still, and all that exists is this moment of raw desire.
Clothes become mere obstacles in our path as we strip away the barriers between us. The coolness of the stone beneath me contrasts with the scorching heat of our bodies as Draven’s hands roam lower, teasing and tantalizing. His touch is both gentle and possessive, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. With every caress, I feel myself unraveling, surrendering to the intoxication of his touch.
His lips find my neck, warm against the chill of the snowy surroundings, and I arch my back in response, yearning for more. As he kisses me, I feel the tension in my body begin to ebb away. In this moment, all that exists is him and me, our souls intertwined in the most intimate of embraces.
His fingers work their magic, pulling my breast forward, and I offer it to him willingly, the need to satisfy his every touch overwhelming me. His lips close around my nipple, and a shot of pleasure courses through me, sending shudders of delight down my spine. His tongue darts out, teasing and tasting me in a way that leaves me breathless and craving more. I wrap my hands around his head, urging him to take more, to consume me. He complies, sucking harder, his tongue flicking and swirling, driving me wild.
My hands travel down his back, exploring the muscles that ripple beneath my touch. I grasp him, pulling him closer. He groans in response, the vibrations shooting directly to my core. I can feel his desire for me, and it only fuels the fire between us .
As I run my fingers through his hair, he pulls away, his eyes locked on mine. I can see the hunger in them, the need to possess me fully. With a lustful growl, he begins to kiss his way down my body, stopping briefly at my navel, sucking it gently before continuing his descent. I dig my heels into the cold, hard ground. His fingers graze the delicate skin of my inner thighs, making me moan. I ache for the pleasure his touch promises.
With a low moan, he captures my core in his lips, his tongue darting out to taste me. I cry out in pleasure, the sensation overwhelming me as his tongue strokes and teases, coaxing me closer to the edge. His fingers join in, exploring the sensitive folds of my sex, his touch both gentle and firm, a perfect balance that leaves me completely undone.
I claw at the pillar beneath me, my breathing ragged and unsteady. Draven’s eyes meet mine, his stormy gaze filled with hunger and passion. His lips part, and he speaks a single word that sends tremors of desire coursing through my body.
“Mine.”
Why does that completely undo me ?
As his lips find mine again, a raw hunger consuming us both, I feel a sudden surge of electricity between us. Our tongues dance in a perfect rhythm, our bodies swaying to the beat of our hearts. I can feel his desire for me, the need to possess me completely overwhelming him as much as it does me.
I reach up and grip his hand, urging him to take me. He shakes his head, his eyes locked with mine, a storm brewing in their depths.
“May I?” he growls, his voice low and commanding for a question, as if there is no room for no.
A shudder runs down my spine as I feel the tremors of his desire. I need him inside of me.
I give a silent nod, and he enters me, his member sliding smoothly into my slick, aroused entrance.
A groan escapes us both as our bodies find the perfect rhythm, our lovemaking matching the intensity of the passion in our eyes. We move together like two halves of a whole, our souls melding and becoming one as we surrender ourselves to this primal act.
The world around us fades away, replaced by the raw, unfiltered emotion of the moment. Every touch, every kiss, every moan is a testament to the fierce connection between us. Time loses all meaning as we find ourselves lost in this dance, our bodies moving in a perfect harmony that speaks to the very essence of our souls.
Draven’s hands grip my hips, guiding me as I become one with him, our movements becoming more urgent, more frenzied with each passing second. His lips find mine once more, our kisses as passionate and intense as the lovemaking that shakes the foundations of the ruins.
As we reach the crescendo, time seems to stand still. All that exists is us, our bodies entwined in the most intimate of embraces. The ruins, which were once a haunting and desolate place, now pulse with the intensity of our love.
Our bodies writhe together, a symphony of desire and passion. We become one, our bodies moving in perfect sync, as if we are the only beings left in the world.
The air around us crackles with electricity, as if the very fabric of reality cannot contain the power of our connection.
As we collapse onto the ruins, both of us spent and breathless, I can’t help but wonder if this is what a fated mate connection is supposed to feel like .
Draven’s eyes search my face, his expression one of wonder and awe. “Did you feel it?” he whispers hoarsely, a hint of vulnerability in his voice that I’ve never heard before.
“Feel what?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
He smiles softly, a secretive smile that leaves me wanting to know more. “The connection,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did you feel it?”
I think back to the intense sensations we shared, the way our souls seemed to merge and become one.
“Yes,” I admit, my voice shaking with emotion. “I think I did.”
His lips press against mine, gentle and lingering. “Good. I’m never letting you go.”
That’s when the world came crashing back down on me. Suddenly, I could feel the cold again. If he had bitten me, there would be no returning from that. I can’t do this. I need to fix this now.