Chapter 11 #3
I glance at him again. There’s a lot I know about Varek now. A lot I didn’t before. But there’s still gaps—big ones—which bothers me more than it used to.
“What were you, back home?” I ask.
He looks at me. Not surprised, exactly, but something in his expression shifts—subtle, but there. Interest. A quiet kind of approval, like I’ve finally asked a question he’s been waiting for.
“I was of the war-caste,” he says.
“Yeah, I gathered that much.” I bob my head since that absolutely tracks. “You’ve got the whole ‘terrifying in a fight’ thing down.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face, brief but real. “But that was not my primary function.”
That gets my full attention. “No?”
He shakes his head slightly. “I was trained in strategy. In diplomacy. In long-term conflict resolution.”
I nod slowly. That also tracks. Honestly, it explains a lot more than the whole giant, lethal warrior thing ever did. “Right,” I say. “Makes sense. You’ve got the whole ‘outthink everyone in the room’ vibe going on.”
His gaze holds mine for a second, then shifts—just slightly. “There was another role,” he adds.
I narrow my eyes a fraction. “That sounds like the interesting one.”
There’s the faintest pause, like he’s considering how to phrase it in a way I’ll understand. “I was assigned to early-bond development.”
I blink. “…I’m sorry, what?”
He doesn’t react to my tone.
“Newly formed pairs,” he clarifies. “Younglings in our world who bonded early often formed unstable bonds. There were those who had not yet learned control, communication, or regulation of instinct.”
I stare at him.
“Hang on,” I say, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me that before all this”—I gesture vaguely at him, at everything he is now—“you were basically… what? Running around teaching couples how to not kill each other, and how to, what… be romantic…?”
A tendril of a smile moves through his expression. It’s warm and surprisingly gentle. It also makes my heart stumble. “In simplified terms,” he says, “yes.”
I let out a disbelieving breath, dragging a hand over my face. “That is—” I shake my head. “That is not what I was expecting.”
“Most did not,” he replies calmly.
I look at him again, properly this time, something in my chest shifting as the pieces start to line up.
He reads people. Listens and never pushes past a boundary I set, no matter how much it costs him.
And the way he’s handled… us.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter. “You’ve been dealing with bond-related chaos your whole life.”
“Yes,” he states plainly
“And now you’ve got me.”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes at him, studying the steady certainty in his expression. “You don’t even sound tired about that.”
“I am not,” he replies, his voice grounded and unwavering.
The tone he uses settles low in my chest, heavy and undeniable. There’s no strain in him, no reluctance, no sense of burden. He stands there like this—like I am a fact he has already accepted, already chosen.
I take him in properly, dragging my gaze over the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his frame, the quiet control in how he holds himself. Respect takes hold in a way I don’t question or resist.
“You’re wasted as just a warlord,” I say, my tone quieter now but no less certain.
His brow lifts slightly. “Just?”
“You know what I mean.” My eyes flicking back to his. “You’re more than that. You always have been.”
He holds my gaze, and the air between us thickens with awareness. His attention does not waver. It stays fixed and deliberate, as though he is weighing every word I’ve said and finding it worth keeping.
“I am what I am required to be,” he answers.
“Yeah,” I reply, softer now, my voice carrying less edge and more truth. “But I’m beginning to see all of you.”
He goes still.
It doesn’t halt us completely, but I feel the shift through the bond before I fully register it. The steady hum between us deepens, warms, expands—like something in him has been struck clean through.
I glance at him, and the look on his face almost unravels me.
His expression is completely… open with quiet intensity, but it’s different from the kind I’m used to.
This one doesn’t press. It doesn’t weigh.
It sinks in, deep and sure, like I’ve just handed him something he didn’t realise he’d been waiting for.
“You see more than most,” he says, his voice lower now, roughened in a way that pulls at my attention immediately.
His hand finds mine then—not a brush this time, not accidental. His fingers close around mine with quiet certainty, his grip firm but careful, like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding me.
The contact sends a slow, steady heat up my arm, settling low and deep instead of immediate and fleeting.
“I have always been… divided,” he continues, his gaze still on me. “What I was required to be. What I chose to be.”
His thumb shifts slightly against my hand, a small movement that feels far bigger than it should.
“You look at both,” he says. “And do not turn away.”
I swallow, my pulse kicking just a little faster because that level of honesty from him does things to me. “Yeah,” I mutter, my voice rougher now. “Turns out I’m no longer great at looking away.”
A faint, real smile touches his mouth this time. And I feel that through the bond, too, a quiet thread of satisfaction and pleasure that settles into my chest and stays there.
We fall into step again, but the space between us has shifted. It feels closer, charged with awareness that hums steadily beneath my skin. The bond is there, too, no longer something I resist, but a quiet current that threads through me and anchors me in place.
His hand doesn’t leave mine.
I glance at him again and find he’s already watching me.
His gaze travels over me with clear intent—unhidden and unrestrained. It lingers in a way that makes my pulse pick up, my body reacting before my thoughts can catch up.
“You are distracted,” he says.
I let out a short breath. “You’re the one staring.”
“Yes.”
There is no embarrassment in him, no attempt to soften the admission. He owns it completely, which sends a bolt of lust right to my gut. My cock stirs in interest.
I shake my head, but I can feel the pull of a grin at the corner of my mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I am attentive,” he replies.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” I am absolutely teasing, the sensation as terrifying as it is fun.
He lowers his gaze again, slower this time, deliberate enough that I feel it as much as see it. The weight of that look presses into my body, and my gut flips.
“You would prefer I was not?” he asks.
The question comes out quiet, but it carries weight.
I stop walking. The answer rises immediately, clear and unfiltered. “No,” I say, my voice rougher than before. “Didn’t say that.”
His eyes meet mine again, and satisfaction moves through him. It’s steady and unmistakable. I feel it through the bond, a low pulse that spreads through my chest and rests there.
We move again, closer together now. The distance between us doesn’t return. It stays deliberately reduced like we’ve both agreed without speaking.
“You should rest,” he says, though the tone of his voice doesn’t match the words.
I glance at him, my attention zeroing in. “That what you want?”
His gaze holds mine. When he speaks again, his voice drops, roughened by intent. “No.”
The word hits deep, cutting through the air between us. Heat surges through me in response, my cock shifting from awareness to full-on ready for action. My body reacts without hesitation, every nerve suddenly aware of him, of the proximity, of how he’s looking at me.
“Then what do you want?” I ask, my voice lower now, drawn out of me without resistance.
He steps closer. The heat of him presses into my space. I can feel the strength in him, the control, the restrained intensity that has been building without release. His voice deepens further, meant only for me. “I want you,” he says. “In our quarters. Where I can have you without interruption.”
My pulse stutters, then kicks hard. There’s no hesitation in me. I nod once, the movement certain. His hand squeezes mine, and he turns, guiding me.
I follow without question.
The pull of the bond strengthens with every step, threading through my body and sharpening everything I feel. My awareness narrows, focused entirely on him, on the direction he’s leading me, on the anticipation building with every second.
A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it.
It feels unfamiliar, wide and unguarded, stretching muscles I haven’t used like this in years. The feeling behind it is even stranger—light, steady, and real in a way that doesn’t come with a catch.
I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head as we move. “Yeah,” I mutter, the words carrying a trace of disbelief. “Didn’t see this coming.”
But I don’t pull back. I don’t question it. Because I know exactly where this is going, and I want it with every cell that makes me his.