Chapter 21 #4
We continued on, the forest thickening around us, light filtering down in muted shades of violet and green. After a moment, he added, “Noctyra blossom grows where the canopy thins. We’ll look for a break in the trees before the midday light reaches the ground.”
“And the fungus—is it nearby?” I asked, encouraged by the ease settling between us.
“They grow low,” he answered. “Near the roots of larger trees. It binds to the decay of the leaves.”
I nodded, taking it in, aware of the subtle shift between us—how easily the conversation had taken shape, how natural it felt to walk beside him like this.
He glanced at me then, the look brief and measuring. “Stay close. This forest may not be the Lornwild, but it isn’t forgiving to those who wander.”
I did as told, falling into step beside him, realizing that for the first time in his presence, I didn’t feel the urge to defy him, but to please him instead.
Time stretched as we walked on in silence, the forest vast enough that we encountered none of the other warriors, their sabers, or the Bondwards. The undergrowth swallowed all sound, leaving only the steady rhythm of our steps and the hush of leaves overhead.
Kharos trailed behind us, clearly pleased with the space, stretching his legs as he went. At times he surged ahead in short bursts before circling back, and at others he dropped heavily into piles of broad leaves, rolling with careless satisfaction and scattering violet and brown in his wake.
The sight drew a smile from me, some of the tension of the past days easing from my shoulders. I really was fond of him. I didn’t care that he was part of Thanor—if anything, he had to be the better part.
I gasped and caught Thanor’s arm, stopping him as I broke away toward the murmur of running water. A narrow stream cut through the forest ahead, spilling down slopes of stone, its surface sparkling beneath the canopy overhead.
Near the bank, several fallen tree trunks lay half-submerged, their bark completely overtaken by silverbind fungus. Thick clusters clung to the wood, pale and luminous, more than enough to make my cures and elixirs during the rite. Relief hit me first, then excitement.
I rushed past Kharos, his head snapping up as he watched me, and dropped to my knees in the mud without a second thought.
I shrugged my satchel from my shoulder, dug out the bags I’d brought, and began tearing free handfuls of the fungus, greedy and unrestrained as I stuffed them away.
I bent low over the trunks, mud soaking into my knees, leaves and roots pressing into my skin as I worked quickly, my breath coming a little faster than it should have.
It was only when I glanced back over my shoulder that I realized Thanor had stopped moving.
He was staring at me—at the way I’d bent forward, my hips lifted higher than I’d realized.
Warmth flooded my face and I straightened abruptly, brushing at my knees with clumsy hands, smearing mud rather than removing it.
“Alright,” I said quickly, clearing my throat.
“I’m done here. I only need noctyra blossoms now. ”
I passed him, schooling my expression, tamping down the enthusiasm that had overtaken me moments before. As I did, I caught the edge of his smirk as he fell in beside me, clearly enjoying far more than my success with the fungus.
We carried on in silence, the leaves crunching beneath my boots as I kept glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He stared into the distance, but when I lingered too long, he turned, and I looked ahead quickly, caught.
The quiet stretched, awkward but no longer entirely impenetrable.
Maybe he’d tell me about his bond. I could barely hold my tongue as too many questions rose to the surface.
I desperately wanted to understand how he’d never lost a battle and the true extent of his magic.
The memory of his earlier willingness to answer my questions emboldened me enough to push past my hesitation.
“So… what’s it like to be bonded to Kharos?”
He didn’t look at me as he answered, his attention fixed ahead, “Useful.”
That was it. No elaboration. No effort to meet me halfway. I waited a beat, then another, but he clearly had no intention of saying more. Irritation prickled beneath my skin. I looked away, my jaw tightening. If this was how he intended to converse, then I already regretted trying.
And yet the feeling didn’t fade. It hardened instead, stubborn and insistent. I wanted to know more about him, to find the places he guarded, the weaknesses he kept hidden—because he seemed far too willing to exploit mine at every turn.
“You’re faster and stronger than the other warriors. How is that possible? Is there something different about Kharos?”
He answered with nothing more than a grunt. I glanced at him, then tried again, a private smile tugging at my mouth when I sensed his irritation beginning to surface. “You can see in the dark… I’ve seen your wounds heal within minutes… what else can you do?”
The question hung between us, my tone casual even as I watched for his reaction.
“Do you have any siblings?” I tried again, the questions coming more easily now, a lightness settling in my stomach as I caught the shift in him. For once, it wasn’t me losing my footing, it was his composure slipping.
“Stop this,” he answered gruffly.
I frowned, slowing my steps. “Why? I’m only asking you to tell me something about yourself. What harm could that possibly do? Jorius told me warriors tell their Bondwards about their magic. You haven’t told me anything.”
“What harm?” he echoed, scoffing. “You don’t strike me as the type to keep things to yourself.
” He cast me a cold look. “And don’t speak to me about Jorius—you call him a friend.
” He shook his head. “His tongue wags faster than the whores of Caelora, spilling nonsense wherever he goes. So no, I won’t be sharing anything with you. ”
The words landed hard, a clear line drawn between us.
“So you won’t speak with me,” I shot back as I crossed my arms and stalked ahead of him, “but you’ll fuck me in the street, or press me against a wall without a second thought?” I glanced over my shoulder, eyes flashing. “That’s where you draw the line? Talking?”
He stopped short, his voice carrying through the forest air. “You confuse lust with intimacy.”
I spun back on him, anger flaring hot and fast. “No—you mistake silence for consent. You take what you want, when it suits you, and then act offended when I ask for more than your hands on me.”
His jaw tightened. “Watch your mouth.”
“Why?” I said. “Because talking makes things real?” I scoffed. “Because it means I might see you as more than the mighty Ringbreaker of Caelora?”
The tension snapped sharp enough to make the air feel brittle.
Kharos let out a low, irritated growl that vibrated through the ground.
He circled once, tail lashing, clearly fed up with the discord, before stalking off into the undergrowth, his massive frame disappearing between the trees, leaving us alone beneath the canopy.
Thanor watched him for a heartbeat before returning to me. “You push where you shouldn’t.”
“You tell me I try to keep distance between us, but you’re the one hiding,” I said, fury still buzzing beneath my skin. “Don’t pretend you aren’t.”
The forest closed in around us, suddenly too quiet, the argument hanging unresolved between us. His control strained, tension pulling tight as his hands curled into fists at his sides, but I refused to back down. I had nothing left to lose. By nightfall, I would be gone.
“You dare challenge me again,” he snapped, stepping closer, his height and presence bearing down on me. “Have you learned nothing?”
“I don’t care,” I countered. “You act like you want me. You tell me to give in.” I shook my head, my temper rising fast and unfiltered. “But you offer nothing in return. I won’t give myself to you if all you see is something you own. I refuse.”
His eyes darkened as he stepped closer still, forcing me to lift my chin.
“There isn’t anything about me that I want to share with you.”
My expression faltered, a lump forming in my throat.
“Don’t mistake my honesty for cruelty,” he said.
“I don’t pretend you’re anything other than what you are to me.
I don’t offer softness. I don’t trade pieces of myself for comfort or reassurance.
What I offer you is protection, power, and certainty.
” He looked me over with an unsettling sense of ownership. “You would be mine.”
My fists tightened at my sides. That wasn’t enough. That would never be enough.
“You don’t want to be claimed,” he went on, “because you still believe possession means loss.” He leaned in. “You’re wrong. It means survival. It means no one else dares touch what belongs to me.”
His mouth curved. “You refuse because you’re afraid—not because you don’t want it.” He straightened again, control snapping back into place as if it had never wavered. “Run if you must. But don’t insult me by pretending this is anything but an exchange of something we both want.”
Something hot and violent flared in my chest, burning past fear, past restraint, past every careful line I’d drawn for myself. He thought he had me measured. Thought he understood the shape of my defiance, the limits of it.
“You’re wrong,” I said. “You think I desire you because I want your protection? Have you led such a sad life that that’s all you believe you have to offer a woman? Have you never known kindness, or been desired for who you are?”
“Careful.” His expression turned frigid as his entire body went still.
I straightened, my anger cooling into something deliberate. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Prove it,” he said. “Stop resisting what you want. I’ve seen it—in flashes.” His eyes dragged over me, unhurried. “Or do you need wine to find your courage?”