Chapter 10 Mihalis
MIHALIS
Ilead Heidi deeper into the maze, away from the main pathways where Irida might easily find us. My hand encloses hers through our gloves, and even that simple contact sends warmth racing up my arm. The bond purrs with satisfaction at our proximity, the constant ache in my chest finally easing.
But it's not just the bond anymore. That realization has been growing stronger each day, impossible to ignore as I watch her laugh with my daughter or catch her reading in the library with afternoon sunlight turning her hair to burnished gold.
She fits into our lives with an ease that should terrify me—and does, in the quiet moments when I allow myself to think too clearly.
"This way," I murmur, pulling her toward a narrow passage between towering hedges. The path is barely wide enough for two people, forcing us close together as we navigate the tight space.
Her scent—the jasmine I'd teased her about—mingles with the crisp winter air and something uniquely her underneath. I've memorized that scent over the past ten days, caught myself seeking it out when she's not in the room. Another dangerous development I'm not ready to examine.
"How do you know this maze so well?" she asks, slightly breathless from our pace. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, making her gray-blue eyes seem even more vivid.
"I built it." The admission slips out before I can consider whether I want to share it. "When Irida was born, I needed... space. Somewhere to think. The maze grew from there."
She glances at me with surprise, and I realize how much I've revealed with those few words.
The months after Irida's birth had been the darkest of my life—grief over losing my mate warring with fierce protective love for my daughter.
I'd carved this maze from hedge and stone like a prayer, creating winding paths where I could walk out my pain without disturbing the household.
"It must have taken years," she says quietly.
"Three." I guide us around another corner, toward the center of the maze where I know the perfect hiding spot waits. "The ice sculptures were Irida's idea when she got old enough to explore with me."
"She has good ideas."
The warmth in her voice when she talks about my daughter does something dangerous to my chest. Over the past week, I've watched Heidi with Irida—seen the gentleness she tries to hide, the way she automatically adjusts her posture to Irida's height when they talk.
She treats my daughter like she matters, not because she has to but because she wants to.
It's been a long time since anyone besides the household staff showed Irida genuine affection. Too long since I've seen my daughter light up the way she does when Heidi walks into a room.
We reach the heart of the maze, where a small circular clearing opens around the most elaborate ice sculpture yet—a frozen fountain depicting dancing figures caught mid-spin.
The sculptor has carved such intricate detail that individual fingers and facial expressions are visible in the crystalline ice.
But more importantly for our current purpose, there's a small shelter built into the hedge wall—originally designed as a meditation space but perfect for hiding two adults.
"In here," I say, drawing back the curtain of winter-bare vines that conceals the entrance.
The space inside is intimate—a curved bench built into the living hedge, barely large enough for two people. When we settle onto it, our thighs press together despite my attempt to maintain distance. Through the vine curtain, we can see the clearing but remain hidden from casual observation.
Heidi's breathing sounds loud in the enclosed space.
Or maybe that's my own heartbeat thundering in my ears as her warmth seeps through our winter clothes.
The bond sings with contentment, but underneath that magical compulsion is something entirely human—want, sharp and hungry and growing stronger every day.
"Your daughter's going to find us easily if she comes this way," Heidi whispers.
"She won't. This is my sanctuary—she knows not to look here unless I invite her." Being this close to Heidi is affecting my control in ways that have nothing to do with magic.
"Your sanctuary?" She turns to look at me, and the movement brings her face closer to mine. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, the way her breath mists slightly in the cold air.
"Where I come when I need to think." I shouldn't be telling her this. Shouldn't be revealing the places I go when the weight of responsibility becomes too much. But something about her presence unravels my usual caution.
"About what?"
"Irida. The future. Whether I'm raising her right." The admission tastes vulnerable on my tongue. "Whether she'll be safe in this world I've created for us."
Heidi's expression softens with understanding. "She's perfect, Mihalis. Happy and confident and so full of love it hurts to watch sometimes. You're doing everything right."
The words hit deeper than they should. I've spent six years second-guessing every decision, wondering if my love is enough to compensate for the mother she'll never know, for the isolated life I've chosen to keep her safe.
"You see her clearly," I say instead of voicing those fears. "Most people either dismiss her as just a child or treat her like a curiosity because of what she is."
"She's brilliant." Heidi's voice carries fierce conviction. "And brave and funny and so determined to take care of everyone around her. She gets that from you."
Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest at her words. Not just because she sees my daughter's worth, but because she sees mine reflected in Irida. Because when she looks at me, she doesn't see a threat or a weapon or someone to be managed—she sees a father who loves his child.
"She's becoming attached to you," I warn, though the words lack any real heat.
"I know." Heidi's voice is barely a whisper. "I'm trying not to let it happen, but she's..."
"Impossible to resist once she decides she likes you," I finish. "Trust me, I understand the feeling."
The double meaning hangs between us, charged with implications neither of us is ready to address directly. But her intake of breath tells me she heard it, felt the same jolt of recognition that's been building between us for days.
We sit in silence for several heartbeats, the only sounds our breathing and the distant echo of Irida's voice calling our names. But she's searching in the wrong section of the maze, her calls growing fainter as she moves away from the center.
"The bond is getting stronger," I say finally, because one of us needs to acknowledge what's happening. The magic drain is becoming noticeable—a constant low-level exhaustion that sharpens whenever we're apart.
"I'm fine," she says quickly. Too quickly.
"You're lying." I turn to study her profile, noting the shadows under her eyes that weren't there a week ago, the way her hands sometimes tremble when she thinks no one is watching. "It's affecting you too."
"Nothing I can't handle."
Her stubborn independence would be admirable if it weren't so clearly a defense mechanism. I've watched her these past days, seen how she deflects concern and insists on managing everything alone. It's a survival instinct carved deep by years of having no one to depend on.
"You don't have to handle it alone," I say quietly. "That's not how this works anymore."
She looks at me then, really looks, and I see something vulnerable flicker across her expression before she can hide it. "I don't know how to do this, Mihalis. I don't know how to be part of something without losing myself in it."
The honesty in her voice makes my chest tight. "Neither do I."
It's true. For six years, my world has revolved entirely around Irida and the careful balance I've built to keep her safe. I haven't let anyone else close enough to matter, haven't wanted to. The thought of caring about someone who could leave—or be taken—has been unbearable.
But watching Heidi with my daughter, seeing the way she automatically includes me in conversations, how she's started moving through my house like she belongs there.
.. I'm already too deep to retreat. The bond may have brought her here, but what's keeping her is something far more dangerous than magic.
"She's going to be devastated when I leave," Heidi says, voicing the fear that's been growing in my own chest.
"When?" I bark out the word.
"When the bond is satisfied. When whatever this is resolves itself and I can go back to my life." But her voice lacks conviction, like she's trying to convince herself as much as me.
I don't tell her that's not how the bonds work. That is will never go away, even if that's what she keeps telling herself.
I don't admit that I don't want it to, either.
"And if it doesn't resolve itself? If this is permanent?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. Because the truth is becoming impossible to ignore—this bond isn't temporary. The Nashai had warned us as much, but I'd hoped for some loophole, some way to satisfy the magic without upending both our lives completely.
Now, sitting here with Heidi's warmth pressed against my side and her scent filling my lungs, I'm not sure I want a loophole anymore.
"I don't know," she admits. "I've never had anything permanent before. Never stayed anywhere long enough to find out what that feels like."
"Maybe it's time you did." The words slip out before I can stop them, rough with something that feels dangerously close to hope.
She turns to look at me, and the space between us seems to shrink without either of us moving. Her lips part slightly, and I find myself cataloguing details—the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the small scar under her lower lip, how her breath catches when our eyes meet.
"Mihalis," she whispers, and my name sounds different in her voice. Softer. Like maybe she's not entirely opposed to the idea of staying.
The sound of approaching footsteps breaks the spell between us, small boots crunching through snow with determined purpose. Irida has found our section of the maze, her voice growing clearer as she searches the final passages.
"Dad? Heidi? I know you're close! I can feel it!"
Heidi and I exchange a look—part amusement, part relief at the interruption. Whatever was building between us in this hidden sanctuary is too intense, too charged with possibility to explore with my six-year-old daughter calling our names.
But as we prepare to reveal ourselves, as I push aside the vine curtain and step back into the winter sunlight, I catch Heidi's wrist gently in my hand.
"We're not finished with this conversation," I tell her quietly.
Her pulse jumps under my fingers, quick and fluttery like a trapped bird. But she doesn't pull away, doesn't deny the connection crackling between us.
"I know," she breathes.