Chapter 11 Heidi
HEIDI
The bond is starting to drain me. More than I can hide.
The sickness starts small—a flutter in my stomach when I wake, a dizzy spell as I'm getting dressed.
Easy enough to ignore, to attribute to the rich food I'm still not used to eating regularly.
But by the time we leave Irida with her afternoon lessons and head to Vestige, the nausea has settled into my bones like a persistent ache.
I press my lips together as we walk through the club's entrance, willing my body to behave.
The familiar heat and noise of Vestige wash over us, but instead of the usual rush of energy, everything feels too bright, too loud.
The scent of smoke and spice that usually sharpens my focus now turns my stomach.
Mihalis guides me through the crowd with a possessive hand at the small of my back, and even through our clothes, his touch sends warmth racing up my spine.
The bond purrs with satisfaction at his proximity, but underneath that magical contentment is something wrong—a deep exhaustion that sleep doesn't fix.
"You're quiet tonight," he murmurs, leaning close so his voice reaches me over the music. His breath against my ear makes me shiver, and I hate how my body responds to him even when I feel like death.
"Just watching," I lie, gesturing toward the crowd. "Still learning how this all works."
It's partially true. Even after more than a week of coming here with him, Vestige still fascinates me.
The careful choreography of power plays, the way Mihalis moves through the space like a predator surveying his territory.
Tonight I watch him work—settling a dispute between two xaphan nobles, reviewing reports from his security team, checking on the private rooms where darker pleasures unfold behind closed doors.
He's magnificent here, commanding in ways that make something low in my belly clench with want despite feeling like hell.
The club amplifies everything dangerous about him—the way his eyes glow when someone tests his patience, how his voice drops to a lethal purr when giving orders.
He wears authority like other men wear clothes, natural and absolute.
But he also watches me constantly, those molten gold eyes tracking my movement even when he's across the room handling business. When I sway slightly during a particularly heated exchange between rival gang members, he's at my side before I can blink.
"Sit," he orders, guiding me to one of the high-backed chairs in his private section.
"I'm fine—"
"You're pale." His fingers brush my cheek, and I lean into the touch before I can stop myself. "When did you last eat?"
"This morning." The lie comes easily, but his expression tells me he's not buying it. Truth is, food has been turning my stomach for days. I've been picking at meals, pushing things around my plate while pretending to eat.
He signals one of the servers, and within minutes a plate of simple food appears—bread, cheese, some kind of roasted meat that actually smells appealing. My stomach rumbles despite itself.
"Eat," he commands, and there's no arguing with that tone.
I manage a few bites before the nausea returns with a vengeance. Mihalis is called away to handle some crisis in the VIP section, but not before ordering two of his guards to keep an eye on me. I spend the rest of the evening fighting waves of dizziness, trying to look like I'm not falling apart.
By the time we return home, exhaustion has settled so deeply into my bones that climbing the stairs feels like a monumental task.
But Irida is waiting for us, bouncing with excitement about her day, and I force myself to focus on her animated retelling of a story about magical birds that talk backwards.
"Can we read together before bed?" she asks, tugging on my hand with both of hers. "I want to show you the book about the fire princess!"
"Of course," I manage, even though the thought of sitting still and focusing on words makes my head spin.
Mihalis catches my elbow as we head upstairs, steadying me when I sway slightly. His touch burns through my sleeve, and the bond thrums with approval even as my body rebels.
"You need rest," he says quietly.
"After story time."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue. We've developed these small rituals over the past week—reading to Irida together, talking about her day, the comfortable domesticity of putting a child to bed.
It should feel foreign, this family routine I've never been part of, but instead it feels.
.. right. Like something I've been missing without knowing it.
Irida curls between us on her enormous bed, the fire princess book open across our laps.
But the words blur together on the page, and I find myself leaning more heavily against Mihalis's solid warmth.
His arm comes around me automatically, and I let myself sink into his strength even as my mind screams warnings about dependence, about letting my guard down.
"The princess used her fire magic to melt the ice dragon's heart," Irida reads, her small finger tracing the words. "And they became best friends forever and ever."
"Forever is a long time," I murmur without thinking.
"But that's what makes it special," she says with the absolute certainty only children possess. "Forever means you never have to worry about someone leaving."
I've never had forever with anyone. Never even wanted it, because forever means vulnerability, means giving someone the power to destroy you.
But sitting here with Mihalis's arm around me and his daughter's warm weight against my side, I can almost imagine what that kind of security might feel like.
Almost.
"Time for sleep, little spark," Mihalis says when the story ends. His voice carries that special gentleness he reserves only for her, and watching him with Irida does something dangerous to my chest every single time.
She hugs us both goodnight, fierce little arms squeezing tight. "I love you, Dad. I love you, Heidi."
The words stop my heart. She says them so easily, with such trust, like love is something simple and uncomplicated. I manage to whisper them back, though my throat feels raw.
We tuck her in together, a choreographed dance we've somehow perfected over the past week.
Mihalis adjusts her blankets while I arrange her favorite stuffed creatures within arm's reach.
He checks the warming stones that keep her room comfortable while I make sure her water glass is full.
Small tasks that feel enormous in their domesticity.
When we finally step into the hallway and close her door, the silence between us feels charged with everything we're not saying. The bond pulses with awareness, with the need to be closer, to touch, to acknowledge what's building between us.
But I also feel like I'm going to collapse, and I can't hide it anymore.
"Heidi." His voice is rough as we walk toward my room. "We need to talk."
"About what?" I try for casual, but even I can hear how weak my voice sounds.
He stops walking, forcing me to face him in the dimly lit hallway. The ember-glow of his skin seems brighter in the shadows, and his eyes burn with concern and something darker.
"About the fact that you can barely stand upright. About how you're not eating. About the bond that's clearly affecting you more than you want to admit."
"I'm fine." The words come out automatically, a defense mechanism carved deep by years of surviving alone.
"You're not." His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "And lying about it won't make it go away."
The gentleness in his voice, the way he touches me like I'm something precious instead of broken—it unravels something in my chest that I've spent years keeping tightly controlled. I want to lean into his strength, want to let him carry some of this weight that feels like it's crushing me.
But I don't know how. I've never trusted anyone enough to show weakness, never had someone who wanted to take care of me without expecting something in return.
"The bond isn't temporary," he continues, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "The Nashai warned us, but I don't think you really heard her. This isn't something that's going to fade or resolve itself. It's permanent, Heidi. We're connected now, whether we chose it or not."
Panic flares in my chest, sharp and immediate. Permanent. Trapped. Owned. The words echo in my head like a death sentence, dragging up every nightmare from my past. Madam Cordelia's voice whispering that I belonged to her, that I could never leave, that I was nothing without someone to control me.
"No." I step back, my hands shaking as I press them against the wall. "No, that's not... there has to be another way. Some way to break it."
"There isn't." His voice is gentle but implacable. "And even if there was, I'm not sure I'd want to anymore."
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest and terrifying. Because I can see the truth in his eyes—he wants this. Wants me. Not just because of the magic binding us together, but because of something real and dangerous and completely outside my understanding.
"I can't." The words tear from my throat. "I can't be tied to someone. I can't belong to anyone. I won't."
"It's not about belonging—"
"Isn't it?" I'm backing away from him now, every instinct screaming at me to run. "You want me to stay here, in your house, with your daughter. You want me to accept this bond that I never asked for, give up my freedom, my choices—"
"I want you to stop pretending this is only about magic." His voice carries an edge now, frustration bleeding through his careful control. "I want you to admit that what's happening between us is real, bond or no bond."
He's right, and that's what terrifies me most. Because somewhere between watching him braid Irida's hair and seeing the way he moves through Vestige like a dark angel, I've started caring about him.
Started wanting him for reasons that have nothing to do with fate or magic or the invisible threads binding our souls together.
I want him when he's gentle with his daughter, when he's ruthless with his enemies, when he looks at me like I'm something worth protecting instead of something to be used.
I want his hands on me, want to know what that controlled strength would feel like unleashed.
Want to trust him with the broken pieces of myself I've never shown anyone.
And that wanting feels like a trap I'll never escape.
"I need air," I whisper, pressing my hands to my churning stomach. The hallway is spinning, and his scent—smoke and spice and something uniquely male—is making the nausea worse.
"Heidi—"
"Please. Just... give me space."
For a moment I think he's going to argue, going to use that commanding voice that makes everyone in his club obey without question. But instead he steps back, giving me room to breathe even though I can see the effort it costs him.
"I'll be here," he says quietly. "When you're ready to stop running from this, I'll be here."
I make it to my room before my legs give out, collapsing onto the bed as waves of dizziness crash over me. The bond writhes in my chest like a living thing, angry at the distance I've put between us. But the physical symptoms are getting worse, and I can't hide it much longer.
My hands shake as I press them to my face, trying to hold myself together.
Because the truth is, I want to go back into that hallway.
Want to let him wrap those strong arms around me and promise that everything will be okay.
Want to believe that someone like him could want someone like me for reasons that don't involve control or ownership or using me up until there's nothing left.
But I don't know how to trust that. Don't know how to be part of something without losing myself completely. And as the bond pulses with pain and longing and the desperate need to return to his side, I realize I might not have a choice.
Because whatever this is between us—bond or fate or something even more dangerous—it's not going away. And neither is the growing certainty that ignoring it might kill us both.