Chapter 4 Rowan
Four
Rowan
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, tension radiating through my body as I try to rein in the panic coursing through me. “I know someone who can help us figure out…” I trail off. I’m at a complete and utter loss for words.
What have we just done?
God, I feel like a fucking idiot right now. I was so sure of what I was doing and now I’ve…I’ve bound my student to me. It’s unacceptable. This is the biggest fuck up of all fuck ups.
“Who?” asks Norah, and when I look at her, my heart leaps into my throat. Now, this is nothing new. I’ve had…I don’t know. A crush? An infatuation? Feelings? Some combination of all of the above? Whatever it is, it’s been there since Norah joined the archaeology program at Cambridge in the fall.
But the sight of her in this moment seems to undo me even more. Her cheeks are flushed the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen, and the breeze has loosened a few stray wispy tendrils of golden hair from her long braid.
“Maeve, the woman you met yesterday. There’s more to her than just local history,” I say, and Norah nods, biting her lower lip. I stare at where her teeth dig into the soft, supple looking flesh, hunger prowling through my veins.
“Okay, yeah, let’s uh…go talk to Maeve,” she says, and I can see how desperately she’s trying to act normal. She looks up at me, those sweet brown eyes crashing into mine, and it’s like time stops for a moment.
She’s so achingly beautiful. So sweet and warm and…
And my student. Probably twenty years younger than me.
No, I tell myself, not for the first time when it comes to Norah.
The forest hums around us as we walk, branches swaying like lazy sentinels in the morning breeze.
My boots sink into damp earth, each step deliberate, measured—anything to keep my mind off the ink curling across my wrist. It pulses with a tingling heat, making me acutely aware of it and what it represents.
Norah walks beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushes my arm when the path narrows.
The contact sends a jolt through me, sharp and electric.
I clench my jaw. Mine. The word slams into my skull, unbidden, possessive.
My traitorous cock twitches, and I force my gaze forward, willing the reaction away.
She doesn’t speak. Neither do I, and the silence stretches between us.
Her fingers twitch at her sides, and I wonder if she’s fighting the urge to reach for me.
I wonder, because I’m fighting the same damn thing.
It’s as though the bond has made me even more attuned to her than I usually am.
It’s taken something that was already there and turned the dial up to eleven.
A twig snaps under my boot. Norah flinches, then lets out a breathy laugh, her nerves palpable. “This is… a lot.”
I exhale slowly. “It is.”
The mark on my wrist seems to grow warmer. I flex my fingers, as if that’ll shake the sensation loose. It doesn’t. Instead, the heat spreads, creeping up my forearm, settling low in my gut. Lower.
Norah glances at me, then quickly away. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted. She’s breathing faster than she should be.
I swallow hard as the urge to kiss her pushes at me from the inside, making my chest tight to the point of aching.
The trees thin ahead, the path widening toward Maeve’s cottage. I focus on that—on the promise of answers, of control. Not on the way Norah’s hips sway when she walks. Not on the way her scent, something sweet and wild like honeysuckle, wraps around me with every gust of wind.
The mark pulses again.
I grit my teeth.
I will fix this. I will. I have to.
Maeve’s cottage looms in front of us, smoke curling from the chimney like a lazy finger beckoning. The thatched roof sags in places, the stone walls moss-streaked and ancient. I knock twice, a sharp rap of my knuckles against the wood.
The door opens, and Maeve leans against the frame, arms crossed, her sharp eyes flicking between us. A small, curious smile curls her thin mouth. “Oh, dear. Look at the state of you two. What have you done?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I exhale roughly. “I made a mistake. We activated something… at the site.”
Maeve’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Something?”
Norah steps forward, her voice steady despite…well, everything. “I think it was a Vaelthir bonding altar.”
The air seems to go very still. God, it sounds even worse said out loud.
Maeve’s eyes widen, just for a second, before she pushes off the door frame with a sharp laugh. “Well. Come in, come in, and wipe your feet.” She steps aside, gesturing us in with a sweep of her arm. The cottage smells of dried herbs and old paper, the fire in the hearth crackling warmly.
I duck under the lintel, Norah close behind. Maeve turns to face us, her expression unreadable. “Sit. Both of you.” She points to a pair of mismatched chairs by the fire. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I heft the book still in my hand. “It might be easier to just show you,” I say and flip to the page with the ritual we just did, the leather spine creaking softly.
The ink is faded, the script cramped and archaic, but the illustration is unmistakable—a pair of hands clasped together in front of an altar identical to the one I found, light spiraling between them.
I push the book across the table toward Maeve, my wrist tingling.
She doesn’t touch it at first. Just leans in, her sharp eyes scanning the lines.
The fire pops in the hearth, the only sound in the cottage besides the ragged edge of my breathing.
I sink down into the chair beside Norah, and she shifts, her knee brushing mine.
I don’t pull away, even though I should.
Maeve’s fingers hover over the page. Then, slowly, she drags one nail along the text, tracing the words. Her eyebrows lift. “You said these words? Held hands on the altar?”
Norah and I nod in unison.
“And did markings appear when you’d finished the ritual?”
Norah and I both wordlessly show her our wrists with the matching swirling ink.
Maeve huffs out a breath, then closes the book firmly. She sits down in a chair facing us, folding her arms. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order, because you’re officially magically bound to each other for all eternity.”
I feel like I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me. My pulse roars in my ears.
Bound. Eternity.
The mark on my wrist throbs, hotter than before.
Norah leans forward, her voice quiet. “You mean bound as in… connected?”
Maeve’s laugh is dry, humorless. “No, my dear. I mean married. By every law both magical and mundane in this land.”
The room tilts. Married. To Norah. My student. I accidentally married my student.
Fuck. Me.
“How do we undo it?” The words tear out of me, rough and desperate. I glance at Norah, assuming she’ll be nodding. But no. Her mouth hangs open, her chest rising too fast, too shallow. And for a split second, beneath the shock, I swear I see something else. Something like hurt.
Surely not. Surely she couldn’t want this.
Maeve sighs, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea.”
I scrub a hand over my face, guilt and helplessness sitting like a weight on my chest. Norah’s still staring at me, her eyes wide, her breath coming quick. The firelight highlights the gold in her hair, the flush in her cheeks.
Married.
The word echoes in my skull. It’s impossible. Unacceptable.
Maeve levels an assessing look at each of us, pursing her lips.
“Here’s what I do know. If we’re to have any hope of undoing this bond, you cannot consummate it.
If your bodies merge, so will your souls, and there’ll be no coming back from that.
The bond will try to deepen. It wants to last, but you must resist.”
Maeve’s words hang in the air, heavy as the scent of damp earth after a storm. Cannot consummate. The phrase lodges in my skull. I curl my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. The mark on my wrist pulses, as if in protest.
Norah’s blush spreads like wildfire, creeping down her throat.
She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, her denial dying before it even begins.
I don’t blame her. The truth is written all over her—over us—in the way her breath hitches when our knees brush, in the way her eyes flick to my mouth before darting away.
Maeve’s eyebrow arches higher. “You’re already feeling it, aren’t you?”
“No!” Norah blurts, her blush deepening as she cuts her gaze at me for a second. “We…I…I mean, it’s not…He’s my professor…” She sighs as she trails off, fingers twisting together.
I say nothing. What is there to say? The guilt in my gut is a living thing, gnawing at me.
I am feeling it. The bond. The pull. The way my body reacts to her nearness like a match struck against flint.
I’ve always noticed Norah, been attracted to her.
Wanted her, if I’m completely honest. But this bond… it’s like a fire doused with kerosene.
Maeve sighs, eyes flitting between both of us. “The bond is ancient. It doesn’t care about propriety or age differences or ethics. It wants what it wants.” She leans forward, her gaze sharp. “And what it wants is for you two to finish what you started.”
Norah makes a small, choked sound. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. I should say something. Reassure her. Apologize. But the words stick in my throat, tangled in the heat coiling low in my gut. The mark on my wrist tingles hotly, a reminder of what we’ve done—and what we can’t do.
“I do know someone who knows far more about the Vaelthir than I do. I’ll reach out to him to find out if there’s anything to be done.
In the meantime, I’ll give you each a charm to help with the…
” She trails off, gaze dragging over both of us.
“Side effects,” she finally says in a vaguely suggestive tone.
“Thank you,” I say, nodding. “We appreciate any help you can give.”
She gives me a somewhat flat look, and then rises, moving towards a large worktable at the back of the cottage. Jars clink, drawers scrape open, and Maeve mutters to herself as she works, leaving me somewhat alone with Norah.
She’s sitting on the edge of her chair, spine straight, fingers clenched in her lap. She’s trying to be brave. I can see it in the set of her shoulders, the way she lifts her chin. But her eyes—wide, dark, glistening—give her away.
God, those eyes.
I’ve spent months pretending not to notice them. Pretending not to notice her. The way she lights up when she talks about her research. The way her hands move when she’s excited, quick and graceful. The way she bites that damn lip when she’s nervous.
The bond hums between us like electricity under my skin. It’s not just attraction anymore. It’s need. A raw, aching hunger that coils through me and makes my fingers twitch with the urge to touch her. To pull her close. To claim her.
I want to fucking worship her.
The thought slams into me, sharp and unbidden. I want to kiss every freckle on her skin. I want to hear her moan my name. I want to ruin her for anyone else.
Guilt follows fast on its heels, a cold wave crashing over the heat. I did this. I dragged her into this mess. I didn’t double-check the ritual. I didn’t protect her. I don’t deserve anything other than scorn from her.
I pull back, shifting in my chair until there’s a careful foot of space between us. The distance does nothing to dull the pull of the bond. If anything, it makes it worse. Like a rubber band stretched too tight, ready to snap.
Maeve turns back to us, holding two small leather pouches. “These will help with the worst of the side effects,” she says, pressing one into Norah’s hand, then mine. “Keep them on you at all times. They won’t break the bond, but they should help take the edge off.”
I nod, tucking the pouch into my pocket without looking at it. My focus is still on Norah. On the way her throat works as she swallows. On the way her breath stutters when our eyes meet.
I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. No matter how much it hurts.
She’s my student. She’s too young. It’s wrong.
Even if every cell in my body screams otherwise.