Chapter 24 #2
Mine — You don’t get to run now.
I don’t know why, but it feels like he’s fighting more than just me. When we finally break apart, when the rhythm slows—it’s not silence. It’s aftermath.
I force a smirk. Brush hair back from my face. “Is that all you’ve got, Fire Warlord?”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t tease in return. He just looks at me.
And that feels worse. Because I don’t know what he’s thinking. And we both know this isn’t just a sparring match.
I see my chance.
A shift. A breath. A sliver of space in his perfect stance.
I leap, twisting midair, my legs hooking around his neck. Locking tight. And then I drop.
His eyes widen. Slightly. Just enough for me to see it: surprise. The bond surges, sharp and hot, a flare I can’t ignore. I caught him off guard.
And then—he goes down.
Gasps ripple through the field. Lyra whoops. Fenric whistles.
For one breathless second, I think I’ve won.
Then Thane moves. His hands clamp around my thighs. He rolls. And before I can shift away, before I can even breathe—I’m on my back. Pinned.
His weight is solid. Inescapable. Hot. Too close.
His forearm presses lightly across my collarbone—not enough to hurt, just enough to say: you’re not getting up.
And then—he looks at me. Everything else disappears. Smoke-gray eyes, golden flecks burning. That look hits like a bruise I didn’t know was still healing.
And then the bond surges. Not soft or gentle. A jolt. Sharp and alive, like lightning under my skin. Not pain. Recognition.
Thane’s grip tightens just enough to tell me he feels it too. His eyes hold mine for a heartbeat too long, like he’s on the edge of saying something—then the shutters slam down. Whatever’s in his head, he won’t let me near it.
He lets go and pushes off me. Stands. And completely out of character, doesn’t offer his hand. No words. No smirk. Just turns his back on me.
Not just leaving the spar—leaving me.
The bond hums, like it wants to close the space, but he’s already walking away.
As if nothing just happened.
As if everything didn’t just happen.
The moment he’s gone, I let out a long, shaky breath.
Lyra drops beside me, grinning like she’s just won a prize. Fenric, on the other hand, looks like he wants to vanish into the ground. He won’t meet my eyes—and thank the gods for that.
“Well,” Lyra says, entirely too loud. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “Oh my gods, Lyra—”
“No, no. Don’t even start. You two might as well have just fucked in the dirt right here in front of everyone.”
“Okay, Ly,” Fenric mutters. “Even I have a line I’m unwilling to cross.”
He stands over me, squinting like he’s afraid I might be in pieces. “That was . . . something. You alive down there, sweetheart?”
Lyra grins. “She’s fine. It’s all good and well. Believe me.”
She doesn’t even look at Fenric while offering me her hand. Like nothing about what just happened was completely, utterly unhinged.
“Come on, lover girl,” Lyra drawls. “Let’s get you off the ground before you start fantasizing about him pinning you again.”
I take her hand begrudgingly, scowling. “Oh fuck off.”
“You love me,” Lyra sings. Then, as she hauls me up, she leans in and whispers, “You know I’m right, though.”
I turn to Fenric, desperate. “A little help, please?”
He raises both brows. “Lyra, sweetheart . . . let me try.”
Then to me—calm, too calm: “Amara, dear . . . you two really need to sort this out. Maybe next time, try actual words instead of sparring in front of the whole outpost like it’s some kind of foreplay.” He scrunches up his nose. “I say this with love.”
“I know,” I mutter. “I hear you.”
They loop their arms through mine and start pulling me toward the mess hall. The field moves around us, the usual sounds of warriors training returning.
But I’m somewhere else.
Because they’re right. Everyone saw it. Everyone felt it.
Even Thane—especially Thane.
I’ve been running. Pretending. Telling myself I could end this on my terms—before it ever got too real.
But the thing is, it’s real. It’s been real—not separate from the bond. It never was. It is the bond—all of it.
I feel it now—throbbing low in my chest. Not just a pull, but a wound. I press a hand over my heart, rubbing the spot where I feel it, trying to ease the discomfort.
“I’m such a fucking coward.”
The words slip out, soft and true. And my friends hear them.
Lyra’s smile softens. “You don’t have to be.”
I blink the tears back, swallowing hard.
Fenric pulls me into a side-hug.
Lyra leans in. “You don’t worry over things you don’t care about, Mara. And gods, have you been worrying.”
My breath catches. Because she’s right. And I’m done being miserable.
Fenric kisses the top of my head. “You’ve been brave enough to fight everything else. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting him. Go to him.”
Lyra says something about dying of secondhand sexual tension—but I’m already pulling myself from their hold.
I see him already halfway across the training field. Back straight, shoulders tight, every step precise and controlled.
I start running. I don’t make it far before her voice brushes into my mind.
“Be gentle with him, Virelya,”
Calryx.
Warm. Familiar. But something’s off . . . strained.
I keep moving, my boots now slamming into the dirt path, dust rising in my wake. The training field blurs at the edges—faces and voices are all background noise. The only thing in focus is him.
The bond pulls tighter with every step, a thread hooking deeper into my chest, urging me forward.
“He is afraid.”
That stops me.
“Afraid of what?” I ask.
A pause.
“Of what this means. Of what it could cost . . . of you.”
My chest tightens.
“Of what it could cost me? Calryx, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Virelya, it is not my place to explain everything to you.”
Something tightens in my chest. I don’t respond. Because if I do, I might not have the courage to speak to him. And right now, I need to stay focused.
Calryx doesn’t push me. She lets me run, lets me chase him down.
“Thane!”
Godsdammit, he doesn’t stop.
He’s almost to the far gate when I cut through a sparring circle, ignoring the startled shouts.
My shoulder brushes past one of the soldiers but I don’t slow.
I’m running too fast to stop when I reach him, so instead, I grab his arm hard enough that he jolts, momentum spinning him toward me.
My palm meets skin and heat, and the bond flares—sharp, sudden, alive.
Smoke-gray eyes lock on mine, cool and guarded. But I know him now.
Behind that stare something’s fraying.
“Talk to me,” I demand.
His jaw tightens. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Barely a flicker in his expression. “It was just a sparring match, Amara.”
“Bullshit!” I snap, stepping closer. “And you know it!”
Silence.
My chest is rising too fast, the adrenaline from the fight still burns. My body remembers him—every breath, every touch, every strike.
“You walked away,” I say, softer.
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because there was nothing else to say.”
I shake my head. “No. You walked away because if you’d stayed—if you’d acknowledged what just happened—then we wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.”
I step closer. Close enough to feel his heat. “I’m done pretending.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he says nothing.
And that silence? It dares me.
“You felt it, Thane. The way we moved. The way we—” I inhale sharply. “Everyone saw it. Don’t stand there and tell me that it was just training. Don’t lie to me!”
Still nothing, his expression—blank.
But I see it. The flicker beneath—the pain behind the mask.
“Look—I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I ran from the bond. But I’m not running anymore.”
His jaw tightens, but his eyes—gods, his eyes—aren’t angry. They’re braced . . . for something.
Still, he doesn’t speak.
I want to scream.
I reach out—press my palm to his chest, right over his heart. His breath catches. Subtle. But I feel it. Then—
“Amara . . . ” His voice fractures. “I thought I could do this. Be with you. But I can’t.”
It hits like a blow to my gut. I stare, speechless.
But then I see it—the conflict in his face. His expression smooth but his eyes wrecked.
“Why are you saying that, Thane?” My voice catches somewhere between heartbreak and disbelief. “You said we would figure this out. Why are you fighting this?”
His hands twitch. Wanting to reach. Wanting to run.
He does neither.
“Because I have to,” he finally says—voice raw, like the words are being ripped from somewhere deep inside him.
“Why?!” I shout, demanding more. Because how dare he turn away now—after everything. “Why, Thane?”
Thane slams a fist against his chest—“Because you deserve a choice! I refuse to take your future from you!” His voice cracks, rough and ragged. “Because being with me will destroy you!”
He shakes his head—furious, broken. “There are things you don’t—” He stops. Corrects himself. “You can’t know.”
The words hit like a punch to the lungs.
I stare at him. “What?” I breathe.
His eyes darken, a storm surging in them, wild and electric.
“You deserve to choose this, Amara. Not because of a bond or fate or something inside us that keeps pulling.”
My hands curl into fists. “But you wanted this!”
Now I’m the one pounding my chest. “You felt the bond—and you still wanted this!”
His voice lowers, rough and fraying at the edges. “This connection . . . the bond . . . it takes it too far. You deserve more,” he says, barely above a whisper. “More than this—more than me.”
And suddenly—I hear it. Not his words—his fear. He’s afraid.
Of what this means.
Of what it could cost.
Of me.
Calryx was right. Whatever this is—it’s tearing him up from the inside. Enough to walk away. Even from me.
My heart hammers in my chest—he doesn’t get it. He hasn’t heard what matters.
I chose this. I chose him.
And I’m done pretending otherwise.
I step forward, my fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt to try to reach him.