Chapter 36 #2
“The bond isn’t fulfilled, Sael?n,” he murmurs. “You can’t feel me the way I feel you yet,” The corner of his lip curls slightly upward. “Plus, little mortal, you have the disadvantage of being a human. Nothing will ever feel quite as intense for you.”
I side-eye him, and his shoulders shake with a silent chuckle.
“Well, excuse me,” I huff. “Next time I’ll make sure to demand I’m born as something other than a lowly human.”
His cheeks puff out as he tries to contain the laughter that spills between us. The guilt in my chest eases, just enough for me to breathe again.
“I want to walk,” I murmur, surprising even myself. “Not far, just through the woods with you.”
His eyes glow softly. “Now?”
I nod, shifting to sit up. “Please? I want to explore the woods for a while, breathe some fresh air.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then sits up slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. “Give me five minutes to pack some things for you. Put on something warm and grab your coat.”
A slight smirk plays at the corner of my lips.
I expected him to grab some water; instead, he’s moving around the cabin with quiet purpose, checking things off some invisible list in his head.
It looks like he’s packing for the snowpocalypse.
He stops in front of me with a thick fur-lined wrap draped over his arm.
“You’ll need this,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady as he loops it over my shoulders.
His fingers brush my collarbone as he fastens the clasp, and it sends a spark of heat rippling through me.
“The wind past the tree-line cuts deeper than it does here.”
I raise a brow.
“You do realize I wanted to frolic through the woods a little bit, not discover an entirely new piece of land, right?”
He doesn’t smile, but his gaze softens. “This forest may be beautiful, Lumi, but it’s not used to soft things... neither of us are.” His gaze drops to my lips. “That's why I have to keep you warm. Because things like you don’t last long out there... unless they belong to something colder.”
He pulls away, crouching near the hearth, tucking a bundle of small vials into a pouch—herbs, salves, something that resembles silver licorice.
“What is all that for?” I ask.
“Just in case,” he says, standing as he adds several flasks of water and a handful of small, dense-looking bars wrapped in leaf-pressed paper to his pack. “The cold drains humans faster than they realize. You’ll need this for strength.”
I blink at him.
“You packed me snacks?” A whole different kind of warmth spreads through me. I can’t think of a single person who ever cared about my needs.
A genuine smile, warming his usually intense features, spreads across his face. “It’s not a snack. It’s survival.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
“I love how dramatic you are.”
“I’m not dramatic,” he retorts, nudging the door open with his shoulder, the repurposed frame groaning slightly. “I’m Rhavari.”
“Ohh, that was smooth. Like James Bond, 007 smooth,” I tease as I step outside. “All you’re missing is a sporty little Aston Martin to whisk you away.”
He shoots me an unamused glance, but I know better. I’m wearing him down.
The cold hits, but it’s softer than I expected. The chill is actually a little refreshing, after being cooped up in the cabin lately.
My boots crunch against fresh snow as I step down from the cabin porch. It’s so serene out here... so different from the city.
The sky looks ethereal, swirls of pink and purple light the morning. Big, fluffy clouds drift past snowcapped trees swaying in the gentle breeze. “I don’t remember the last time things felt this peaceful,” I whisper.
I glance back to check on him. He’s casting some kind of ward over the door, blue light flickering around the frame.
That‘s when my gaze catches on the windows.
Every single one of them is boarded from the outside.
Not sloppily either. The boards are thick and dark, nailed into place with obsessive precision.
I press my palms against one, but it doesn’t budge.
“Andrik?” My voice comes out uncertain.
I feel his presence behind me in a matter of seconds.
“They were a weakness,” he says quietly.
I turn to face him fully.
Raw knuckles, blood dried in his fur, splinters embedded beneath his nails like he clawed through the forest itself.
My breath catches. “Andrik...”
“I’m fine,” he says, but his voice is hollow.
“What happened?” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. For a moment, I don’t think he’ll answer.
“He left something.” His voice is barely audible. “At the window. After we—”
A growl cuts off his sentence.
“Left what, Andrik?” The words come out strangled.
His hands curl into fists, and a muscle ticks at his temple. “A package. Wrapped in purple ribbon.”
Purple.
My chest tightens. Not again. Please, not another piece of Anna.
“What was it?” I whisper, bracing myself. Another piece of her jewelry? A note? Something else he stole from her?
His fangs shoot out, pricking his bottom lip. “A photograph.” He pauses. “Of you.”
I exhale the breath I’ve been holding.
“In your apartment,” his voice is strained. “Touching yourself... with that purple—
“ He can’t finish.
The world settles slowly. A photograph of me. Not Anna.
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy. “Oh, thank God!”
He goes completely still.
“Lumi,” his voice is dangerously low. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“I—yes, but,” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I just meant, I thought he’d taken something else from her. Another piece of—”
“He took pictures of you.” Each word is bitten off. “Without your knowledge. While you were in your own home. In your most private moments.” His claws lengthen. “And your first reaction is relief?”
Something hot flickers in my chest. “Look, Andrik!” My voice sharpens. “What if you lost me? What if you thought the box that showed up at your cabin was a piece of me? I step closer. “Wouldn't you be relieved if it were just a picture of you?”
His jaw clenches. I watch the war play out across his face.
“That’s different,” he says, but his voice has lost its edge.
“How?” I challenge. “How is it different?”
His shoulders sag slightly. The fight drains out of him. “It’s not.” The admission sounds like it costs him. “I just—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I need you to understand that you matter, Lumi. Not just to me. You matter.”
Something about that makes my throat tighten, but I push the feeling down. I focus on the way the snow glitters faintly in the sunlight, like dusted glass.
He’s quiet for a long moment, just looking at me with those icy, blue eyes. He reaches out slowly and cups the back of my neck. His thumb brushes over my pulse point.
“Ael’thr?n kaelor vesk’thral... vael’etra narh’sekai velorin thral’kaen ves.” He murmurs. (I was wrong to hold too tightly... but I’ll never stop being your shield.)
“I'm sorry,” he says quietly. ”I know I overstep. Watch too closely. But it's only because the thought of losing you unravels something primordial in me.”
His forehead presses gently to mine, our breath turning to frost between us.
“You are the only thing in this world I cannot survive without.”
His thumb strokes once more, then he drops his hand. “Come on.”
His voice is softer now. “You wanted to go on a walk, remember?”
“Lead the way,” I mumble.
He walks a few steps ahead of me, one hand occasionally brushing low-hanging branches out of the way. His fingers move carefully, like even the leaves deserve gentleness.
The snow isn’t as deep as before, which makes it much easier for me to trek through. The air smells faintly sweet and earthy; it works wonders on my racing thoughts. I inhale deep lungfuls to clear my mind.
I expected to hear birdsong or squirrel chatter, but it’s like everything is silently watching us instead.
He hasn’t said much since we left the cabin, but he keeps glancing back to make sure I’m warm enough. I think about pelting him with a snowball a few times, but decide against it—for now.
“This part of the woods is...different,” He says quietly. “They’ve been expecting you.”
“They?”
He doesn’t answer. He merely steps between two leaning birches that arch together like pillars of a forgotten temple, and disappears into the gloom.
I hesitate.
He wouldn’t hurt me, I know that, but something about his words makes me nervous.
“Are you coming?” he calls.
I step through the archway, and the shift is immediate.
The air on this side is frigid, like sinking in deep water.
The light above me becomes a distant, hazy memory, replaced by a dim filtered glow that makes the trees look like skeletons rising from the dark; their trunks are black with silver glowing threads winding up the bark like frozen rivers reaching for the sky.
A frantic flutter pulses behind my sternum, not fear exactly, but something akin to gravity—a pull. Like I’ve crossed some invisible boundary where the rules of the world no longer apply, and my heart has decided it belongs to the shadows in front of me, instead of the ribs within me.
Movement to my left catches my attention, quick and low to the ground.
I turn, catching only a blur of silver fur and snow scatter.
There’s stillness again, and then—Chirp.
I squint, searching the area for whatever made the sound.
A tiny shape flits toward me, glowing faintly.
It lands gracefully on my shoulder, soft as a snowflake.
I freeze and search for Andrik.
It chirps again.
“Uhh, Andrik...I think I’m being attacked.”
He steps in front of me, eyes wide.
“Is this normal?”
It chirps twice, as if answering my question.
“She chose you,” he says in awe.
“She?”
He steps closer, and the creature flutters nervously. But instead of fleeing, she...wiggles—happily.
“I’ve only seen her do that once before,” he murmurs. “A very long time ago.”
“Context, please, Andrik.”