Chapter 6
ACKER
The spare bedchamber is as I left it the last time I was here.
I unbuckle the strap of daggers at my chest, laying it across the back of the reading chair.
I’ve ordered the servants to steer clear of this room, but I’m forever cautious about how I leave it.
A thin layer of dust has accumulated on every surface, including the desk where Jovie’s sketchbook remains after all this time.
I finger open the cover carefully to disturb it as little as possible. The image of a prized horse stares back at me. A stallion with a sash and crown befitting a queen. It’s good. Cute, even. An inside joke I once found adorable. Now, all I feel is bitterness every time I look at it.
But it’s the robe hanging from the corner of the armoire’s door that I’m here for.
I’m drawn to it like a dog in heat, saliva pools in my mouth in anticipation of indulgence.
Each time I cave, I swear it will be the last, but it’s beyond time I quit telling myself that lie as I lift the material from its resting place.
I run my thumb over the softness before bringing the collar to my nose.
My inhale is deep. The scent is faint. So very faint that I often wonder if I’m imagining the wildflowers and salt filling my lungs.
Desperation is a lethal drug.
This incessant need to see her will not abate.
Left unchecked, it becomes so strong it damn near cripples me. Consuming every waking moment, every thought, every second of every godsdamned day … until I fucking give in.
I used to blame the Bond, but I quit lying to myself a long time ago.
Hanging the robe back on the door, I sit on the edge of the bed, hating myself for what I’m about to do. It took me a long time to figure out that it’s best if I just satisfy the craving. To give in instead of fighting it. It’s the only way I’m able to get a reprieve from the constant longing.
I pull the string of stones from my neck and let them hang between my fingers before placing them on the bedside table.
Like stretching after a long slumber, my magic warms in that spot in my chest. Metal sings to me from every direction, and my gift is swift to seek out every inch of it.
From the copper of the bathtub in the other room to the specks in the crevices of the walls.
I allow myself to savor the freedom for a moment, but it’s short-lived as anticipation surges through my veins.
It’s impossible to force myself into Jovie’s presence while she’s awake, especially with the chain of stones she’s crafted to fit her body, smothering the connection of the Bond from her end.
But she’s been sleeping less and less as of late.
Messages of her involvement in the battles at the Strou border continue to come in, and rest is vital when you constantly need to be battle-ready. She must be exhausted.
I can’t tell if it’s my oath or just plain irritation causing the pinch inside my chest.
I lie back, hands threaded behind my head, and let my eyes fall closed as I concentrate.
I discovered the ability to overcome the mangi stones by accident when I was studying a text about an alchemist who believed ingesting mangi stones could possibly nullify a blood oath.
He was wrong, of course. But after weeks of mixing in small amounts of finely-milled mangi stone powder to my tea every morning, I developed a sort of tolerance to the stones’ ability to smother my magic, and, consequently, the Bond.
As burdensome as the stones feel for me, someone who has a fairly high tolerance, I can only imagine how heavy the stones Jovie wears must feel, given she never takes them off.
It usually takes all my energy to bridge the gap and I’m on borrowed time.
Ever since my fight with Irina a few weeks ago, she’s been around more.
Her visits with Wesley have waned and that means we’ve been sharing a bed most nights.
Just to avoid another fight, I had to wait for her to fall asleep before I could leave to feel for the tether to determine if Jovie was awake.
Jovie.
It’s difficult to reconcile the girl I brought back with me from Alaha with the girl strong enough to take down Strou warriors.
I don’t know why, considering how easily she destroyed the Dark Forest, or how comfortable she was in allowing the blood of my father’s entire council to spill across the palace floors.
But the memory of her blushing cheeks and naivete still haunts me enough to make me doubt she could be as efficient on the battlefield as the reports say, regardless of how consistent they are.
The tether stretches as far as my mind will go and then some, to a strange place where nothing exists beyond this. Nothing more than a single thread woven between us. I’m blind as I feel my way along the Bond. There’s no sound or smell or sense of up or down. Just emptiness.
The first couple of times I tried to chase it to the very end I nearly turned around out of fear of getting lost to the void. I begin to worry I’m getting lost this time, too, because it’s taking so long.
But then it pulses.
A faint, lone vibration to signal that I’m getting closer. Each beat of her heart thrums in pace with mine, growing in intensity with each breath. Louder and stronger, it echoes in my body, my mind, flooding the emptiness between us.
Until it comes to an abrupt halt.
With my feet on solid ground, I take in the inside of the small billet for a moment before my gaze lands on my Match.
She’s very much asleep, head draped across her arm at her desk, chest rising and falling with the even measure of her breaths.
Her hair fans over her shoulders in a tangle of waves, spilling over her face and onto the desk.
The first set of buttons of her shirt are undone at her collar, the stained fabric askew enough to expose the chain of mangi stones around her neck.
Blood and filth are splattered across the material, with most of the staining at the cuffs.
Her bare legs peek out from underneath the desk, clean feet crossed at the ankles next to a bowl of muddied water.
She must have fallen asleep in the act of washing up after battle.
I maneuver closer, taking in her haphazard sleeping position.
It appears she washed up to her knees before the exhaustion claimed her.
Sinking to my haunches, the crouched position affords me a better view through the curtain of her copper tendrils.
I look over her features and a sharp stabbing sensation spears straight through me.
Even after all this time, it still hurts to look at her.
Beautiful, stubborn Jovie.
Gods know I’ve spent enough countless nights staring at her to grow accustomed to her beauty, but I’ve yet to become immune. I could stare at her forever and I truly don’t believe I’d ever not crave the next moment, the next second, my next breath when I could lay eyes on her again.
Carefully, I lift my hand to move the delicate pieces of her hair away from her face.
Her brows are pinched, lips pulled into a frown by whatever is plaguing her dreams. It makes me wonder if she’s dreaming of me or of the atrocities she’s just witnessed.
I’m not ashamed to admit which I would prefer.
I know it’s a futile effort, but as I’ve done every time in the past, I lean in close and inhale.
The stench of war clings to her. Fear being the most dominant; an especially abhorrent scent.
Undertones of mud and sweat and leather follow.
But what I really desire doesn’t reach my nose—that fragrance distinct to her.
The perfect combination of wildflowers and saltwater and the iron that runs through her blood.
I’ve never been able to smell her through the Bond.
It’s how she must have been able to eavesdrop on the conversation I had with my father the night of her celebration dinner.
It’s become the only part of her I desire the most, simply because I’m unable to sense it.
I’m not sure why the Bond allows for me to smell everything except her, but it’s absolutely maddening.
The thump of her heartbeat is visible on the side of her neck. A steady pulse, proof of her vitality.
My mouth waters at the sight.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I’m suddenly desperate to feel her pulse underneath my tongue. Bracing a hand against the edge of the desk, I lean forward. There’s not a hint of her scent as I suck in one final breath and hold it.
I’m venturing into dangerous territory as I place my mouth against the tender skin there.
Heat blooms across my lips and it sends a heavy wave of lust through me.
I fight the impulse to sink my teeth into her soft flesh.
I could do it.
Right here, right now.
To tear through the flesh, let her blood spill and put us both out of our misery.
As my thoughts churn, my heart squeezes in protest and bitterness burns up my throat. As if her fucking fist is wrapped around the organ itself, an ever-present reminder of the power she wields over me because of the oath.
I loathe it.
I bet she tastes so good. Just the smallest touch of my tongue—
A low groan escapes from Jovie’s mouth and I jerk back, snapping out of my bloodlust. I inspect her expression. Still very much asleep, just as before except for the slight part at the seam of her lips.
I slowly let out the breath I’ve been holding as I sink back to my haunches.
A flood of desire muddled with fear inundates my senses as I take in her expression.
Her emotions have always felt compounded through the Bond.
The divide between fear and excitement has always been a fine line with Jovie.
One emotion would often trigger the other.
Like when riding at full gallop or during a heated sword fight.
Or when I kissed her with a little too much bite.
It’s been four years since I’ve seen the color of her eyes, but I refuse to wait another four before I’m able to see for myself which emotion supersedes the other when she looks at me—fear or excitement.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
I’m looking forward to it.