Chapter 4 Bonds and Barriers
BONDS AND BARRIERS
Iswallow the panic clawing up my throat and push out a more pressing question. “Where—what exactly is Bryxton?”
Karraelas glances at a sleek, phone-like device in his hand. “A dimension similar in many ways to what you’re used to.”
His words punch the air from my lungs. “Similar to—?”
Karraelas meets my gaze, his expression carefully neutral—but I still sense his unease. “I’ll call Ember to transport you to Mysthaven.”
The word transport sets off another alarm.
“Can I walk?” The hope of fresh air—of not being trapped—is almost too much to bear.
“It’s several miles,” Daire says.
“I don’t mind.”
Daire studies me, his amber eyes unreadable, before he turns to Lochlan, who looks increasingly annoyed. “Call Griffin while I sort this out.”
Tarkan scoffs. “Griffin might find this task a little mundane, don’t you think?” He eyes me again, his dislike and distrust shining bright in his gaze. “Or maybe he can use those special ops skills to ensure she doesn’t barbecue anyone else.”
My heart cartwheels as I launch off the bed, freedom slipping through my fingers before I’ve had a chance to grasp it.
A gasp tears out of me as my bare feet slap against the cool tiles.
My fingers graze the metal door handle just as someone catches me with an arm around my waist. The world spins.
My back hits a wall of heat and muscle. Daire’s scent—smoke, cinnamon, and cloves—wraps around me, his breath warm against my ear.
“Easy.” His voice is deep but smooth, and I hate that it sends a shiver down the length of my spine. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
“I’m not going back.” I thrash, but his grip is like iron. “You can’t—” My words cut off as Tarkan points a short pipe at me. Instinctively, I know it’s a weapon.
Daire spins me again—so fast I stumble, suddenly facing the door with Daire’s back shielding me from Tarkan. The realization steals my breath.
“Put that down.” Daire’s voice pulses with anger and authority.
“You saw what she did to Chris.” Tarkan’s voice rises. “She’s going to fry your ass.”
Daire releases another growl, the rumble vibrating through my torso, pulsing against my bones, sending something primal skittering through my nerves.
Lochlan steps into view, his expression carved from stone, but his eyes flash with something darker. “Stand. Down.” His voice cuts through the tension, the warning in his tone sharp and commanding.
A beat passes, and then Lochlan continues, “This is an unusual situation. Tarkan, Karraelas, let’s discuss today’s report.”
Silence stretches. Finally, Karraelas nods.
“I’ll take you to one of the private offices on my way to get clothes for Brielle,” Willow says, her calmness visibly waning. “Scarlet, come with me.”
I hate that I can’t see what’s happening behind me. Hate that my back is exposed, even with Daire’s body pressed against mine—or maybe because of it. I strain to hear every rustle, footstep, and breath that isn’t his until the soft click of the door closing confirms they’re gone.
I shift slightly to test Daire’s grip.
His hold constricts instantly, his heart a drumbeat against my shoulder.
“I’m not calling Griffin here in a professional capacity.” His voice is a soft caress against my ear. “I’m calling him because I trust him. He’s part of my Vestra, one of my brothers, and because he’s one of the strongest Water Elementals in Bryxton.”
Embarrassment brushes my thoughts but doesn’t settle.
“You’re safe here,” Daire tells me for what feels like the hundredth time. Maybe it is. Still, I want to hear it a hundred more.
That embarrassment burns brighter at the reminder that I’m wearing the loose hospital gown that reveals too much of my skin, and at how close we are. His arm remains banded around my waist, his other hand securely around my arm.
“Are you going to run if I release you, Spitfire?”
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
The word chants through my mind.
Freedom is all I’ve wanted for entirely too long.
He releases a quiet snort, his grip tightening. “That’s what I thought.”
“I didn’t say anything.” The words scrape out, bitter and small.
“You didn’t have to.”
Frustration burns through me. I want to scream, stomp, and strike—but obedience runs deeper than instinct. It was drilled into me long before I was sentenced to prison.
The door opens again, and Daire pivots us, becoming a human wall between me and the door leading outside.
“Here you are,” Willow says, flashing a new smile, this one conveying hope and kindness as she hands me a stack of folded clothes. “There’s a washroom behind that door.” She points toward the corner where Tarkan had been before everything blew up.
Daire slowly releases me, and I force my feet forward, hating each step that takes me away from the exit.
The washroom is small—just a shower and sink. Everything is pristine and modern.
I set the stack of clothes on a chair next to the closed door, plotting my escape. Will I be able to outrun them? Will there be somewhere to hide if I make it past them? Will anyone hear me if I screamed?
But the thoughts dissolve as I catch my reflection.
I look like me.
I look like a stranger.
I look the same.
I look so different.
I have the same bone structure, the same freckle on my collarbone. But my eyes are violet, no longer brown, and my hair is several shades lighter.
Tears gather in my eyes. I don’t know if I’m mourning who I was or who I’ve become. I shove those thoughts aside and focus on the goal: escaping.
I strip off the hospital gown and freeze, distracted again as I see more of myself.
“How?” I whisper, staring at my forearm where a thick scar has been for so long that I don’t recall its origin. It’s gone.
I twist, searching my back, front, and knees for every old scar from a fall or accident, but they’re all gone.
I’m still too thin, but not nearly as gaunt as I was this morning—if it even is the same day. My breasts are fuller. My skin is clear of all bruises, scars, and body hair from the neck down. Even the pallor that has been my constant is gone.
It takes several minutes to remember why I’m in here. I pull on the underwear and a sports bra, then slip on the long-sleeved shirt. My muscles melt at the contact. The fabric is so soft—so comfortable that my eyes sting with a fresh wave of tears.
It’s embarrassing how easily this undoes me.
The pants have wide legs, their shape too reminiscent of my prison uniform—only these fit. They’re not too short or oversized. Not scratchy.
I take a deep breath and focus on the best route of escape as I turn toward the door.
My stomach plummets as I realize there’s no doorknob.
It’s a trap.
“Brielle?” Willow’s voice is gentle on the other side. “Are you okay? Is it all right if I open the door?”
I scan the room, searching for an air vent or something—anything—I can escape through, but the door opens before I can respond.
“Is everything okay?” Willow asks again.
Beside her, Scarlet grins and nods toward the room. “You caught the plant on fire.”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t have.” I’ve never caught anything on fire except for people. The memory of setting a fourth person on fire today hits me like a gut punch, unexpected and painful.
I know I shouldn’t feel sympathy. After all, he struck first. But I’ve seen the brand of pain I inflict, and it’s difficult to wish it on even the worst of individuals.
“Heightened emotions can do all kinds of things we aren’t expecting, and accessing your powers will be easier now that you’re here,” Willow tells me.
I swallow, trying to process the clear warning in her words. “There’s no door handle,” I explain. “I thought I was locked in.”
The smile fades from Scarlet’s face. “Humans really are a piece of work.”
Offense slips over me, an invisible mark on my new canvas.
“Many healing center doors don’t have handles. Injuries can often make them burdensome, so washroom doors are button-activated.” She gestures to the discreet white control on the right side of the door.
I try to shake off the edge of embarrassment for my irrational reaction, but struggle to lower my guard much further.
“Are you ready?” Scarlet asks.
I nod as they step back, leading me back into the hospital room.
The space feels different—quieter, heavier.
A low growl draws my gaze to the door. The stranger beside Daire is an imposing man—broad shoulders, tall, with dark blond hair and eyes the color of Lake Champlain in October.
His stare pins me in place—nearly as unsettling as Lochlan’s silver gaze, but where his felt like a blade, this feels like a brand.
Dangerous in a completely different way.
“Brielle, this is Griffin Marek. Griff, this is Brielle,” Daire says.
Griffin’s eyes flare as they connect with mine, then he closes the distance between us in a few effortless strides. The scents of eucalyptus and mint fill my lungs, undercut by something almost sweet—something uniquely his—as he extends his hand to me.
I hesitate.
I haven’t shaken someone’s hand since the week before I was arrested. It feels like it was minutes ago and lifetimes ago at the same time.
He watches each of my movements. Each of my stilted breaths.
I glance back at Willow, ensuring she’s close enough to help if this goes badly. Then, slowly, I slip my hand into Griffin’s.
Warmth pulses through my skin, so hot it holds me on a fine edge between pain and bliss—and suddenly my thoughts are back in the prison, my bones shattering.
Griffin pulls in a ragged breath as his hand tightens around mine. For a heartbeat, we stare at each other, the world threatening to tip.
He releases me suddenly, whirling on Daire with a snarl that vibrates through the room. “Where the fuck is Chris, and why is he still breathing?”
The air thickens with tension.
“Easy,” Daire says, holding up a hand. “He’s being handled.”
“Brielle’s untrained,” Willow says. “Her powers are strong and unpredictable.” She uses the same gentle tone she addressed me with. She raises both hands in a placating gesture, but the current in the room remains charged—dangerous.
Griffin shifts, keeping his back to me as his attention jumps to her. That same low growl I’d heard upon exiting the washroom fills the air—a warning.
“We need to ensure she feels safe and calm,” Willow adds.
“He hurt my mate,” Griffin grits out.
Scarlet gasps as Willow grins. Their contradictory reactions have me blinking, confusion and fear a potent tonic that has my heart racing.
Mate?
I instinctively step back, but Willow catches my attention and shakes her head. The gesture is so slight that I question if I imagined it.
“Brielle, don’t move. Don’t try to run,” Daire says, stepping closer. “It will trigger him.”
“He looks pretty triggered already,” I say as Griffin shifts, his head on a swivel as he eyes the room and everyone’s movements.
It takes everything in me to fight against my new nature and remain still. My muscles coil, prepared to bolt. But I force myself to stay frozen, barely breathing.
The door leading to the hallway of the healing center swings open, and Griffin spins, pushing me back before I can process what’s happening.
Lochlan steps inside and pins his silver eyes on me. “What have you done?” He turns to Daire. “Why did you let him come into contact with her?”
Griffin’s hand snaps back, a ghost across my waist, making me jump.
“He won’t hurt you,” Willow insists. “Try to remain still. It’s his bond. He wants to protect you. It’s instinct.”
Instinct? “What the hell’s happening?”
“You’re scaring her,” Daire says, taking another step toward us. “Ease up. There are no threats here.”
Griffin’s jaw pulses in his profile, but his shoulders slowly relax, the bulky, pronounced muscles melting to his sides as his hand finds purchase on my arm. A brief touch. A test.
His expression shifts—something raw and unguarded crossing his face before he shakes his head. “How?” His voice is almost hoarse as he turns to Daire. “How is this fucking possible?”
I can barely breathe. “What’s going on?” I demand, looking at Willow.
Griffin’s blue eyes flash between accusation and hurt as he takes me in. “She has no idea?”
“We located her just a few hours ago,” Daire says.
“She’s been living among the humans.” His jaw tenses.
“It was a complete shit show. We didn’t have enough time, and I hadn’t been close enough to tell.
..” His gaze travels to mine, and for the first time, I see it—guilt.
“I wasn’t expecting Chris to use his power.
He broke protocol when we had fractions of a second to get the hell out of there. ”
“Daire crushed Chris’s spleen and both lungs,” Willow says, filling me with a new wave of shock.
Griffin swallows. “He should have aimed for his cindrel.”
“I was,” Daire says. “Tarkan and Karraelas were restraining me.”
Griffin slowly releases a long breath and turns, meeting my gaze head-on, his blue eyes filled with an intensity and promise that feels possessive.
I want to look away. But I can’t.
He pulls in a long breath through his nose, then swallows so hard that the column of his wide, tanned neck shifts.
Willow nods. “Mysthaven makes a lot more sense.” She clears her throat. “In that case, she’ll need extensive training, and—”
Daire nods. “We know.”
“Is it possible?” Scarlet asks then, earning the attention of the room. “We haven’t seen a Soul Mate in—”
“Generations,” Willow finishes.
“Soul Mates?” I ask.
“You might want to sit down for this,” Scarlet says.
I’m not about to.
“It’s a very rare and treasured bond,” Willow explains, “created by the fates. Your souls and destinies are woven with the same thread. But a Soul Mate is more than romance or physical attraction—it’s sacred.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I shake my head. “And he thinks we’re bound? Bonded?”
“I know you are,” Griffin says, his voice dropping to a primal register that makes the air seem to tremble. A muscle in his jaw ripples as his blue eyes burn into me with an intensity that pins me in place. “You’re my fucking mate.”
“Our mate,” Daire grits out, the possessive claim in those two words hitting me like a physical force.
The air tightens as Lochlan glares at me.