Chapter 20 Darius
DARIUS
It’s been three days since I put my scent on her, and the air around the estate hasn’t been the same since.
Not because of Mary—though she still moves through the halls like she’s carrying some private storm about what I did—but because the whole place smells different now.
Every breath I take, she’s there. Her scent clings to my hands, my clothes, the walls, the goddamn sheets.
I thought it might fade a little with time, but instead it’s grown sharper, richer, like the claiming settled into her and decided to stay.
It’s grounding. Dangerous. And exactly what I wanted.
But tonight, the air changes again. Subtle at first, so faint a human would miss it entirely. Not me.
The wind carries it in through the north treeline, threading through the open windows like it owns the place. It slips under my skin, old and familiar, a rot-sweet tang undercut by something sharp and vulpine.
Roman.
I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved, crossing the study in three strides to the weapons chest. My hands are steady as I unfasten the lock, but my heart’s already gone to war.
The scent is deliberate: placed, not drifting.
He wants me to know he’s been here. He wants me to smell it every time I draw breath until I choke on it.
It’s a message.
And I know Roman well enough to hear it without a single word: I can reach you. I can reach her.
I draw one of the silver-edged blades, the weight of it pulling my arm into readiness the way an old scar reminds you of the fight that made it. My other hand pulls the heavier crossguard sword from the rack. Steel and silver—always. I learned that lesson a long time ago.
By the time I hit the back doors, Mary’s already there, barefoot in black, her hair a loose tangle like she’s been moving fast. She doesn’t speak right away, just stands in the doorway and lifts her chin toward the woods.
“You smell it too,” she says finally.
“Roman.”
The word hangs between us, no need for elaboration.
Her lips press into a thin line. “He’s not here now.”
“I know.” I scan the treeline, my muscles wound tight. “But he was. He wanted me to know it.”
Mary steps closer, crossing her arms against the cold, her eyes narrowing. “The Blood Moon’s coming in two nights. He’s not going to wait until you’re at full strength. He’s going to hit when you’re already fighting yourself.”
She’s right. The Blood Moon never sits easy in my bones—it stirs the beast in ways I can’t control, burns through muscle and mind like a fever that wants to tear something apart just to feel the relief. Every year it gets worse. Every year I fight harder to keep my grip.
This year, I’ll be fighting with Tessa in the house.
I sheath the smaller blade and keep the heavier one in my grip, stepping down into the frost-slick grass.
The wind brings Roman’s scent again—fainter now, but it still cuts like a knife through the pine and earth.
I pace the perimeter, tracing the edges of where he’s been.
He didn’t breach the wards. Not yet. But the fact that he got close enough to touch the edge of them without triggering an alarm means one thing: he’s been studying them. Studying us.
Mary follows me in silence until I stop at the far edge of the property. The moonlight turns the frost to silver fire underfoot, and I can almost see the outline of where Roman stood—a phantom of him leaning on a tree, smirking like he’s already three moves ahead.
I tighten my grip on the sword. “He’s testing me.”
Mary exhales slowly, her breath clouding in the cold. “Then maybe it’s time you stop testing yourself.”
I glance at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She doesn’t look away. “You marked her. You’ve already tied her to you in every way that makes sense to us. But you’re holding back from finishing it. From bonding her fully.”
“Because once I do, there’s no undoing it,” I say, my voice sharp, low. “And if Roman—or anyone—comes for her after that, they’re not just coming for someone under my protection, they’re coming for half my soul.”
“That’s exactly why you should do it,” she snaps back, stepping into my space like she’s trying to goad me.
“Because if he’s coming, and we both know he is, then she needs more than the illusion of safety.
She needs every ounce of strength you can give her.
And that bond? It’s not just for you. It will make her stronger too. Faster. Harder to kill.”
Her words land, but I hold my ground. “And it will make her a beacon to anyone who can sense it. Stronger than a scenting. They’ll smell it on her like blood in the water.”
Mary’s jaw tightens, but there’s something else in her eyes now—something I haven’t seen in her in years. Not just fear. Not just anger. Concern.
“I’ve seen how you look at her, Darius,” she says, her voice softening, the edge blunted but still present.
“And I’ve seen how she looks at you. You think I don’t know what that means?
You think I haven’t watched enough bonds form to recognize one before it happens?
You’ve already decided she’s yours. The bond is just… the truth catching up.”
I look back toward the trees, letting the cold sink in, letting her words settle under my skin.
The wind shifts again, carrying Roman’s scent away, but it leaves the echo of it behind, ghosting through my head like a promise. I picture his face: the narrow smile, the eyes that never match the words, the way he can stand perfectly still and still make you feel like you’re being hunted.
I think of Tessa upstairs, probably curled in bed, breathing in my scent the way I’ve been breathing hers. And I know Mary’s right in one way: if he comes for her, I’ll fight like she’s already mine. Bond or no bond.
But bonding… that’s not a step you take because you’re scared. It’s a step you take because you’re certain you can hold it until the end of everything.
And I’m not sure the end isn’t closer than we think.
I turn back toward the house, the weight of the sword still solid in my hand. Mary doesn’t follow right away, but when she does, she matches my pace without a word.
At the back steps, she catches my arm. “Don’t wait too long, Darius. Roman’s never been patient.”
I don’t answer her.
Because she’s right. And because the Blood Moon’s already rising in my veins, hot and restless, and I can feel the days slipping through my fingers like sand.