“Let me show you something. Please.” I wave my hand, inviting her back towards me, but she stays firmly in place.
“How about you just tell me.”
“Right. Of course.” I bring a hand to my chest and start tapping out the beat of my bonded heart. “This,” I say, tappingout the beats, “is my heartbeat—mybondedheartbeat. Tap out your own.”
“I know it’s beating! I fucking felt it!”
When I continue tapping, she reluctantly raises her fingers to her neck, eyes burning with anger. A few seconds later, that anger turns to confusion.
She has finally realized I am tapping outherheartbeats. Not mine.
“You feel it?” I ask.
Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head. “No,” she warns, “you said you couldhearmy heart.”
“Inever said that.Yousuggested that as a possibility, and I did not correct you.” I point at my chest. “This is how I knew.”
She makes a grunting sound and throws her hands up again. “You just have an answer for everything, don’t you? Fucking infuriating.” For a moment, she just stares at me. Then her jaw sets, and she steps forward as if she can’t control herself. “Ok. Just for fun, let’s pretend I believe you. Why is my heart beating in your chest?”
“We are linked. Bonded by the Zhyrrak.”
She scoffs. “Zhyrrak? Is this another word for your weird alien magic?”
“It is not magic. It is physiology. We are bonded. Or, we are meant to be bonded.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Why are we bonded, or why is it not magic?”
“I don’t know! Both?”
“I do not know why it chose us,” I answer honestly. “But the bond is science, not magic. It has something to do with our heart’s electromagnetic frequencies, and, evidently, a long-dormant gene within my DNA.” I frown. “And possibly yours as well.” I hadn’t really considered that she might carry the gene, but it certainly makes sense. From what I understand, humansand Vhorathis have common ancestry. Albeit, very ancient common ancestry, but still.
She tilts her head before stepping back between my legs. The ease of her movements and her willingness to be so close is a confession of sorts that calms my nerves.
Her eyes ask permission, and I grant it with a slight raise of my chin. A moment later, her hand returns to my chest. Warmth and desire spread beneath her palm as I sink my fingers into my thighs, fighting the urge to touch her. The urge I’ve been fighting almost all day.
“So you’re not doing this?” she asks with a look of confused wonder.
“No, I cannot control my bonded heart. It follows yours.”
“And this is real,” she says, more as a statement than a question.
“It is.”
She’s silent for a long while, and I feel her mind working frantically. Then she asks, “Is that why my heart’s been acting so weird? Like the beginning of a panic-attack without the panic?”
“If the weirdness is a recent development, then yes.”
She looks unimpressed again. “Obviously, it’s a recent development, or I wouldn’t have—” She huffs. “You know what? Never mind.” She drops her hand from my chest, and it lands on my thigh. I do not think she is even aware of what she is doing, and it feels like another confession. “So what does this all mean? If I have a panic attack, are you going to pass out? Or if you start running around, is my heart going to explode?” Her eyes lose their ferocity as she asks, “And what happens when the guards come and I’m executed?”
Ice creeps through my veins at the reminder of our situation. This feeling of being out of control is not one I enjoy. I need information and options. If I could just speak to Gaius… No, that will not solve the problem. Heisthe problem. He is the reason I am wounded, and Amara’s life is in danger.
If the guards do come for her, I have very few options, and I do not like any of them. The bond has changed our situation—my vow no longer matters—and if I want to take my rightful place as the head of this empire, I cannot kill Gaius’s guards, and I cannot let Amara kill Gaius. I need time to think. Time to plan. But for now, I need to focus on her and our bond. The sun has set, and no guards have come. It is unlikely they will come before morning—Gaius wants as much assurance of my failure as possible—and if they do come, I will not let them take her, even if my actions cost me my throne. She is more important than any title. She is the heartbeat of my people, a beacon of hope for a future once thought impossible.
I grip both of Amara’s hands in mine, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. “Your heart will not explode. I will not pass out if you do. And you will not be dying today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. You will be old and gray when your time comes. I promise.”
Her eyes drop to the bandage on my side, and a look of disappointment crosses her face. “I really want to believe you, but trust has to be built. You get that, right?”
