"About what?" I try for casual, but even I can hear how weak my voice sounds.
He stops walking, forcing me to face him in the dimly lit hallway. The ember-glow of his skin seems brighter in the shadows, and his eyes burn with concern and something darker.
"About the fact that you can barely stand upright. About how you're not eating. About the bond that's clearly affecting you more than you want to admit."
"I'm fine." The words come out automatically, a defense mechanism carved deep by years of surviving alone.
"You're not." His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "And lying about it won't make it go away."
The gentleness in his voice, the way he touches me like I'm something precious instead of broken—it unravels something in my chest that I've spent years keeping tightly controlled. I want to lean into his strength, want to let him carry some of this weight that feels like it's crushing me.
But I don't know how. I've never trusted anyone enough to show weakness, never had someone who wanted to take care of me without expecting something in return.
"The bond isn't temporary," he continues, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "The Nashai warned us, but I don't think you really heard her. This isn't something that's going to fade or resolve itself. It's permanent, Heidi. We're connected now, whether we chose it or not."
Panic flares in my chest, sharp and immediate. Permanent. Trapped. Owned. The words echo in my head like a death sentence, dragging up every nightmare from my past. Madam Cordelia's voice whispering that I belonged to her, that I could never leave, that I was nothing without someone to control me.
"No." I step back, my hands shaking as I press them against the wall. "No, that's not... there has to be another way. Some way to break it."
"There isn't." His voice is gentle but implacable. "And even if there was, I'm not sure I'd want to anymore."
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest and terrifying. Because I can see the truth in his eyes—he wants this. Wants me. Not just because of the magic binding us together, but because of something real and dangerous and completely outside my understanding.
"I can't." The words tear from my throat. "I can't be tied to someone. I can't belong to anyone. I won't."
"It's not about belonging?—"
"Isn't it?" I'm backing away from him now, every instinct screaming at me to run. "You want me to stay here, in your house, with your daughter. You want me to accept this bond that I never asked for, give up my freedom, my choices?—"
"I want you to stop pretending this is only about magic." His voice carries an edge now, frustration bleeding through his careful control. "I want you to admit that what's happening between us is real, bond or no bond."
He's right, and that's what terrifies me most. Because somewhere between watching him braid Irida's hair and seeing the way he moves through Vestige like a dark angel, I've started caring about him. Started wanting him for reasons that have nothing to do with fate or magic or the invisible threads binding our souls together.
I want him when he's gentle with his daughter, when he's ruthless with his enemies, when he looks at me like I'm something worth protecting instead of something to be used. I want his hands on me, want to know what that controlled strength would feel like unleashed. Want to trust him with the broken pieces of myself I've never shown anyone.
And that wanting feels like a trap I'll never escape.
"I need air," I whisper, pressing my hands to my churning stomach. The hallway is spinning, and his scent—smoke and spice and something uniquely male—is making the nausea worse.
"Heidi—"
"Please. Just... give me space."
For a moment I think he's going to argue, going to use that commanding voice that makes everyone in his club obey without question. But instead he steps back, giving me room to breathe even though I can see the effort it costs him.
"I'll be here," he says quietly. "When you're ready to stop running from this, I'll be here."
I make it to my room before my legs give out, collapsing onto the bed as waves of dizziness crash over me. The bond writhes in my chest like a living thing, angry at the distance I've put between us. But the physical symptoms are getting worse, and I can't hide it much longer.
My hands shake as I press them to my face, trying to hold myself together. Because the truth is, I want to go back into that hallway. Want to let him wrap those strong arms around me and promise that everything will be okay. Want to believe that someone like him could want someone like me for reasons that don't involve control or ownership or using me up until there's nothing left.
But I don't know how to trust that. Don't know how to be part of something without losing myself completely. And as the bondpulses with pain and longing and the desperate need to return to his side, I realize I might not have a choice.
Because whatever this is between us—bond or fate or something even more dangerous—it's not going away. And neither is the growing certainty that ignoring it might kill us both.
12
MIHALIS
