Because even if the bond disappeared tomorrow, even if some miracle freed us both from its pull, I'd still want her. Would still crave the sound of her voice, the challenge in her eyes, the way she makes me feel like more than just a weapon barely contained in flesh.
She makes me feel alive. Makes me want to be better than the cold, controlled monster I've spent years becoming.
And now she's gone, and I'm learning that love—real love, the kind that carves itself into your soul—doesn't give a fuck about magic or bonds or the reasons two people shouldn't be together.
It just is. Painful and beautiful and absolutely fucking devastating.
By the fourth day, I can't even pretend to function. Thera finds me slumped in my chair, head spinning from the simple act of standing up too fast. She takes one look at my face and makes a sound like she's been punched.
"That's it. I'm calling Jelle."
"No." The word is too broken. "There's nothing she can do to heal me."
"This isn't about healing, you stubborn ass. This is about the bond that's killing you because you're too proud to go get your woman back."
Your woman.Because that's what she is, isn't it? Mine. In every way that matters, in every way that counts. The bond just made it official, gave name to something that was already growing between us.
Something I let slip through my fingers because I was too afraid to hold on tight enough.
"She doesn't want to come back," I say, and the admission tastes like blood.
Thera snorts. "You're an idiot. That girl was happier here in a few short weeks than most people are in a lifetime. She loves Irida, loves this house, loves?—"
"Don't." I can't hear it. Can't bear to have hope when hope is the most dangerous thing of all.
But Thera's not done. "She loves you, you blind fool. Anyone with eyes could see it. The way she looked at you when you'd come home from the club, like you hung the stars. The way she'd find excuses to bring you coffee when you were working. The way she'd watch you with Irida like she was memorizing every moment."
My chest tightens painfully. "Then why did she run?"
"Because she's terrified." Thera's voice gentles slightly. "That girl's been hurt, Mihalis. Badly. And you—" She gestures at me, taking in my massive frame, my wings, the power that radiates from me even when I'm weak as a newborn. "You're everything she's learned to fear. Strength. Control. The ability to cage her if you choose."
The words hit their mark with devastating accuracy. Because that's exactly what I did, isn't it? The moment I brought her home, I locked her in a room. Made her a prisoner in gilded chains, told myself it was for her own good while ignoring what it must have felt like to someone who's spent her whole life fighting against being owned.
"So what do I do?" The question comes out broken, desperate.
Thera's smile is sharp as a blade. "You stop being a coward and go get her back. You show her that choosing you doesn't mean losing herself. That loving you doesn't mean becoming your prisoner."
She pauses, studying my face with the expression of someone who's watched me grow up, who remembers when I was young and stupid and thought I knew everything about the world.
"And you do it before this bond kills you both. Because I'll be damned if I watch Irida lose another parent to pride and fear."
The threat in her voice is real. Thera would drag me bodily to Heidi's door if she had to, propriety and my dignity be damned.
But as I sit there, struggling to draw breath that doesn't taste like ash, I realize I don't care about dignity anymore. Don't care about pride or appearances or maintaining the careful control that's defined my life for so many years.
I care about the woman who makes my daughter laugh. Who challenges me at every turn, who isn't afraid to call me on my bullshit even when I'm radiating enough menace to send grown xaphan running.
I care about Heidi. And if there's even a chance—even the smallest possibility—that she might feel the same way...
Then I need to stop being a coward and fight for what I want.
For everything I want.
17
MIHALIS
The decision to move feels like dragging myself up from the bottom of a deep well. Every muscle in my body protests as I force myself upright, the room spinning sickeningly around me. My wings feel like dead weight against my back, the feathers dull and lifeless when they should gleam with health.
