Maeve sighs, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea.”
I scrub a hand over my face, guilt and helplessness sitting like a weight on my chest. Norah’s still staring at me, her eyes wide, her breath coming quick. The firelight highlights the gold in her hair, the flush in her cheeks.
Married.
The word echoes in my skull. It’s impossible. Unacceptable.
Maeve levels an assessing look at each of us, pursing her lips. “Here’s what I do know. If we’re to have any hope of undoing this bond, you cannot consummate it. If your bodies merge, so will your souls, and there’ll be no coming back from that. The bond will try to deepen. It wants to last, but you must resist.”
Maeve’s words hang in the air, heavy as the scent of damp earth after a storm. Cannot consummate. The phrase lodges in my skull. I curl my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. The mark on my wrist pulses, as if in protest.
Norah’s blush spreads like wildfire, creeping down her throat. She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, her denial dying before it even begins. I don’t blame her. The truth is written allover her—over us—in the way her breath hitches when our knees brush, in the way her eyes flick to my mouth before darting away.
Maeve’s eyebrow arches higher. “You’re already feeling it, aren’t you?”
“No!” Norah blurts, her blush deepening as she cuts her gaze at me for a second. “We…I…I mean, it’s not…He’s my professor…” She sighs as she trails off, fingers twisting together.
I say nothing. What is there to say? The guilt in my gut is a living thing, gnawing at me. I am feeling it. The bond. The pull. The way my body reacts to her nearness like a match struck against flint. I’ve always noticed Norah, been attracted to her. Wanted her, if I’m completely honest. But this bond…it’s like a fire doused with kerosene.
Maeve sighs, eyes flitting between both of us. “The bond is ancient. It doesn’t care about propriety or age differences or ethics. It wants what it wants.” She leans forward, her gaze sharp. “And what it wants is for you two to finish what you started.”
Norah makes a small, choked sound. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. I should say something. Reassure her. Apologize. But the words stick in my throat, tangled in the heat coiling low in my gut. The mark on my wrist tingles hotly, a reminder of what we’ve done—and what we can’t do.
“I do know someone who knows far more about the Vaelthir than I do. I’ll reach out to him to find out if there’s anything to be done. In the meantime, I’ll give you each a charm to help with the…” She trails off, gaze dragging over both of us. “Side effects,” she finally says in a vaguely suggestive tone.
“Thank you,” I say, nodding. “We appreciate any help you can give.”
She gives me a somewhat flat look, and then rises, moving towards a large worktable at the back of the cottage. Jars clink,drawers scrape open, and Maeve mutters to herself as she works, leaving me somewhat alone with Norah.
She’s sitting on the edge of her chair, spine straight, fingers clenched in her lap. She’s trying to be brave. I can see it in the set of her shoulders, the way she lifts her chin. But her eyes—wide, dark, glistening—give her away.
God, those eyes.
I’ve spent months pretending not to notice them. Pretending not to notice her. The way she lights up when she talks about her research. The way her hands move when she’s excited, quick and graceful. The way she bites that damn lip when she’s nervous.
The bond hums between us like electricity under my skin. It’s not just attraction anymore. It’s need. A raw, aching hunger that coils through me and makes my fingers twitch with the urge to touch her. To pull her close. To claim her.
I want to fucking worship her.
The thought slams into me, sharp and unbidden. I want to kiss every freckle on her skin. I want to hear her moan my name. I want to ruin her for anyone else.
Guilt follows fast on its heels, a cold wave crashing over the heat. I did this. I dragged her into this mess. I didn’t double-check the ritual. I didn’t protect her. I don’t deserve anything other than scorn from her.
I pull back, shifting in my chair until there’s a careful foot of space between us. The distance does nothing to dull the pull of the bond. If anything, it makes it worse. Like a rubber band stretched too tight, ready to snap.
Maeve turns back to us, holding two small leather pouches. “These will help with the worst of the side effects,” she says, pressing one into Norah’s hand, then mine. “Keep them on you at all times. They won’t break the bond, but they should help take the edge off.”
I nod, tucking the pouch into my pocket without looking at it. My focus is still on Norah. On the way her throat works as she swallows. On the way her breath stutters when our eyes meet.
I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. No matter how much it hurts.
She’s my student. She’s too young. It’s wrong.
Even if every cell in my body screams otherwise.
Five
Rowan
