I cross the chamber in two strides, moving faster than human eyes can follow. My clawed hand slams into the wall beside her head, and spider-web cracks split the ancient stone. She flinches but doesn’t look away.
Definitely foolish.
"You." The word scrapes from my throat. Centuries without speech leave my voice rough as grinding stone. "Thou hast wakened me from cursed sleep."
Her chin lifts a fraction. "I was looking for?—"
"I care not what thou sought." I lean closer, close enough that my breath stirs the auburn strands escaping her braid. Close enough to smell the fear-sweat on her skin mixed with that maddening scent of magic and learning. "Thou hast bled upon my tomb. Spoken the ancient words. Bound us both."
I grab her wrist—the one bearing my mark—and drag it up between us. The branded rune glows against her pale skin, pulsing in rhythm with the answering burn over my heart. Heat flares between us, and I taste her terror sharp on my tongue.
She gasps, free hand flying to her chest. "What did you?—"
"What thou didst when thy curiosity proved stronger than thy wisdom." I tighten my grip, claws pricking her skin. Not enough to break it. Yet. "We are bound now, little witch. Death-bound. Soul-tethered. If I burn, thou burnest. If I die?—"
"So do I." The words are steady despite the tremor in her voice. "The journals mentioned blood bonds."
Smart. Too smart for her own good.
"Clever girl." I bare my tusks in what might be a smile if smiles could promise violence. "Aye. Thy life is tied to mine now. Thy death—" I press my free hand to my chest where the curse-mark flares in answer to hers "—is tied to mine."
Heat builds between us, and I feel her pulse hammering against her ribs. Taste her fear copper-bright on my tongue. But underneath that...
Want.
The realization hits cold as winter steel. She’s terrified, aye. But there’s heat threading through her terror. Warmth that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way her eyes linger on the breadth of my shoulders.
Dangerous.
In my last life, I learned what happened when human women looked at orc warlords with heat in their eyes. I learned the price of desire, of hope, of believing love could conquer curses.
I learned it in blood and screaming.
"So what now?" She lifts her chin, defiance sparking in those green eyes. "You kill me? Break the binding before it settles deeper?"
The idea has merit. One quick twist of those delicate bones. Snap that slender neck. End this before the tether deepens into something I cannot control.
My claws flex against her wrist. I imagine how easy it would be. How quick.
But even as the thought forms, something stirs in the depths of my cursed soul. The primal part of me that recognizes strength, that values courage over beauty. The part that whispers?—
Mate.
The word slams into me. I stumble back, releasing her wrist as if it burned. She slumps against the wall, cradling her branded arm.
No. Not mate. Never again.
Rage follows the recognition—fury that has nothing to do with being woken and everything to do with the way her scentmakes something in my chest clench tight. The way her stubborn courage calls to parts of me I thought died with Lyralei.
Lyralei.
The name cuts deep as it always does. Beautiful, brave Lyralei who thought love was stronger than curses. Who died because I was foolish enough to believe her.
I slam my fist into the wall, and the entire chamber shudders. Cracks split the obsidian where my knuckles hit, and ember-light bleeds through the gaps. Dust rains from the ceiling.
"Stay away from me." The words come out as a snarl, all gravel and barely leashed violence. "The mark hungers, little witch. It wants what I will not give."
She pushes herself off the wall, and disappointment flashes across her face so quickly, I almost miss it. "What does that mean?"
