It means I want to claim thee. Mark thee. Make thee mine in ways that go deeper than blood.
"It means thou keepest to thy side of this tomb, and I keep to mine." I back toward the shadows of the deeper catacombs, putting distance between us before I do something we’ll both regret. "Touch naught else. Bleed on naught else. Do not?—"
"Don’t what?" Fire sparks in her eyes. "Don’t try to understand what just happened to me? You dragged me into this?—"
"Thou dragged thyself into this." The words snap out harder than I intended. "I asked not to be woken. I asked not for a bond-mate." My voice drops to a growl. "I asked not for another witch to die because of me."
The words hang in the air between us. She goes very still, and I see the moment she hears what I didn’t mean to reveal.
Another witch.
Her green eyes narrow, sharp as her silver blade. "Another? You’ve done this before?"
Clever. Too clever.
"That is not thy concern."
"Everything about this binding is my concern." She takes a step forward instead of back, and something hot and unwelcome unfurls in my chest at her courage. "What happened to her?"
She died. They always die.
But I don’t give her that truth. Instead, I stalk deeper into the tomb, seeking the familiar darkness of the catacombs. The shadows welcome me, thick with ash and older sorrows.
Behind me, I hear her slide down the wall. The soft sound of defeat sends an unwelcome pang through my chest—her exhaustion bleeding through the mark burning my flesh.
Ignore it. Ignore her.
But I can feel her presence burning at the edge of my awareness as I retreat. Her heartbeat echoes mine. Her scent clings to my armor. The mark on her wrist throbs in perfect time with the one over my heart.
Bound.
I find an alcove carved deep in the catacomb walls and brace my back against the cold stone. My armor scrapes and settles as I let my weight rest against the rock. Claws dig grooves in the wall.
What am I supposed to do with a witch?
Lyralei had been different. Soft where this one is sharp. Trusting where this one questions everything. Lyralei had looked at me with starlight in her eyes and believed love could conquer darkness.
This one looks at me and sees a problem to solve.
Maybe that’s better. Maybe problems can be solved without anyone dying.
But even as the thought forms, I know it’s a lie. The curse doesn’t release its hold easily. The Marshal won’t allow it. And this abbey...
This abbey hungers for blood just as much as the mark binding us.
I’m still lost in dark thoughts when I feel her stirring. Moving around the main chamber with careful steps, probably cataloging every rune and carving. Her curiosity burns bright as flame, impossible to miss.
Of course, she’s curious. She came for knowledge.
And found a monster instead. But she’s still here, isn’t she? Still exploring instead of fleeing. Still?—
The mark flares with sudden alarm. Sharp and cold and laced with recognition.
She’s found something. Something she shouldn’t touch.
I’m moving before conscious thought kicks in, shadow and speed carrying me through the catacombs in a blur of motion. The main chamber materializes around me just as her fingers stretch toward the wall where the deepest binding runes are carved.
The ones that hold more than just me.
