He went still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You flinched. And then you didn’t. Like someone had smoothed it away.” I stepped closer, and he retreated another pace. “What’s in those vials she brought?”
“Healing tonics. As she said.”
“For what, specifically?”
His jaw tightened. “What are you trying to say? That you think she’s poisoning me? That is so presumptuous!”
“I’m your contracted healer. Everything about your health is my concern.”
“You’re here because your gift eased the condition of my creatures.” He turned away, busying himself with papers on the desk. “Lady Morvain is schooled in treating people. She has been treating me for years.”
The dismissal stung more than it should have. I pressed on anyway. “And the restricted areas? The ley-line chamber? If I’m meant to help you and your creatures, I need to understand.”
“You need to understand nothing beyond what I permit you to understand.” His voice had gone cold. “The tour outlined your boundaries quite clearly.”
“Boundaries. Right.” I crossed the room in three quick strides, stopping just short of the desk. “You brought me here because your magic is failing. Because the creatures are suffering and you can’t help them. You said you were dying. Let mehelpthen.”
He didn’t look up from his papers. “You are helping, within appropriate limits.”
“Appropriate limits.” I stepped around the desk, invading the distance he maintained. He backed into the wall. Good. “Stop locking me out of half the house and treating me like a servant. I’m not here to wash your damned socks.”
His head snapped up. This close, I could see the shadows moving beneath his collar, the silver threading through his eyes. “You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“Then tell me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I brought you here because I am desperate, Lysa, not reckless,” he said. “There are things in this manor that could kill you. Creatures whose instability makes my wyrmling look tame. And the ley-line ...” He stopped himself, jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth grind.
“The ley-line what?”
“I will not be responsible for your death simply because you’re curious.”
“Curious.” I laughed. “You think this is curiosity? Your familiar nearly died in my arms. I felt his pain like it was my own. I feltyours.“ I jabbed a finger at his chest. “Something is very wrong here, and you’re too busy building walls to see it.”
His hand caught my wrist. The leather of his glove was warm from his skin, and the contact sent a jolt through me. His pupils dilated, nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply.
“You felt...” His thumb pressed against my pulse. “What exactly did you feel?”
My heart hammered against his touch. “Enough to know you’re not telling me everything.”
“And did you notice,” I said carefully, “when she touched you earlier?”
He frowned. “Touched me?”
We were too close. His breath ghosted across my cheek, carrying that maddening scent of ink and spice. The shadows under his collar writhed, and I watched them creep higher, curling toward his jaw. His grip on my wrist tightened.
“You should step back,” he said. His eyes flashed pure silver.
A heavy thud made us both jump. A book had fallen from the shelf across the room, landing open on the floor between us. Neither of us had touched it. Neither of us had been anywhere near it. Fenrik released my wrist like I’d burned him.
I crossed to the fallen volume, crouching to examine it. The pages had fallen open to an illustrated diagram, beautifully detailed despite its age. Two figures stood connected by flowing lines of gold and silver, a human and a dragon, their magical signatures intertwined. The text beneath read:On the Resonance Between Bonded Pairs: How Trust and Proximity Strengthen the Ethereal Connection.
I looked up to find him staring at the illustration with an expression I couldn’t read. Hunger and fear and something almost like hope, all tangled together.
