“And now?”
“Now it is.”
Something moves across his face. Not anger. Dread. “Your blood is in me. Mine is in you. We are blood bound now.” He says it like a diagnosis. Like something gone wrong that can't be fixed. His eyes drop to my bandaged hand, then back to my face. “By your blood and mine and the old ways that bind my kind. I am yours until the debt is paid. Your life for mine, balanced. This I swear.”
The words don't sound chosen. They sound pulled out of him. His hands are shaking. His jaw is tight and I can see the strain in his neck, the cords standing out, his whole body fighting against something and losing.
The air changes when he says it.
I feel it. Something old and heavy, pressing down on my shoulders. The hairs on my arms stand up. The sounds of the forest dim, the wind dropping, the birds gone quiet.
I look at my bandaged palm. At the pad of cloth over his chest, dark with blood underneath.Your blood is in me. Mine is in you.
Not just words.Something triggered when that happened. Something dark. Magic or a curse. Hard to tell.
“That's not necessary.”
“It is not a matter of necessity.” He holds my gaze. The dread is still there, but underneath it, resignation. “The oath is made. It cannot be unmade by wishing. I am bound to you now, healer. Until I save your life as you saved mine, or until one of us stops breathing.”
I should feel trapped. I should feel panicked, tied to this massive stranger by magic I don't understand, my life suddenly tangled up with his in ways I never asked for.
I'm too tired to feel anything but annoyed.
“That's inconvenient.”
His expression shifts. “Yes.”
“And I can't just... release you? Tell you the debt is forgiven?”
“No.”
“There's no loophole? No early termination clause?”
“The oath is not a contract. It is a binding.” He shifts, tries to stand, fails. For a moment I see pain crack through the stoic mask, real and sharp. “It was made. It must be honored. This is the way of my kind.”
“Your kind being Bogatyr.”
“Yes.”
“Who are supposed to be extinct.”
“Many things that are supposed to be dead are not.” His eyes meet mine again, and there's a warning in them, buried deep. “I am not safe to be near, healer. The oath binds me to protect you, but what I am... you should be afraid. Everyone is afraid.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Not by choice.”
“Then I'll take my chances.” I push myself to my feet, legs protesting, back screaming. “Can you walk?”
“I don't know.”
“Let's find out. Because whatever did that to you?” I nod at the claw marks. “I'm guessing it's still out there.”
He looks at me for a long moment. Those gold eyes, slowly fading to amber, searching my face for something.
I hold out my hand, and he only stares at it. The offer seems to confuse him.
Then, slowly, carefully, he takes it.
