“It should be over,” I say.
He rounds on me, eyes so hot they could melt stone. “It’s not over until the world forgets you exist. Or until it fears me too much to even talk of touching you.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse jumps. “They won’t enter your biome, right? Aren’t I safe in the fortress?”
“I left you in the fortress before, and they tricked you into leaving. I am not giving you up.” Each word is resolute.
I stand, walk to the window, and stare out at the dark mass of jungle. "I can't stay locked up forever. I'll go crazy. You'll have to let me out. And then they'll try again."
I stare at the jungle through the window and think about what he's really keeping me from. Not the Council. Not the High Lord. The other women. The part of me that existed before him. The part he can't control and can't compete with because it has nothing to do with the bond.
He comes up behind me, not touching, but close enough that I feel the heat rolling off him. “Then let them try. I will show them what happens when they push.”
I want to argue, but the words turn to dust in my mouth. Instead, I turn to face him.
Rythar’s hands are fists. His lips are drawn tight, almost bloodless. He looks like he’s ready to kill, but it feels like he’s worried.
I reach for his hand, pulling it into mine, rubbing his large knuckles.
“If you hold everything so tight, it will break,” I say, voice shaking.
He looks at our hands like he can’t believe they’re real. “I’ll break everything but you, Elena.”
My throat closes. I want to kiss him, but I don’t.
Instead, I take a step back, and that’s when it hits—a spike of heat burrows into my left ring finger. The bride mark burns, and a shock races up my arm and into the back of my skull.
I gasp and find myself in Rythar’s arms. The pain is gone as quickly as it came, but something lingers, a thread of pressure stretching out from my finger into the air. The connection is open.
Rythar’s eyes narrow as he searches my face. “You’re reaching for them again.”
I shake my head, breath gone. “I didn’t try to. It just—” The word gets lost. I don’t know how to explain it. The psychic wire to Sophia and Maya just happened.
He holds me to him. “Can you shut it off?”
“No.” I squeeze my eyes shut, try to focus, but it only makes the thread stronger. For a split second, I sense Sophia on the other end, angry. Then the thread snaps, leaving nothing but a ringing in my head.
He studies my face, looking for a lie. “The High Lord will track it.”
“Maybe not.” I exhale, shaking. “Sophia is trying to hide it.”
Rythar lets go, turns away, and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Do not underestimate the High Lord. This gives us no advantage and all the risk. He’ll use any contact against you. Against us.”
I stare at his shoulders, the broad line of muscle, the scars that cross them. “Maybe.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to yell, but all that comes out is a sigh. He slumps into the chair, pulls me onto his lap, and buries his face in my hair. “You’re mine. I won’t lose you,” he says, muffled.
“You won’t.”
He looks up. “You say that like you know it’s true.”
I do. But I don’t know why.
Maybe because the alternative is worse.
We sit like that, quiet. The connection to Sophia is a live wire in my chest, humming, waiting for the next surge.
I can’t hide, but I am alive.
