Page 14 of Bind Me

Could I have been wrong about him being my target?

If so, then who in the hell is that guy in the cave?

Chapter 4

Sasha

The moment I step out of my car, the first drops of rain kiss my face. I stroll toward my rented cabin, nestled on the edge of the woods, loving it when it rains. With the sun already descending, coating the sky in a dark golden hue, I’m contemplating a quick swim in the pool at the back of my place. The fjords brought something out of me today, something I missed—that connection with nature. Something I hadn’t done for a few months back in South Africa from a lack of time.

“I’m home, Chowder!” I call out as I shut the door behind me.

Instantly, there’s a scramble of claws against the hardwood floor, and then, like a tiny furry hurricane, Chowder bursts into the living room. The little otter, with his gleaming eyes, mouth stretched in an almost smile, never fails to brighten every single day since I made him mine.

My heart beams at his cuteness, at his eagerness to see me.

Brown fur, richer along the top and the cream color underneath, glints in the hallway light. Seeing that Chowder wasn’t fully recovered from his injuries caused by that jerk, Zane, I picked up a cozy little vest for him. The fur along his back took the worst hit and hasn’t quite grown back yet. I wanted to make sure he stayed warm and comfy while his fur gradually returned.

I bend down and scoop him up into a hug, his body still long and lean but getting stronger every day. “How was your day, little one?” I ask, holding him close. I couldn’t bear the thought of handing him over after rescuing him from that cage, not with the risk of him being put down because of his injuries. So, here he is, having snuck into my life and now a part of it.

“Did you miss me?” I murmur as he nuzzles his face and cold nose into my neck, making little chirping sounds.

“Food?” he squeaks out. “Who’s hungry?”

It’s astonishing, really. Whatever Zane was doing with these animals wasn’t just trafficking—but experimentation involving magic, and now, Chowder can speak. It’s basic, sure, and usually phrased like a question, but it’s clear evidence of a mind working beyond animal instincts.

“Always food with you,” I joke, walking us both to the small kitchen. The cabin isn’t huge, but it comes with two bedrooms and a bathtub—perfect for Chowder to have a place to dip into water any time of the day or night.

I place him down on the counter and reach for a can of chowder from the cupboard. The first time I brought him home, I’d made a fresh batch, and he was all over it, starved, so I let him polish it off. That’s when I decided it made for a perfect name.

Watching him eat, I stroke his head, loving that I no longer come home to a lonely cabin. Moving into the bedroom, I start undressing from my semi-wet clothes when a heavy knock comes at my door.

Who’s that?

I grab a robe, pulling it around me, calling out, “Give me a sec.”

I hurry to close the sliding door to the kitchen, Chowder still devouring his meal and unbothered.

Who could it be? A neighbor? The landlord? The cabins nearby are spaced well enough for privacy yet close enough that a visit isn’t uncommon. A knot tightens in my stomach as I open the front door.

Instantly, a shiver runs down my spine.

There stands a wide-chested man in a dark guard’s uniform, a blade at his hip, and the unmistakable emblem of the House of Sea and Serpentine emblazoned on his chest.

My heart’s thundering in my chest.

Oh, fuck!

Half of me expects Asbesta herself to float up behind him, but when she doesn’t, I count my blessings. Hopefully,she’s gone back home to Brazil, as far from Norway as possible.

With his eyes fixed on me, I muster my composure and lean casually against the door frame as if his appearance is the least startling thing of my day. He’s a towering figure, his face set in a stoic mask that looks like he hasn’t cracked a smile in years. He’s stern, rigid, his brow furrowed.

“Can I help you?” I manage, biting back the sarcasm itching on the tip of my tongue.

He clears his throat. “You have been caught illegally trespassing in sacred waters belonging to Asbesta, and I am here for reparations.”

I swallow hard, the dryness in my throat making it difficult to speak smoothly. The idea of pleading ignorance flashes through my mind, but making an enemy of the goddess could be a death sentence. For all I know, she’s still lurking nearby, ready to exact whatever punishment she deems fit for intruders.

“In truth,” I begin, “I was in the fjord out of necessity for work, chasing a murderer, not for pleasure. I can offer confirmation from my place of work. Surely that must be taken into consideration? I believe this man I was chasing has entered her waters illegally, and my intention was to bring him to justice.”

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