Page 90 of The Blood Moon Oath

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t back down. “Of course I didn’t know. Do you think I planned this? Do you think I chose it?”

“You didn’t have to complete it with him,” I snap, the words cutting sharper than I intend. “You had to consent. It doesn't work if you don't. It changes things between us.”

Her expression hardens, and she steps closer, her voice rising. “Does it? Or are you just making excuses because you don’t want to deal with the fact that maybe the problem isn’t me? Maybe it’s you.”

I clench my jaw, the air between us thick with tension. “It impacts our bond,” I say, my voice low. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t.”

She crosses her arms, glaring up at me. “You love Finn and Torin, don’t you?”

“What?” The word comes out harsh, confused.

“You love them,” she repeats, her tone softer but insistent. “And it doesn’t affect how you feel about either of them, does it? Just because you love one doesn’t mean you can’t love the other. Love isn’t something you split between people, Kael. It grows. It expands.”

The word hits me like a blade to the chest.Love. I stare at her, the confusion twisting inside me. “Love?” I echo, the word foreign, strange on my tongue.

She shifts uncomfortably, brushing it off. “You know what I mean.”

But I don’t. I step closer, closing the distance between us, my voice dropping to a low growl. “No. I don’t know what you mean. Explain it to me.”

She looks up at me, and I see something in her eyes that isn’t defiance or frustration. It’s... vulnerability. “I mean,” she starts, her voice faltering for a moment, “that maybe... if we’re going to make this work, you have to let me in. I need to understand who you are, Kael. What made you this way.”

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “You think knowing my past will change anything? It won’t.”

“Maybe it will,” she says, stepping closer. Her voice softens, a gentle plea. “Maybe it’ll help us understand each other. I want to know you, Kael. The real you. The one beneath all the ice.”

Her words cut through me, raw and unrelenting. I turn away, staring into the forest, the memories clawing at the edges of my mind. “It’s not a story you want to hear.”

She steps beside me, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you mine,” she says, and there’s a softness in her tone that I don’t know how to handle. “And it’s a sad story too. Maybe we can find some comfort in that. Together.”

The wordtogethersticks in my mind, twisting something deep inside me. I glance at her, the weight of her gaze pulling me in. She looks so... sincere. And for the first time, I feel something other than frustration. I feel the bond between us shifting, growing stronger, even as I try to resist it.

Her hand reaches out, brushing against my cheek. The touch is light, tentative, but it sends a jolt through me. I freeze, unsure of what to do, but I don’t pull away. Her touch is warm, soft, and I hate how much I crave it.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she says, her eyes searching mine. “But let me in, Kael. Just a little.”

I close my eyes, the memories pressing against me like a storm. When I open them again, I see her watching me, waiting. “Fine,” I say, the word heavy with the weight of what I’m about to share. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She smiles faintly, and the warmth of it almost breaks something inside me. “I can handle it.”

I look away, the forest around us blurring as the memories begin to surface. “We’ll see.”

Chapter

Forty-Seven

KAEL

The wind bites at my skin, sharp and unforgiving, as I stumble through the underbrush. My legs ache, my stomach twists with hunger, and my hands are covered in cuts from clawing through the thorns that cling to me like they want to drag me down. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here—days? Weeks? Time doesn’t feel real anymore. There’s just the cold, the hunger, and the emptiness.

I don’t remember much about where I came from, only fragments of images that flicker through my mind like broken pieces of glass. A woman’s face—stern, unyielding. A hand shoving me forward, hard enough to make me stumble. The sound of her voice, harsh and final:“You’re better off here.”

She didn’t look back.

I was too young to understand what abandonment meant. Too young to know that no one was coming back for me. But it didn’t take long to figure it out. The first night alone, I screamed for hours, my voice hoarse, my throat raw, until thecold silenced me. The second night, I didn’t scream. By the third, I knew I had to find food or die.

That was years ago. I don’t scream anymore.

Now, I just survive.

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