Page 28 of Chains of Love

I wrench my arm free, stepping back until my legs hit the bed. Anger burns hot in my chest, mixing with humiliation. "'Not ugly?' That's what you think counts as a compliment?"

Through our strengthened bond, I feel his confusion warring with irritation. Of course he doesn't understand. He's a Dark Elf warrior who's probably never questioned his worth a day in his life.

"You made it perfectly clear what you think of me." My fingers clutch the robes tighter. "How I pale in comparison to Serra'sperfectform. Being 'not ugly' isn't exactly high praise, Darak."

His crimson eyes narrow. "That's not-"

"Don't." I raise my chin, meeting his gaze with all the fury I can muster. "Just don't."

I gasp as Darak yanks my robes away, my protests dying in my throat as his crimson eyes lock with mine. My skin prickles with goosebumps - from the cool air or his intense gaze, I'm not sure which. I can feel the sensation of something raw and unfamiliar as it travels between us.

"Stop," I whisper, but there's no force behind it. My arms move to cover my exposed midriff, where my cropped traveling shirt ends just below my ribs.

His finger traces my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire and ice—as conflicting as my choice is turning out to be. The calluses on his hands catch slightly against my skin as he follows the line of my shoulder, down my arm. My breath hitches when his touch skims the edge of my shirt, lingering at the strip of bare skin above my waistband.

The bond floods with his emotions - appreciation, desire, and something deeper that makes my heart race. I can't look away from his face as his eyes travel the length of my body, taking in every detail - the lean muscles earned from years of spell-casting, the faint scars from failed rituals, the curves that never quite filled out like Serra's.

"You're not ugly, Liri." His voice is rough, barely above a whisper. The use of my nickname sends a shiver down my spine. "You're far from it."

His throat works as he swallows hard, fingers still resting against my skin. "You're..."

"Filthy," I snap, cutting off whatever he was about to say. My feet carry me around the partition before he can respond, heart hammering against my ribs.

The water welcomes me, cool against my flushed skin as I sink beneath the surface. My hair fans out around me like silver seaweed, and I watch the ripples dance above through half-closed eyes. Echoes of his... frustration? Anger? Whatever it is, it crawls into my chest and stays there.

I break the surface with a gasp, pressing my forehead against the basin's edge. Water drips from my nose, my lips, my eyelashes. The strengthened bond makes it impossible to ignore the storm of emotions radiating from the other side of the partition.

"Liri." His voice is rough, closer than I expected.

"No." I squeeze my eyes shut.

But the memory of his touch lingers on my skin, the way his crimson eyes had darkened as they traced my form. Not with disgust or dismissal, but with something that made my breath catch.

The bond thrums between us, and I catch fragments of his thoughts - appreciation mingled with confusion, desire tangled with uncertainty. It's different from the calculated interest he showed Serra. More raw. More real.

I snatch the cloth from the basin's edge, scrubbing my skin until it turns pink. The water grows cloudy with dirt and sweat from our journey, and I watch the murk swirl as I lift my arm. My muscles ache from the fight, and I wince as I find new bruises forming.

I try to ignore my awareness of Darak’s presence on the other side of the partition as I finish washing, but his emotions leak through - patience tinged with something warmer that makes my cheeks flush.

After drying off, I slip back into my clothes, grateful for their familiar weight. My hair drips down my back as I step around the partition.

Darak lounges across the bed, bare-chested and wearing only his trousers. The lamplight catches the planes of his muscles, highlighting old scars and fresh bruises from our earlier fight. His crimson eyes find mine immediately.

"What are you doing?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

He pats the empty space beside him. "Waiting for you. The floor's not exactly comfortable."

"I'm not-"

"You can trust me." His expression softens, though mischief still dances in his eyes. "I won't hurt you. You know that now, don't you?"

The bond thrums between us, carrying his sincerity. I sigh, exhaustion finally winning over pride. "Fine. But stay on your side."

I slide under the blankets, keeping careful distance between us. The bed's narrow enough that I can feel his warmth, smell the clean scent of his skin. My heart thuds against my ribs as I settle onto my side, facing away from him.

Just as sleep begins to pull me under, his whisper breaks the silence. "You're beautiful."

15

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