Page 40 of Chains of Love

Moving to where I'd left the goat, I draw my knife and begin the familiar motions of skinning and cleaning. The blade slides smoothly through flesh and sinew - a task I've done countless times in my years of warfare. But this feels different. There's pride in providing this way, in seeing Lirien's approving glance when she thinks I'm not looking.

She bends to adjust another stone, silver hair falling forward to frame her face. The fading sunlight catches in those strands, making them shimmer like starlight. My hands still on the goat as I watch her work, graceful even in such a mundane task. Gods, she's beautiful. When did that thought stop surprising me?

The aroma of spices fills the mountain air as Lirien tends to her makeshift stone oven. Her silver hair catches the dying sunlight, and I find myself mesmerized by the way her fingers dance over the herbs she's grinding. The bond thrums between us, warm and alive.

I approach with the cuts of meat, my hands still sticky with blood. She doesn't flinch at the sight - she never does anymore. When did that change? When did she start looking at me with trust instead of fear?

"Here." I lay the meat on the heated stone. "Fresh mountain goat. Better than your stale bread, I'd say."

She shoots me a look that could freeze hell. "Be happy I packed enough to feed your bottomless pit of a stomach."

The flames beneath the stone leap higher at her command, and the meat begins to sizzle. The scent of her spices mingleswith the cooking meat, making my mouth water. But it's not just hunger that tightens my chest as I watch her work.

I wipe my hands clean on a cloth, struggling to find the right words. The bond carries something deeper than magic - something that feels like belonging.

"Lirien."

"Hm?" She doesn't look up from where she's turning the meat, her movements precise and graceful.

My heart pounds against my ribs. When did I become such a coward? I've faced armies without hesitation, but these simple words terrify me. "Let's not break the bond."

20

LIRIEN

"Watch your step," Darak says, holding his hand out to me.

The wind whips my hair around my face as we climb higher, the thin mountain air making each step more challenging. Darak's hand remains extended, waiting. My heart flutters at the simple gesture, remembering how those same fingers traced paths across my skin just hours ago in the early morning light.

After last night, I wasn't sure what to say. Did Darak really mean what he said? After all this, he didn't want to break the bond?

The thought gave me hope. Too much hope. The kind that could shatter what little remained between us if I misinterpreted his words, if I let myself believe in something that wasn't there. My fingers absently traced the scar on my cheek, remembering how close we'd come to ending everything.

So I simply hadn't said anything at all. And Darak hadn't pressed me to, his crimson eyes occasionally finding mine but never demanding answers I wasn't ready to give. Perhaps he understood the weight of silence better than most.

"I won't let you fall," he says, his voice barely carrying over the whistling wind.

I take his hand, very aware of how perfectly mine fits within it. The rocks beneath my feet shift treacherously, but Darak's grip remains steady. Through our strengthened bond, I feel his concern pulse alongside his determination.

"The path narrows ahead," he warns, pulling me closer to the mountain wall. "Stay against the rock face."

My robes catch the wind, billowing around my legs. Darak's free hand catches the fabric, tucking it closer to my body. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes my chest ache.

"You're quiet this morning," he says, helping me over a particularly precarious section.

"Just focusing on not plummeting to my death." The excuse sounds weak even to my ears.

"Liri." The nickname sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold. "About last night?—"

"We should save our breath for climbing." I cut him off, not ready to hear whatever he might say. What if the bond is making him feel things that aren't real? What if when he learns the truth...

His thumb strokes across my knuckles, and through our connection, I feel his frustration mixed with something warmer, something that terrifies me even more than the sheer drop beside us.

He brings my hand up to his mouth and offers a kiss—his way of relenting. I offer a gentle smile in return.

The mountain path widens enough for us to walk side by side, and Darak's hand shifts from helping me to simply holding mine. His thumb traces circles on my skin, sending tingles up my arm.

"So, tell me about this coven of yours," he says, breaking our comfortable silence.

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