Page 23 of Chains of Love

I close my eyes, trying to ground myself in the sensation of his calloused hands against my skin. The steady thrum of his pulse beneath my fingers should anchor me, but instead it sends sparks through my veins that have nothing to do with magic.

"Stop thinking about the kiss," he murmurs, his voice low and rough in a way that makes it impossible not to think about exactly that.

"I'm not."

"Your hands are trembling." His observation cuts through my pretense like one of his bladed shadows.

"Because the magic—" I try to deflect, but even I know it's a weak excuse. The magic hasn't left me this unsettled in years.

"Liri." The nickname stops my excuses cold, the way he says it sending an unwanted shiver down my spine. "Look at me."

I do, and immediately regret it. The intensity in his gaze makes my stomach flip, those crimson eyes holding secrets I'm not sure I want to understand. There's something dangerous in the way he's looking at me, something that threatens to unravel all my carefully laid plans.

"Focus," he insists.

I take a deep breath, letting the scent of burning herbs steady me. The ancient stones I placed around us are with dormant magic, waiting to be awakened. My fingers intertwine with Darak's, his skin cool against my feverish palms.

"Close your eyes," I whisper, my voice barely a breath in the charged air between us. "Let the magic flow through you, like water through a stream."

The words of power spill from my lips, ancient and familiar, each syllable igniting the runes carved in the stones with precise intention. Green light spirals up our arms, weaving between us like living vines searching for purchase. The magic pulses with my heartbeat, growing stronger with each passing moment. Darak's breath catches as my magic seeps into him, testing the boundaries of his natural resistance.

"Don't fight it," I murmur, squeezing his fingers gently. "Let it in. Trust me, just this once."

His shadows respond to my call, writhing and stretching along the edges of my light like curious serpents. Where they meet, sparks of silver burst like tiny stars in a midnight sky, beautiful and dangerous all at once. The bond between us stretches, transforms, deepens - more intimate than any physical touch could be. I can feel the echo of his power resonating with mine, wild and untamed, yet somehow perfectly matched to my own.

My heart pounds against my ribs as his essence mingles with mine. Strength floods my limbs – his strength – while my magic surges through his veins. For a moment, I can feel everything:his pulse, his breath, the steady drum of his warrior's heart. Even the ancient scars that mark his soul become known to me, each one a testament to battles fought and survived.

The runes flare brilliant white, casting sharp shadows across his ash-gray features. Power crashes through us like a wave, and I gasp as the strengthened bond snaps into place, burning like liquid silver in my blood. Darak's hands tighten on mine, steadying me as the magic settles, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle against my trembling ones. The air around us crackles with residual energy, making my skin tingle where we touch.

"It's done," I say, opening my eyes to find him watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Something flickers in those crimson depths – uncertainty, perhaps, or a reluctant fascination that mirrors my own swirling emotions.

And possibility, I realize with a sinking heart, is exactly what I should fear.

"How do you feel?" I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs. The residual magic still tingles across my skin, but his expression remains frustratingly unreadable.

Darak rolls his shoulders and scratches his head. "Not much different, actually." His brow furrows. "Should I?"

The copper bowl tips as I reach for it, spilling ash across the ground. "Maybe that's for the best, then."

My fingers shake as I pack away the herbs and ceremonial items. The moonflower stems crumble in my grip, their petals scattering across my lap. Each one represents hours of careful preparation, now wasted. Or perhaps not wasted – perhaps this is exactly what I should have expected.

The bond feels hollow. Empty. Like a door that should have opened but remained firmly shut.

"Did it work?" Darak asks, still sitting cross-legged in the circle.

I stuff the bowl into my satchel without cleaning it. "The runes activated. The magic took hold." But did it really? The possibility I'd felt moments ago seems to mock me now, slipping through my fingers like smoke.

"You're upset."

"I'm thinking." I gather the rest of my supplies, not meeting his eyes. The ritual changed nothing for him. No new awareness, no deeper connection. Just the same old binding that keeps him tethered to me against his will.

My chest aches as I close my satchel. What was I expecting? That strengthening the bond would somehow make him?—

No. Better not to finish that thought.

I watch Darak gather leaves and moss, arranging them into a makeshift bed. His movements are precise, methodical – just like everything else he does.

"You don't have to do that," I say, wrapping my arms around myself against the evening chill.

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