Page 1 of Tethered In Blood

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Eden

THEWORLDHADneverbeen kind to me, but I never needed kindness to survive. I learned early that survival was an act of will, a lesson instilled by my parents. While most children lay in warm beds, I spent my nights in Veilwood. My hands trembled as I foraged for something useful: roots to numb the pain, berries to stave off hunger, and bark to brew into a sense of warmth.

My father referred to it as building resilience. My mother said it was necessary. But I considered it abandonment.

Wickloe, like every village in Aurelith, had its superstitions. Some whispered of the Veilwood’s ancient hunger, warning that those who wandered too deep never returned the same. Others swore the river carried the spirits of the forgotten, pulling them under when the moon hung low.

My mother used those stories as cautionary tales, but I learned the truth early: real monsters didn’t lurk in the shadows of the trees. They sat at dinner tables where they bargain with their blood.

The hood of my cloak slipped from my head as I kneeled by the river’s edge, plunging my fingers into the icy water. The crisp, clean flavors of stone and soil offered a momentary relief from the exhaustion weighing on my limbs.

The Veilwoods were nearly behind me. The twisted trees had thinned, their gnarled roots no longer reaching out to trip me with each step. Although the air felt lighter, alive with the hum of insects and free of the mossy decay, my chest felt no less heavy. I should have felt relieved. I should have felt something other than this endless, gnawing fatigue. But the capital was a day away, and I couldn’t afford to think beyond the next step.

Crunching over frosty leaves, I moved away from the water to find dry ground beneath an oak. The rough bark scraped my spine as I sank to the ground, trying to focus on my surroundings and stay present.

My limbs felt heavy, and my breath misted in the frosty night air. The wind stirred the trees above, rustling brittle leaves that never fell. An owl hooted in the distance, its call low and haunting, while something small scurried through the undergrowth, unseen yet near. Veilflies glimmered in the air with tiny blue pulses of light against the darkness. A fox padded along the riverbank, its ears flicking toward me before it vanished into the underbrush, leaving only the whisper of rustling ferns behind.

My eyelids closed for a moment, yet the darkness behind them pulled at me. Echoes of nightmares lingered at the fringes of my mind.

Not yet. I couldn’t sleep yet.

My grip strengthened on my cloak. Clutching onto something could secure me here, in this instant, and not where my mind attempted to take me. The muscle ache told me I needed rest, but sleep was dangerous. Sleep meant lowering my guard. It meant slipping into dreams where hands reached for me from the dark, the smells of iron and fire coated my throat, and I woke gasping with a heart that sputtered and a pulse deafening in my ears. The faint sound of a snapping branch made me stiffen, though it was too light to be anything other than a deer moving through the trees.

Still, my pulse stayed tight in my throat.

The river’s rhythmic murmur wove through the rustling branches. When exhaustion sank deep into my bones, my body slumped more heavily against the tree. I intended to rest for only a moment, long enough to gather my strength. But the river’s insistent lullaby beckoned to me, and the darkness enveloped me.

The damp soil pressed against my knees as I plucked feverfew from the tangled roots of an oak, my fingers brushing against the delicate white petals. A fragrance of pine and loamy soil filled the air. Distant insect calls blended with the hush of the wind as it swept through the trees.

It should have been peaceful.

But something felt wrong.

My skin prickled at the nape of my neck, an instinct older than reason. My pulse slowed, then pounded.

I turned.

Marcus stood just beyond the tree line. His leather shoes were too pristine for the forest trail, and his tailored jacket was immaculate, as if he had stepped from a ballroom, not from my nightmares. He was as calculated as ever. Entitlement clung to him like a second skin.

“Hello, Darling.” His silky, almost pleasant voice sent ice threading through my veins. He rolled the leaf between his fingertips, then let it fall, before wiping his hand against a crisp white handkerchief. “I thought I might find you here. You always did love your little…” He paused. “Plants.”

My stomach tightened, but I kept my voice even.

“I’m busy, Marcus.”

“Busy avoiding me, you mean? You’ve been doing that an awful lot lately.” He took a slow step closer, and his head tilted as though he were considering a misbehaved pet. “Haven’t you?”

My eyes remained locked on him. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been working.”

“That’s cute,” he laughed.

I narrowed my gaze. “What?”

“The way you play healer.” His lips curled as his mask slipped enough to show the underlying disdain. “We all know what you’re really doing here, Eden.”My name dripped from his tongue with venom, stealing my breath. I had to get past him, and my best option was to move before his patience snapped.

“I don’t have time for this,” I clipped, pushing past him.

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