Page 88 of Tethered In Blood

The air between us shifted. Tensed. We glared at each other. His stare was threatening. The silver flickered just beneath the surface of his dark irises as he picked apart my reasoning, weighing every word I didn’t say and searching for a crack, a way in. But I held firm.

“Fine,” he conceded, his voice lower, rougher. “I’ll be in my room.” He turned before I could see whatever else lurked behind his gaze, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. The moment the door shut behind him, my body betrayed me. My hands shook. My breath hitched.

Don’t cry.

My jaw clenched, and my fingers tightened in the sheets. Get it together.The fact that someone had seen it was horrible enough. The fact thathehad seen it made the situation unbearable.

I didn’t know why it cut so deep, why it hurt worse than the wound itself. Maybe because he wasn’t just anyone; he was Oberon Sinclaire, the heartless, unshakable assassin who had never looked at me with pity. Not when I stumbled, failed, or my past clawed its way to the surface. He teased me in the field, that smirk tugging at his lips, a flicker of something softer behind his sharp exterior. He did it again in the room—an almost imperceptible shift in his gaze, as if something had cracked, and a wall between us had fallen.

It was new, fragile, something I hadn’t dared hope for.

And it was gone.

The wall was back up—thicker, heavier, and impenetrable. My fault. My stupid, reckless fault. I had overstepped, crossed an invisible line, and shown too much. I wasn’t sure what I had seen in his eyes anymore.

Anger? Frustration? Disgust?

A lump lodged itself in my throat. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t go away.I should have known better. I should have stayed back and let him handle it. But when that creature lunged behind him, and I saw its claws poised to strike—

A violent tremor shook me, shattering my thoughts. Pain flared through my back and forced a sharp breath from my lips. My fingers curled, and my nails bit into my palms as I forced myself to stay still. The wound was worse than I had thought. Sticky, warm blood seeped through the stitches, and a deep, pulsing ache radiated from it. I was more aware of the risks of infection than anyone. The deeper the wound, the greater the danger.

I needed to wrap it. To stop the bleeding. To breathe.

Gritting my teeth, I reached for the bandage roll. The stiff movement sent a lance of pain through my shoulder. I hissed, biting back a curse. My fingers curled around the rough fabric, knuckles white as I forced my body to obey.

“Steady breaths. You’ve been through worse.”

The whisper was faint, but saying it aloud made it seem like I wasn’t just sitting here, bleeding and breaking apart, but still had some semblance of control. My hands trembled as I wound the bandage around my shoulder, pressing the fabric against the raw, burning skin. “Too tight. Loosen it.”The whisper came again, this time sharper, more forceful. I inhaled through my teeth and adjusted the wrap, fingers slipping against the warmth of my blood.

The room felt too quiet. Too empty.

The suffocating silence curled around me, amplifying every shallow breath and every rustle of fabric as I worked. I clenched my jaw. “Stop shaking.” I wasn’t cold, but my hands wouldn’t listen.

It wasn’t the wound that made me tremble. It was the way Oberon had looked at me. The stark fury in his eyes. The tension that had crackled in the space between us. It wasn’t the usual irritation when I disobeyed, not the exasperation laced in his voice when I ignored his orders. It was harsher, colder.

And I had put it there.

The smirk he gave me before I ruined it. The soft edge in his voice when he called me “Dilthen Doe” made it sound like it meant something different, as if it wasn’t just an insult and there was more to it. He made it sound warm.

It was gone.

I ruined it.

A bitter laugh threatened to slip past my lips, but I swallowed it.Of course I did.That was what I did best, wasn’t it? Destroyed things before they could hold any meaning.

I shook my head and focused on the task at hand, grabbing the roll of bandages again. Layer after layer, my fingers pressed into each fold, ensuring it was tight, secure, and precise. The pressure helped. At least it gave me something else to focus on, other than the silence or the ache in my chest that had nothing to do with my wound.

Deep breaths, Eden.

It was done.

My arms fell limp at my sides, my muscles aching from the strain and exhaustion I couldn’t shake. My body throbbed in dull, rhythmic pulses. The sting of my wound was indistinguishable from the more profound ache that settled in my bones. I needed rest. I needed to stop.

But my mind didn’t let me, because I thought of him again. The way his jaw clenched as he held me, his teeth grinding as though the very act of touching me was a burden. I was something he had to tolerate and endure. The memory hit too hard. I swallowed, forcing down the lump in my throat as I gripped the torn fabric of my dress as if that alone could anchor me.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

My hands shook as I lifted the ruined dress, the fabric feeling heavier than it should have, carrying the weight of everything I couldn’t say, everything I wasn’t strong enough to face. A ragged sob slipped out before I could stop it.

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