Page 89 of Tethered In Blood

Damn it.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to drag myself back, hard enough to keep the rest of the emotions clawing at my throat from spilling. I couldn’t afford this. Not now. Not ever.

I had to fix this.

My fingers fumbled for the needle, but it was small and slippery with sweat. It kept slipping between my fingers. A sharp sting bit into the pad of my thumb, and I hissed, shaking my hand out before forcing myself to keep going.

One stitch at a time.

The thread pulled tight, drawing the fabric together in uneven, jagged lines. My hands shook, the needle trembling between my fingers, but I persevered. Stitch after stitch, the dress gradually came back together. It wasn’t perfect or smooth, but it was wearable.

Good enough.

My fingers were stiff and aching when I set the dress aside. My body begged for rest, but my mind still returned to him. To the way he looked at me. To the way it felt to lose something I never had.

Oberon’s tunic was stained with blood. He sat on the log at the river’s edge, arms crossed, watching me scrub the fabric clean in the river. His gaze had been that usual sharp and unreadable look, but he hadn’t stopped me.“You can’t keep wearing a bloodied shirt over a clean, bandaged wound. It’ll get infected. Which would only cause trouble for both of us.”

A scoff tore from my lips as I flexed my fingers, trying to stop the trembling. My wrists ached from the tension, and the deep, raised scars on my arms caught my eye as I moved.

“Remember who you belong to, Darling.”

The voice was a lingering serpent that slithered through my mind. My chest tightened, and my breath stalled as if my lungs had forgotten how to work. The room tilted, shadows pressing in on the periphery of my vision. I knew I was still here, but the past had its claws in me, dragging me under.

My knees hit the floor beside the bed, a sharp jolt rattled through me, and I sobbed. It tore through me in raw, uncontrollable waves, shaking my frame until I couldn’t hold myself upright. My fingers clenched into the sheets, anchoring me, but it wasn’t enough. I despised the overwhelming loss of control. I loathed it all.

I was used to the memories. I was used to waking in a panic and clawing my way back to reality. But I had never been so out of it. I had never felt so damn lost.

THEDOORCREAKEDopen.Oberon’s presence carried the way it always had, a pressure that settled into the air like a storm waiting to break. It was simply… him.

My eyes remained locked on the journal before me, flipping back through pages filled with cramped, hurried handwriting. My gaze skimmed over old notes. Had we missed something? Had I overlooked a detail that could have made a difference? The thought gnawed at me, a relentless, twisting thing. The corpse was never found, and I needed to be sure the village would be safe.

Ihadto be sure.

My fingers trembled as I traced over a half-written line, a thought I had meant to return to but never did. I couldn’t make sense of my own words. Exhaustion was a stone on my shoulders, pressing heavier with each passing day. The nightmares kept me from resting. The stitches on my back kept me from forgetting.

Oberon’s boots stopped just short of my table. His stare was palpable. “We received another letter.” His voice was steady, but beneath it lay a tension woven into words.

My head lifted, blinking past the thick haze of sleeplessness. The room wavered around me, its dim candlelight casting everything in flickering shadows. Oberon. Stood still, unreadable as always, with the sealed parchment that dangled between two fingers, as if it were just another task, another duty to be carried out. But his posture told me it wasn’t.

The golden light from the candle on my desk licked across the sharp planes of his face, catching in the hollows beneath his jaw and deepening the shadows that framed his ever-stoic expression. But there was a hesitation he wasn’t voicing.

“Already?” My voice came out rough, strained from disuse. Oberon stepped forward and placed the letter on the table in front of me. The parchment made no sound, but it was heavier than it should have been. I swallowed hard, closed the journal, and pushed it aside.

“Where to?”

“Ruvenmere.”

My brow creased as I studied him. “Where is that?”

“Fishing village on the Ruvenmere shore.” Though it had a faint edge, his voice was as even as ever. He paused before adding, “How muchdoyou know about the villages?”

That question gave me pause. Not just because of the fatigue and ache bouncing through my head, but because I wasn’t sure myself. I only knew what the twins who ran the small baker’s stall had told me, the vague warnings that were given under scrutiny by my parents, and the minor superstitions raised to my attention by gossiping patients at the village apothecary. I had been too busy surviving to listen well enough to any of it.

I must have pondered over it for too long. With a huff, Oberon continued. “We are being sent to investigate… disturbances.”

That one word made my stomach drop. I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I sighed. “Disturbances?”

Oberon dragged a hand down his face. “People are seeing and hearing things,” he muttered, as though he didn’t want to say it aloud. “Things that shouldn’t be there.”

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