Page 70 of Tethered In Blood

“Then let’s go dig up some nightmares.”

21

Eden

THEGRAVEYARDOFblackenedstalks swayed despite the unnatural stillness in the air. The field hadn’t just withered. It had been drained of vitality. The silence was as if elduvaris itself was holding its breath. The closer we got, the heavier the air became. It was dense with an unseen weight, a presence that lingered beneath the soil.

I halted at the edge.

Oberon’s boots crunched against the brittle remains of wheat as he strode ahead. A few paces in, he stopped and turned when he realized I hadn’t followed. His piercing gaze locked onto me, stripping away any chance of pretense. “Where?”

I blinked, my pulse stumbling. “What?”

“Where are we supposed to be digging?” He gestured to the endless stretch of decayed wheat, the landscape that offered nothing but desolation. “Or do you even know what we’re digging for?”

My throat tightened. I gripped my journal harder, and my fingers pressed deep into the leather as if I could wring the answer from its pages. I knew… or at least I thought I did. The crops had been fed, but not by sunlight or soil. They had drawn from something buried beneath them.

But what if I was wrong? What if we uncovered something that wasn’t meant to be disturbed?

“I—” My voice faltered.

Oberon didn’t move, but there was a shift in his patience. The silent expectation. I forced my breath steady as my mind raced through the sigils, the warnings, the unmarked graves, and the deaths.

They led here.

Swallowing my hesitation, I stepped forward. “The center,” I said, forcing certainty into my voice. “We dig in the center.”

His gaze lingered, weighing my words, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t scoff, sigh, or call this a waste of time. He planted his feet, adjusted his grip on the shovel, and drove the blade into the ground.

The first thrust sent a dull, wet sound through the silence. The second was harsher; the resistance in the soil was more than just compacted dirt. My breath hitched as he worked. Each rhythmic thrust and scrape peeled away layers of soil, chipping into whatever lay beneath.

The eerie, smothering silence of the field pressed in around us, but my focus had shifted. It wasn’t the unnatural hush that froze me. It was him. It was the way he had given no sharp remarks, and there was no hesitation. Just a relentless, unquestioning effort.

The rhythmic scrape of the shovel biting into the ground filled the space between us. My gaze drifted, almost absently at first, to follow the precise motion of his arms as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The fabric dragged against his skin before falling away, revealing the sharp definition of his forearms, muscles flexing with every controlled movement. A thin sheen of sweat clung to him, catching in the dim light and accentuating the taut lines of his build.

The heat of Vaelwick had gotten to him. His dark hair was damp, and a few errant strands fell loose across his forehead. He parted his lips. His breath was even but heavier from exertion.

I swallowed, too aware of the warmth creeping over my skin. Oberon drove the shovel deeper into the ground, then stilled and lifted his head. His dark, unreadable gaze collided with mine. His grip on the handle tightened, and the muscles in his shoulders tensed as if he were bracing himself for something. The shovel remained planted in the dirt, forgotten for a beat too long. The air between us shifted into a slow, crackling tension that curled around my spine, making my pulse kick against my throat. I forced myself to look away.

“I should…” I cleared my throat. “I should help.”

Desperate for something to focus on, I shoved my shovel into the dirt. The movement was clumsy, my grip too tight, and I didn’t register the impact. His stare continued to linger on me. “Doesn’t all that fabric get heavy in this heat?” His voice was smooth.Was he… teasing?“I didn’t realize modesty was a survival skill.”

My hands clenched around the shovel. I willed myself to keep my eyes fixed on the dirt and ignore the way my skin prickled under the weight of his attention.

Of course, he noticed.

I forced out a dry, unimpressed laugh, shoving the shovel’s blade deeper into the ground. “You wouldn’t last a day in a dress like this.”

He let out a quiet, amused sound. “I would sooner die.” I glanced up, expecting his usual scowl, the ever-present glower that made it impossible to tell what he thought. But there was no frustration, no blank, indifferent stare. A subtle but unmistakable smirk curved just enough to soften the sharpness of his features. And his eyes held a dangerous glint, an amusement that made my stomach tighten and my breath catch.

My face went up in flames.

I dropped my gaze back to the dirt, gripping the shovel harder as if I could will the heat from my skin. But it was too late. It spread up my neck and burned beneath the thick layers of my uniform. Oberon’s low chuckle curled around me, making the heat unbearable. I took a deep breath before driving the shovel into the dirt with unnecessary force.

Focus. Focus on the field.

Not on him or on how attractive he looks.

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