Page 32 of Bound By Blood
"What will they do?" The question tastes like copper in my mouth.
"Talk. Judge. Decide our fate." He sits up, muscles rippling beneath skin still marked by fading Kheval glyphs. "The elders will demand explanation."
I pull my torn robes closer, suddenly aware of how exposed I am, not just physically, but spiritually. Every inch of my skin feels branded by his touch, marked by choices that can never be undone.
"And what will you tell them?"
His gaze meets mine, steady as mountain stone. "The truth. That you are mine, and I am yours."
The simplicity steals my breath. No apologies, no justifications. Just truth, raw and uncompromising as everything else about this man who's claimed my heart.
Voices grow louder outside. I catch fragments,human,betrayal,weakness. My stomach clenches.
"I should go." I struggle to my feet, legs unsteady from our night's passion. "Face whatever comes."
Drokhan rises in one fluid motion, catching my wrist. "Not alone."
"Your clan needs to see you're still their chief. Not some lovesick fool blinded by human tricks."
Pain flickers across his features. "You think I'm ashamed?"
"I think you're practical." I press my palm to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath bronze skin. "And I think your people matter more than one night of pleasure."
His grip tightens. "This wasn't pleasure, Eirian. This was?—"
"I know what it was." The words emerge sharper than intended.Sacred. Transformative. Terrifying."But they don't."
Footsteps echo closer. Drokhan releases me reluctantly, gathering his scattered armor with swift efficiency. Within moments, he's transformed from tender lover back to war chief as imposing, untouchable, carved from living stone.
"Stay in the grotto. Let me handle the council."
"I'm not a child to be hidden away."
"You're my..." He stops, jaw working as if wrestling with words. "You're under my protection."
Not his lover. Not his equal. His protected thing.
The distinction shouldn't sting, but it does.
"Go," I whisper. "Before they decide you've been bewitched by human magic."
He hesitates at the entrance, looking back with an expression I can't quite read. Then he's gone, leaving me alone with cooling water and changed everything.
I dress slowly, hands trembling as I secure my healer's sash. Each movement awakens fresh reminders of our joining—tender spots where his teeth marked my throat, the deep ache between my thighs, the ghost-touch of calloused fingers mapping my skin.
Focus, Eirian. You're still a healer. That hasn't changed.
But even as I think it, I know everything has changed. I'm no longer Lady Thorne's dutiful daughter or House healing tradition's faithful keeper. I'm something new, something unnamed. Caught between worlds like a bird with clipped wings.
The grotto entrance darkens. Three figures emerge from shadow, priestesses of the healing grove, their faces painted with ritual ash and disapproval.
"So." The eldest, a crone named Ghasha with filed teeth and knowing eyes, steps forward. "The human shows her true nature at last."
I straighten, drawing on every lesson in deportment my mother ever drilled into me. "Priestess Ghasha. How may I serve?"
Her laugh is like grinding millstones. "Serve? You've served enough for one lifetime, I think."
The younger priestesses flank her, Vega with her scarred arms and Thila whose amber eyes burn with barely contained rage. They move like predators circling wounded prey.
