Page 50 of Bound By Blood
The needle completes its work. She wipes away the excess ink, revealing the mark that now lives above my heart—a permanent reminder of the bond forged between enemy bloodlines.
"Now you carry part of me wherever you go." She caps the ink vial, her task complete. "And I'll bear the memory of tonight in every scar I heal, every life I save."
I pull her down, careful not to disturb the fresh tattoo. The ink will set by dawn, becoming as permanent as any clan mark. More permanent, perhaps, this one born of choice rather than tradition.
"The elders will see it," I warn her. "They'll know what it means."
"Let them." Fire sparks in her storm-grey eyes. "I'm tired of hiding what I feel. If they question my loyalty to this clan, they can watch me fight beside you tomorrow."
Tomorrow.The word carries weight like a falling stone. Dawn approaches with its promise of blood and chaos. The raiders who struck at our borders won't retreat quietly—they'll return with reinforcements, seeking to claim what they failed to take.
"You're not fighting beside me," I growl, the chief's authority reasserting itself. "You're a healer, not a warrior."
"I'm whatever I choose to be." She meets my glare without flinching. "You don't get to decide my worth, Drokhan. Not even as my lover."
The challenge in her voice stirs something primal in my blood—not anger, but fierce pride. This woman refuses to be diminished, even by someone she cares for. Perhaps especially then.
"The battlefield?—"
"Will be filled with wounded who need tending." She shifts against me, her bare skin warm in the cooling night air. "I won't cower in the grotto while others bleed for our safety."
Oursafety. She speaks as if the clan's survival matters as much to her as to me. As if the bond marked above my heartextends beyond flesh to encompass everything I've sworn to protect.
The eastern sky shows the first pale hint of dawn. Soon the war horns will sound, calling every able body to defensive positions. The raiders will come with the sunrise. It's their way, striking when morning light reveals the weak points in our defenses.
"If you insist on staying close to danger," I concede, knowing argument would be futile, "you'll follow my lead. No heroics. No unnecessary risks."
"Agreed." She seals the promise with a kiss that tastes like midnight and determination. "But I won't watch you charge into death without backup."
I want to argue further, to command her to safety through sheer force of will. But the practical part of my mind—the part that's kept our clan alive through three harsh winters and countless skirmishes—recognizes the wisdom in her words. A healer on the battlefield saves lives that would otherwise be lost to blood loss and shock.
And perhaps, if I'm honest with myself, I want her nearby. Want to know exactly where she stands when chaos erupts around us.
The fresh tattoo throbs with each heartbeat, a pleasant reminder of her touch. I trace the outline of her healer's marks—the willow and chalice inked in green along her forearm, symbols of service and sacrifice.
"When this battle ends," I murmur against her hair, "what happens to us?"
"We face whatever comes next. Together." Her fingers find the copper wire in my braids, tugging gently. "Unless you're planning to trade me back to House Thorne for political advantage."
The suggestion hits like a physical blow. "Never."
"Then we have nothing to worry about." But I hear the uncertainty she tries to hide, the fear that circumstances might force us apart despite our promises.
The war drums intensify, their rhythm shifting from the slow pulse of night watch to the rapid thunder of call-to-arms. Dawn breaks over the mountain peaks, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold.
I rise from our makeshift bed of moss and discarded clothing, offering Eirian my hand. She accepts it without hesitation, allowing me to pull her upright. The morning air raises goosebumps along her pale skin.
"Your armor," she says, gathering my scattered gear with efficient movements. "And mine."
I see her don her healer's robes with practiced speed, transforming from lover to battlefield medic in moments. The duality still amazes me—this woman who whispers my name in passion can also face arterial bleeding without flinching.
My armor feels familiar and strange after our night of vulnerability. The leather straps and iron plates create barriers between my skin and the world, but they can't diminish the warmth of the mark above my heart.
The war horns sound from three directions—our scouts have spotted the approaching raiding party. Larger than expected, judging by the prolonged blast. They're not content with testing our defenses; they mean to overwhelm them.
"Ready?" I ask, checking the edge of my war-axe one last time.
Eirian adjusts her healer's satchel, ensuring the supplies won't shift during movement. "Ready."
