Page 49 of Bound By Blood
We move together, our bodies locked in a primal dance, our breaths mingling, our hearts pounding in unison. The world fades away, the distant war drums becoming nothing more than a faint echo. There is only us, only this moment, only the passion that burns between us. Her fragrance has notes of wild herbs and the faintest hint of smoke, fills my nostrils, intoxicating me. Her skin is soft under my rough hands, a contrast that sends a jolt of desire coursing through me.
As my cock enters her body tightens around me, her moans grow louder, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. I can feel the tension building within her, see the flush of pleasure spreading across her skin. Her eyes, storm-cloud grey andshining a fire that matches my own, meet mine, and in that moment, we are bound not just by flesh, but by something deeper, something ancient. I feel her climax, her body convulsing around me, her nails digging into my back, drawing a growl from deep within my chest. The sharp pain is a grounding force, a reminder of the raw, primal connection we share.
I follow her over the edge, my body shuddering with release, my voice hoarse with pleasure. A wave of heat washes over me, and I can feel the pulse of her heart against my heart, a rhythm that matches my own. In this moment, there is no room for the guarded walls I’ve built around my heart, no place for the haunted past that has defined me. There is only Eirian, her touch, her scent, her breath mingling with mine. The world narrows down to this single, perfect moment, a sanctuary from the storm that rages beyond our embrace.
We lie entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths slowly returning to normal. The distant war drums grow louder, their rhythm echoing the pounding of my heart. I hold her close, my arms wrapped around her, my lips pressed against her forehead.
"Drokhan," she whispers, her voice soft and filled with emotion. "Promise me you'll come back to me."
I tighten my grip on her, my voice rough with determination. "I promise," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "I promise I'll come back to you. No matter what it takes."
She looks up at me with a fierce determination that matches my own. "Then let's make this a night to remember," she says, her voice has a passion that matches my own. "Let's make this a night to fight for."
I hold Eirian close as our breathing settles, her hair splayed across my shoulder like spilled copper under moonlight. The war drums pulse in the distance, but for these stolen moments, the world exists only in the space between her heartbeat and mine.
She traces the inked beasts that climb my collarbone, her fingertip following each deliberate line. "Tell me about this one."
The tattoo she touches depicts a mountain bear locked in eternal combat with a fire-serpent, my first kill at sixteen, when raiders threatened our winter stores. "Every mark tells a story of survival," I murmur against her temple. "Of protecting what matters."
"And what matters most?" Her face glows with the dying embers of distant torches.
You.The word sits heavy in my throat, foreign and dangerous. Chiefs don't speak such truths aloud. We guard them like battlefield secrets.
"My clan. My people." The practiced answer tastes like ash.
She sits up slightly, studying my face with that penetrating gaze that sees through stone and sinew. "Liar."
The accusation should anger me. Instead, something cracks open in my chest, raw and unfamiliar. When did this human woman learn to read me like sacred glyphs?
"The clan mark on my shoulder…" I guide her hand to the braided spiral that denotes my chieftainship. "…burned for three days when they carved it. Every morning I wake knowing that pain was the price of leadership."
Her fingers trace the raised scar tissue. "And this?"
I catch her wrist, bringing her palm to rest over my heart. "This burns for you. Every heartbeat. No ritual prepared me for it."
She leans down, pressing her lips to the spiral mark. The kiss sears deeper than any branding iron. "Then let me give you a mark of my own."
Before I can ask what she means, she reaches for her healer's satchel, retrieving a slender bone needle and a vial of dark ink—the same obsidian shade as the scroll that led us to the peace totem.
"Eirian—"
"Trust me." She speaks with the same authority she wields over fevered patients and infected wounds. "The way you trusted me with your pain."
I watch her prepare the needle with steady hands. No tremor betrays her resolve. This woman who once flinched at the sight of Orc blood now moves with ritual purpose, focusing with a healer's precision.
"Where?" The question rumbles from somewhere deep in my chest.
She places her palm flat against my sternum, just above my heart. "Here. So every time you feel doubt, you'll remember this moment. Remember us."
The first pierce of the needle sends familiar fire through my skin. But this pain carries no aggression, no conquest—only connection. Each careful stroke builds something new beneath my flesh.
"What are you marking me with?"
"Two symbols becoming one." Her voice stays calm through the intimacy of her work. "The willow of House Thorne, for healing and resilience. The mountain peak of your clan, for strength and protection."
I watch the design take shape as a graceful willow tree growing from the rocky face of a mountain, their forms intertwined until it becomes indistinguishable. Neither symbol dominates; both support the other.
"In my homeland," she continues, the needle never pausing, "lovers exchange tokens before battle. Rings, ribbons, locks of hair. But what we share runs deeper than metal or silk."
