Page 9 of The Blood that Binds Us

“Regardless, it was foolish to leave the keep with them lurking about, all to make some show that your gates are well-armed. Had I not stopped it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But for once, I think I would have preferred if Ihadbeen more like you, Singard, so I could have stood by and let that arrow pierce your frigid heart. It goes without saying, I regret my choice.” I look pointedly at my chains.

Sin grabs my chin and tilts my head back so I’m forced to meet his hardened stare. “Do noteveruse my name again. Something that nice doesn’t deserve to be inside a witch’s mouth.” He holds my jaw for an extended beat, his breath hot and rattled against my face, before loosening his grip.

I jerk my chin out of his hand and wait for him to relax his posture. “Seems I’m not the only one that gets ticked off from being called the wrong thing. Which do you prefer then—Your Grace, oro’chosen one—or is there another title that warms your black heart? Oh! I think I like that.” I smile sweetly at him and cross my legs. “You are my Black Art after all—how about if I just call you something a little more fitting…Blackheart.”

Sin exhales sharply and moves to sit next to me again. “I suggest you stop talking before Imakeyou stop, witch.” He holds the spit still smoldering with the scent of fresh game in front of my mouth. “Eat.”

I will my stomach not to rumble. “I am not a pet—I do not eat from dirty hands.”

He sighs. “As soon as the sun rises, we’re heading back, and you’ll slow us down if you’re weak with hunger. Eat,” he grumbles again.

“I will not be fed like a dog. You want me to eat so badly, unchain me. I’m clearly not escaping so long as I haveo’Blackheartfor company,” I muse, pressing my lips into a firm line and blinking sweetly at him.

Wrath shadows his face. “You don’t like chains? Fine. Then let’s have it your way,” Sin growls.

Suddenly he is on me, straddling me with his knees on either side of my hips and reaching behind me to grab my forearms.

“Let go of me!” I twist under him, and he tightens his hold on me. I yank against my chains knowing it is useless—iron is strong and unforgiving—but I pull against them with all my might anyway.

He mutters something to himself, but I don’t decipher his words over the obscenities I begin shouting at him.

And then I feel it.

His magic enters through my arms and snakes up to my chest, its slimy coolness slithering behind my sternum, entwining itself through each of my ribs. His weight bears into me as he leans closer, his nails digging into my arms, and I flail beneath him, ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder as I try to knock him back. I writhe and twist as his magic flows deeper, but go deadly still as it creeps up my throat, taking its time exploring me, marking me. And then with the same rapidity it entered me, it rushes from my mouth and back into him.

But not all of it. I still feel him in the pit of my stomach—a stain left behind from where his magic twisted and settled inside of me.

“What have you done?” I whisper, unable to muster an ounce of ferocity in my voice.

He drops my arms and hunkers in front of me, devouring the shock and realization from my face with a covetous grin, knowing I don’t ask the question in earnest.

A tethering spell.

Wherever I go, no matter the distance, the stain will link us, allowing him to track me—a magical brand. I want to be furious, to shout in his face how much I loathe him and his power and his stupid kingdom, but the words stay frozen and unspoken in my chest.

Running is no longer an option.

Sin’s eyes strip me bare as he reaches around me and breaks my binding—tossing the iron chains away from us. His unspoken statement couldn’t be louder if he screamed it in my ear—he doesn’t need iron chains to control me.

He bound me to him against my will, snatched away my final thread of independence as if it were nothing more than an afterthought. Warmth rushes to my hands as my magic pulses freely through me once more. Sin kneels in front of me, and I bare my teeth at him—a warning.

“You don’t own me,” I whisper, my voice a hushed fury.

He reaches out and cups my jaw in his hand, leveling his eyes with mine when he says in a voice as cold as winter’s wind, “You couldn’t behave on your own, now we’ll see how you behave forme, little witch.” He reaches for the spitted rabbit once more and holds it to my mouth, his long hair almost grazing my chest. “Now eat.”

I hold his stare as I tear into it, imagining the red juice splattering my cheeks was his.

“Get up, it’s our turn.” Sin nudges me with his boot.

The others had taken turns going off in pairs to wash in a nearby river, and the robed woman and her partner just returned, signaling we are next. I stand, straighten my dress, and follow Sin into the woods as he heads towards the running water that will serve as our bathing quarters. He never glances over his shoulder to make sure I’m still following. He doesn’t need to.

He would know if I ran—courtesy of his magical brand.

I could kill him. End his life without so much as a whisper and flee before enough time passed for the others to grow wary and come looking for us. I shake away the thought. There is no hiding from her—the dark hunger stirring inside me, always watching, always listening. It wouldn’t matter how silent I was—shewould hear. And she would come.

Neither of us speaks as we hike through the dense woods, the moon our only lantern through the maze of overgrown brush. I take the opportunity to study Sin while he’s focused on pushing the low-hanging branches aside for us. He’s tall—easily a head above me—and his shoulders are wide-set and bulky inside his leather tunic. His hair is as black as the night, swaying gently past his shoulder blades as he trudges forward. I steal a glance at his long legs, hidden behind loose-fitting trousers, but remembering how tightly he pinned me between them earlier, I needn’t guess how muscular they are.

The trees part, and we approach the river bank populated with cattails and tall grasses. Morrinne often gathered cattails and hung them around the inside of our cabin. Once dried, she would use them to make salves great for treating insect bites and sell them at the market. It wasn’t much, but a way to earn a little extra coin for the pack. I frown at their brown spikes as the thought of never feeling another of her motherly hugs punches me in the gut.

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