Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t feel the bond the way I do—the way it pulls, anchors, and completes me in a way I can’t fully explain. Or maybe she does feel it, and that’s why she’s so desperate to break it.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can’t let her go.
Not now. Not ever.
Not when I can see what she could become.
And not when I know that, in the end, she’ll realize she belongs to me.
I tell myself it’s for her own good. That breaking the weave will hurt her in ways she doesn’t understand. That she’s not ready to face the aftermath, the emptiness that comes when the bond has drained us and made us inseparable. Sure, we’ll be changed and we’ll have each other, but we won’t be the same and while I’m accepting that, I don’t think Zara will.
But in all honesty, this isn’t about Zara.
It’s about me.
I won’t let her leave me, and I won’t let her be free and untethered. I’ll play along, let her think I’m helping her. She’ll think I’m her ally in her fight for freedom and when the time comes, when she’s staring into the abyss, I’ll be the one who pulls her back.
Because Zara might want to break the bond, but I’ll make damn sure she never breaks free of me.
“You’re sure, then?” I ask, my voice soft, almost coaxing.
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m sure.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it will hurt you more than it hurts me.” I’m not, but I’m sowing the seeds of doubt and dread in her mind. “Malric will not be kind, but I’m sure you’ve been through worse, and he has at least said he will only go to your limits and no further. He’s quite ruthless and rather sadistic.”
A little colour drains from her face and her courage falters. Her lips press together, and for a moment, she looks away, her hands curling into fists at her sides. That little crack in her armor is all I need. Fear glints in her eyes when she meets my gaze again, and I resist the urge to smile.
“Zara,” I say, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a low murmur. “You don’t have to do this. We can live with the blood weave. It won’t be pleasant, but if you think it’s the lesser of two evils, then we can find ways to make it bearable.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, her composure splintering further. The blood weave hums quietly, so subtly I almost miss it, and I stare at Zara, certain she’s oblivious to the increase in pressure as it pulls us together.
“I don’t want tolerable, Kade.” Her voice lacks the sharp edge from before, and I almost pity her. “I want freedom. I want a fucking choice.”
“Freedom?” I echo, tilting my head. “Freedom from me?”
I take another step, closing the space between us, my words softening as I let just the faintest hint of hurt seep into my tone.
“Even if Malric severs the blood weave, you’ll still need me. I’m not trying to dissuade you, but I want you to understand that we’re stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, so you’d better start getting used to it. We don’t have many choices left, kitten, and you’d best be under no illusions about what lies ahead.”
She flinches, her mask slipping enough for me to see the flicker of doubt there. Zara tenses, her fingers twitching at her sides as the blood weave hums louder, a faint pulse that echoes her hesitation. Her lips part, her breath coming quicker now, and I watch the storm of emotions flash across her face. I revel in her anger, doubt, and fear, delighting in the intoxicating mix as her vulnerability laced within her turmoil gives me the upper hand.
“I want this weave broken, too,” I lie. “But I don’t want to see you broken. Curious, isn’t it? I’d raze the world to ashes without a single regret, but here I am, worried about you.”
She stiffens, her jaw tightening, but the way her eyes dart to the side betrays her. Zara’s trying to deny her feelings for me and, more importantly, she’s failing miserably. The witch knows she’s falling for me and she’ll be mine soon enough. She’s losing this fight, and her defenses slip again as her lip starts to tremble.
It’s time to help her unravel, and it’s going to take a softer approach. I’ve already made her anxious and forced her to question everything. She’s unsure and uncertain, looking for a way out, and a bit of kindness will lead her down a different path. I reach out, brushing my fingers against her arm, barely a touch, but enough to make her shiver.
“You shouldn’t have to face this alone, kitten,” I murmur. “Let me help you through it. It’ll be easier that way.”
Her throat bobs again, and though she doesn’t pull away, her silence speaks volumes. She’s wavering, and I know I have her exactly where I want her.
