The word hits hard. I fall silent mostly because the intensity in his voice catches me off-guard.
Varek steps closer to the table. Not touching. Never touching without permission. But close enough that the heat of his body bleeds into the air between us.
“I let you go once already,” he says. The words are low, measured, and carefully controlled. But I can feel the raw emotion beneath them through the bond. “Almost ten years ago,” he continues. “You told me you would not remain in Dathanor. You told me you would not be bound to me. You told me you needed distance.”
The memory hits like a punch to the ribs. I remember that conversation. God, I remember every word.
“You asked me to let you live your life in the city,” Varek says. His silver eyes hold mine. “And I did.”
Emotion flutters to life in my chest.
“I honoured your wishes,” he goes on. “Every day since.”
I swallow. “That doesn’t mean?—”
“Every. Day.”
The force in his voice stops me.
Varek’s control cracks slightly then. “I stayed away,” he says, the words rougher now. “Even when the bond demanded otherwise. Even when every instinct in my body told me to return to you.”
The bond pulses again, echoing the intensity of his emotions.
“You asked for freedom,” he continues. “And I gave it to you.” His voice drops lower. “Do you know what that cost me?”
I don’t answer because the truth is, I’ve tried very hard not to think about that.
Varek exhales slowly. “When I left your warehouse the second time,” he says quietly, “it almost broke me.”
My breaths turn shallow.
“I believed it was what you wanted,” he continues. “So I honoured it.”
He pauses. Then his gaze turns intense.
“And then I learned you had been taken.” Something dangerous flickers through the bond again. “I lost my composure.”
That might be the understatement of the century.
I look away briefly. “You could have been captured. Killed,” I mutter.
Varek doesn’t hesitate. “If that is what was required.”
I stare at him again. “You’re the leader of a rebellion,” I say incredulously. “You don’t get to make decisions like that.”
His expression hardens. “If the decision concerns your life,” he says, “then I absolutely do.”
The words settle between us heavily.
“You were tortured,” he continues, voice rougher now. “You were beaten. You were used as bait.”
I shift uncomfortably on the table. “Occupational hazard.”
His eyes flare. “I will always respect your choices,” he says firmly. “If you ask for distance again, I will give it.”
The bond hums faintly with the weight of that promise.
“But if the choice is between your life and anyone else’s—” He steps closer. “And I mean anyone—” The air feels thinner now. “I will choose you every time.” His voice drops to something almost fierce. “Even if I must lay down my own life to do it.”
