Page 118 of Sorrow & Strangers

The stranger holds his hand out, and I take it, my palm humming as my blood mixes with his.

“I take it you’ve done this before,” he says, wrapping his large, strong hand around mine.

“The illegal practice of making a blood oath? Strangely enough, no.”

Blood oaths are illegal in every realm, but are still widely used, especially when it comes to realm leaders and royalty. It is the most effective way to ensure a treaty will be upheld, but the wording is essential.

He smirks. “So long as you train with me on your mental walls, I will abide by your wishes.” Our hands start to glow where our blood meets, the light escaping from between our fingers.

“Say them,” I demand, my eyes narrowed.

He lifts his chin. “I won’t enter your dreams. I won’t watch you in your house. I won’t enter your house or touch you without your permission.”

The glow between our hands intensifies, pulses once, and then suddenly extinguishes. I tug at my hand, trying to get him to let go. Very slowly, he releases me, sliding his fingers along my palm. A shiver goes through me, and I look down, watching him trace the circle pierced by a jagged line. It is the mark of the oath that we will both carry.

The stranger finally pulls back, but I see him flex his hand. He clears his throat, but his voice is still rough when he asks, “Shall we?”

“Fine,” I say, finally looking away from the small mark.

The stranger takes a couple of steps away from me before turning to face me. He nods, and black tendrils of shadow and smoke float toward me. I flinch as he invades my mind. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels invasive, and the forest blurs as I see the memories he is searching through. Images flash through my mind, just quick flickers of them. He isn’t actually looking at them, but he’s showing me he could.

“Don’t force me out immediately,” he says, stopping me from following through on my instinct to push out the invader. “Familiarize yourself with how it feels. It won’t always be this obvious that someone is doing this.”

His tendrils of power delve deeper, and I growl in warning as he approaches the memory of Connor’s marriage proposal to me. I have not allowed myself to think about it since he died, and I don’t want to do so now, especially with him. He steps closer and lifts his hand to cup my cheek, but the oath stops him.

“All right,” he says. There is irritation in his voice, but he lowers his hand. “Now imagine that you’re building a moat, putting something between me and the memory,” he says. “You don’t want to build a wall. That draws too much attention. A moat isn’t as noticeable.”

I try to imagine the memory surrounded by a body of water, but nothing happens. He moves in closer, his warmth seeping into me.

“You need to stop focusing on the memory. Focus on me. The memory is the past, and I am the present.”

I tense, and my concentration breaks.

“And I’m your future.”

“Enough,” I say, opening my eyes.

“Enough?” he asks, pulling free of my mind. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, our bodies are so close.

“With the I’m your future shit. Connor was my future,” I say.

“How long are you going to pretend that’s true, princess?”

“It is true.” I bristle.

“It is not.”

“It is. Any romantic future I had died with him.”

He shakes his head, laughing cruelly. “You wouldn’t have felt it was too soon or too fast when he proposed if that were true.”

I flinch and stare at him in complete disbelief.

“You wanted it to be him, with everything you had, but you weren’t fully you yet.”

I shake my head. “I don’t believe you . . .” The hurt is tearing through me, the anger, the truth. “You know what? Go fuck yourself,” I snarl at him and turn to storm away, but I’ve barely made it four steps when the bond tugs at me.

“You will break the oath if you leave now,” the stranger says smugly.