The night was quiet, almost too quiet, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. She moved cautiously, each footstep careful, her senses stretched to their limits. The air smelled of damp earth and faint smoke from a distant fire. It should have been calming, grounding even, but tonight it only made her alert.
Her thoughts drifted back to him. He had watched her leave, his chest tightening, his pride and desire warring visibly in his expression. She could almost feel the weight of his gaze lingering on her skin, threading through her thoughts even now. That same thread, the one she had tried to sever years ago, hummed beneath her nerves, impossible to ignore.
She crouched by the edge of a stream, letting the water slip through her fingers. The sound of it was soothing, a soft counterpoint to the storm inside her. She had spent years learning to survive on her own, to control the pull of the bond, to temper the memories of his touch. She thought she had mastered it. Now, the residue of that connection, the unyielding force between them, reminded her how fragile her control really was.
A rustle made her freeze. Not fear, exactly, but caution sharpened every sense. The shadows moved differently here. Not the casual dance of night leaves, but something deliberate, almost sentient.
He emerged from the darkness before she could blink, stepping lightly over the uneven ground. No words at first. Just the quiet acknowledgement of presence, of two people bound by something neither wanted to admit. He stopped a few feet away, letting the tension settle like a tangible weight between them.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said finally, voice low, measured, but carrying an edge that made her pulse spike.
"I'm not afraid," she replied. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. Her hands trembled slightly as she traced the rim of a stone by the stream. She hated how truth and defiance tangled with a desire she refused to name aloud.
He stepped closer, and instinctively she drew back, though her body betrayed her with its subtle lean toward him. The bond pulsed again, stronger now, a reminder neither of them could ignore.
"You've grown," he said. It wasn't praise. It was a warning. "Stronger than I expected, dangerous in ways I can't control."
Her heart thudded. She wanted to tell him he was the dangerous one, that he had been from the start, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she met his gaze evenly, daring him to push, to test her limits.
For a moment, silence stretched, charged with all the unspoken tension that had been simmering between them for years. Then, faintly, the wind shifted, carrying a distant, metallic scent. Danger. The reminder that nothing in this night was just about desire.
She turned her attention to the shadows beyond the clearing. Her instincts screamed that whatever was coming would not wait, and that the past and the present were colliding in ways neither of them could control.
He reached out, just barely, a hand hovering near her arm, and she flinched, heart hammering. Desire and caution tangled inside her, knotting her insides with delicious cruelty.
The bond throbbed between them, urgent, demanding. And for the first time in years, she understood that leaving him behind had never truly been an option.