Page 110 of The Bound Blood
“Not dismissing me,” he finishes. “Even when you should.”
I blink at him. He’s different when he’s being honest. A difference I sorta want to know more about. “I don’t think I should.”
Auron huffs out a breath that might be a laugh, might be disbelief. Frost curls in the air between us. We walk again, our boots crunching softly on the icy path. After a moment, his voice drops lower.
“People stop looking past the surface, Lindsay. They decide what you are, and that becomes the end of it.” His jaw tightens. “But you…haven’t done that.”
“I barely know you.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, “you haven’t. Even when I give you every opportunity.”
The lantern beside us flickers brighter for a heartbeat, catching in the blue of his eyes and turning them softer—almost human. For the first time since meeting him, Auron Draven doesn’t look untouchable. He looks…lonely. And I know what lonely feels like. That was my life before I came here. I didn’t fit in, had one friend who moved away, my mom died, my gran died, and I never knew my dad.
“Your turn,” he says abruptly, the mask snapping back into place. “Why does the Veil whisper your name?”
My breath stutters.
“Auron…”
His smile returns—sharp, confident, deflecting.
“See? I’m not the only one with secrets. And some part of you knows the answer to that.”
Before I can respond, the lantern nearest us flickers a second time—harder.
A cold pulse rolls through the air. The kind that raises every hair on my arms. Auron goes still, like a predator sensing the barest tremor through the earth.
Another ripple shudders across the path, brushing against my magic, tugging at something deep inside my chest.
My breath hitches. “Auron… did you feel?—”
His hand snaps out, gripping my wrist before I can finish.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs.
The voice he uses is nothing like the teasing, controlled edge he had moments ago. This one is low. Focused. Dangerous.
The air around us shifts again, colder now, like frost crawling beneath my skin. A whisper curls along the edge of my hearing.
Lindsay…
It’s faint and distant. But I hear it. And something inside me pulls toward it before I can stop myself.
Auron yanks me back, positioning his body between mine and the tree line like he expects something to break through.
My pulse jumps. “Auron?—”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“You don’t answer it.”
I swallow hard. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Yes,” he says, voice steady, “you were.”
For a moment, the accusation stings—until I realize he’s not angry. He’s scared. Auron Draven is scared. Not for himself. Forme. And if that doesn’t tilt my world sideways, I don’t know what will.
The whisper comes again, brushing the trees like a breeze made of voices.
