Page 20 of Salt Between the Wolves

"Soren—"

"I can't."

The words came out harsher than intended, shaped less by rejection than by the fear of what would happen if he stayed where he was.

He forced himself another step farther away.

"If I stay," he said more quietly, "this stops being something I can control."

The honesty of it settled heavily between them.

Eira's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. There was no hurt in it, only understanding, and somehow that made leaving even harder.

Soren looked at her one last time before turning toward the door.

The bond still burned beneath his skin, raw and impossible to ignore.

Until now, he had told himself that distance was a solution, a way to keep the connection contained until it weakened on its own. Walking away from her, he could no longer convince himself that was true.

The certainty followed him from the room like a shadow: distance was not weakening this.

It was feeding it.

Chapter 5: What Comes After

Soren

Soren slept little that night, though not because the bond kept him awake. That explanation would have been simpler, easier to accept than the truth.

The fortress still lay in darkness when he finally abandoned any hope of rest and rose from bed. Outside, the wind brushed against the stone walls, carrying snow across the upper battlements in soft, restless drifts. Somewhere below, a watchman crossed the yard, his footsteps briefly audible before the mountain swallowed the sound once more.

Soren moved to the narrow window and looked out over Ironfang.

The fortress slept, wrapped in silence and shadow, and he should have taken advantage of the quiet. There were patrol reports waiting on his desk, supply routes that needed reviewing, and a dozen practical concerns that would demand his attention before sunrise.

Instead, his thoughts drifted back to the same place they returned to every time he closed his eyes.

To her.

Not to the bond itself, nor to the mark, and not even to the events of that night in Frostvein.

The memory that refused to release him belonged to a small room lit by firelight and to a moment when restraint had stopped feeling necessary.

He could still remember the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, the subtle change in her breathing when he touched her, and the sound she made when his mouth found the mark at her throat.

None of it should have remained so vivid. Memories were supposed to soften with time, their edges blurring as distance settled between the present and the past. Yet this one seemed to sharpen whenever he allowed himself to think of it.

Turning away from the window, Soren crossed the room and splashed cold water over his face. The sting helped for a moment, clearing his thoughts just enough to create the illusion of control.

It lasted only briefly.

The memory returned anyway, not because the bond forced it upon him, but because some part of him welcomed it.

That was the truth he found most difficult to confront.

Desire itself was nothing new. He was not an inexperienced boy startled by attraction or confused by physical longing. What unsettled him was how little he had wanted to resist.

With Eira beneath him on the bed and every rational thought slipping further from reach, he had felt something far more dangerous than desire.