The moment the bookshelf swung open, the heavy magical anchor snapped.
Soren didn’t even have time to step out of the wall.
A violent, white-hot pain exploded behind his eyes, making the room tilt sideways.
His knees buckled, giving out completely and he fell forward, expecting his face to hit the hard wooden floor.
Instead, two massive, warm arms caught him in mid-air.
Kaelen pulled Soren’s collapsing frame straight against his chest.
The Alpha’s heavy hand cupped the back of Soren’s neck, supporting his head as Soren gasped for air, his pale skin drenched in a sudden, icy sweat.
“Soren!” Kaelen’s deep voice held a rare, unscripted edge of panic.
He lifted Soren effortlessly into his arms, carrying him straight over to the large bed in the center of the room.
He laid him down gently against the dark wolf furs, but the moment Kaelen tried to pull back, his hand brushed against Soren’s cheek.
Kaelen froze.
Soren’s body was burning and his skin felt like a lit furnace that radiated heat so intense that Kaelen could feel it through his leather gloves.
“Dammit, spell-cutter,” Kaelen growled under his breath, ripping his gloves off and throwing them onto the floor.
He pressed his bare palm against Soren’s forehead, his jaw clenching tight as he realized the sheer temperature of Soren’s fever.
“You told me it was just a simple spatial spell.”
*I had to hold it*, Soren thought, his mind swimming in a hazy, golden blur as he stared up at Kaelen’s dark, furious face.
*if I let the anchor break for a single second… Lucian’s spell binders would have smelled my blood magic immediately*
Soren tried to speak, tried to force his usual razor-sharp tone into his voice, but all that came out of his throat was a raspy, weak sigh.
“I…
I held it.”
“You almost burned your own core out!” Kaelen snapped, sitting down heavily on the edge of the mattress.
Without waiting for Soren’s permission, Kaelen reached out and grabbed Soren’s left arm, pulling his sleeve up.
Kaelen’s breath caught in his throat.
Soren’s pale forearm was a mess as fresh crimson blood was still oozing from the deep slice he had made to cast the anchor spell, but that wasn’t what made Kaelen’s golden eyes darken with a fierce, protective anger.
Beneath the fresh cut lay dozens of small, faded scars and raw calluses.
Over the last three days—from opening the ancient iron cylinder, to severing the Blood-Moon Lotus from its roots, to preparing the elixir—Soren had sliced his own skin open over and over again and his usual pale, delicate hands were now ruined by sharp, angry lines of scabbed skin.
It was a brutal, painful contrast.
Soren’s hands were small, pale, and meant for delicate work, but they were covered in battle scars born from heavy blood-magic.
“How many times did you cut yourself while we were at the caverns?” Kaelen asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble that made Soren’s pulse race.
“Blood-magic requires blood, Alpha,” Soren rasped, trying to pull his wrist back out of Kaelen’s grip.
“It’s standard procedure.
Don’t touch me.”
Kaelen didn’t let go.
His fingers closed firmly around Soren’s thin wrist, anchoring him to the bed.
“You hide behind your cold sharp mouth, but you keep bleeding for us.”
“I bleed for myself,” Soren lied, his chest heaving as he stared up into Kaelen’s golden eyes.
*I am doing this to break the curse.
I am doing this so I can leave this fortress and never look at your stupid, arrogant face again.*
Yet, even as he thought the words, Soren’s heart gave a heavy, betraying thud.
While the physical touch of Kaelen’s bare hand on his wrist sent a wave of cool, soothing relief straight through his fever-racked body.
Kaelen stood up for a brief second, walking over to the washbasin on the side table.
He then grabbed a clean linen cloth, soaked it in cool mountain water, and walked back to the bed.
He sat down beside Soren again, his broad frame completely blocking out the rest of the room.
Kaelen took Soren’s hand, holding it with an unbelievable amount of gentleness.
With slow, careful movements, the massive Alpha began wiping the dried blood from Soren’s palm.
Every time Kaelen’s warm, calloused thumb brushed against Soren’s skin, a sharp, electric spark shot up Soren’s arm, making his toes curl under the heavy furs.
“You’re shaking,” Kaelen murmured, keeping his head down as he worked.
His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, softening his rugged, terrifying features.
“I have a fever,” Soren rasped, closing his eyes because looking at Kaelen’s intense face that was making his head spin even worse.
“It… it makes people shake.”
“It’s not just the fever,” Kaelen said softly.
He grabbed a roll of clean white linen from his medical kit and began wrapping Soren’s hand, overlapping the cloth tight enough to stop the bleeding, but gentle enough not to cause pain.
“Your magic core is exhausted, Soren.
And the mate-bond is trying to heal you.”
“The bond isn’t real,” Soren muttered, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire in the hearth.
“It’s an artificial curse created by a High Priestess.”
Kaelen finished tying off the knot on the bandage.
He didn’t let go of Soren’s hand.
Instead, he shifted his weight, leaning down over the bed until his face was only inches away from Soren’s pale cheek.
Soren opened his breathtaking blue eyes that were now almost dim from fever impact, his breath hitching instantly.
Kaelen was looking down at him with an intensity that felt hotter than the fever burning in Soren’s blood.
The scent of pine, rain, and raw Alpha authority washed over Soren, thick and intoxicating.
The pink chain between their wrists was glowing with a rich, deep rose color, throbbed in perfect sync with their beating hearts.
“The curse made the chain, little spell-cutter,” Kaelen whispered, his deep voice sending a shiver straight down Soren’s spine.
He raised his free hand, his warm knuckles lightly tracing the side of Soren’s flushed neck, resting right over his racing pulse point.
“It didn’t make your heart beat like a wild bird every time I touch you.”
“Kaelen…” Soren warned, though it came out sounding more like a desperate gasp than a threat as he looked at him with his hazy blue eyes.
“Tell me to stop,” Kaelen murmured, his golden eyes dropping down to Soren’s lower lip.
He leaned in half an inch closer, his hot breath brushing against Soren’s skin.
“Tell me you don’t feel this, and I’ll walk away.”
Soren’s mind screamed at him to push the Alpha away.
He needed to say it.
He needed to construct his usual icy wall, to call Kaelen an arrogant wolf, to push his chest and tell him that this was all just a magical feedback from the Lotus elixir.
Tell him to go, Soren thought frantically.
‘He’s an Alpha.
You are a rogue spell-cutter.
You can’t let him inside your heart.
But as Kaelen’s thumb gently stroked his jawline, Soren’s lips parted, and no words came out.
The sheer, overwhelming magnetic pull between them was suffocating.
Soren found himself staring at Kaelen’s mouth, his body instinctively leaning up toward the heat, begging for a touch he was too proud to ask for out loud.
A low, dark chuckle rumbled in Kaelen’s chest—a sound of pure satisfaction.
“That’s what I thought,” Kaelen whispered.
Instead of taking his lips, Kaelen leaned down and pressed a long, warm kiss straight onto the center of Soren’s bandaged palm.
The touch was so surprisingly sweet, so full of possessive reverence, that Soren let out a soft, sharp gasp.
A wave of pure, liquid heat surged straight from his hand to his chest, instantly melting the icy chill lingering in his bone marrow.
Kaelen pulled back just enough to look Soren in the eyes, his dark smirk returning, though his gaze remained fiercely warm as he looked at Soren’s flush embarrassed streaked face.
He took the wet linen cloth from the bowl, folded it neatly, and placed it over Soren’s hot forehead.
Then, without asking, Kaelen swung his long legs up onto the bed, sliding under the heavy furs right beside Soren.
Soren instantly went stiff.
“What are you doing?!”
“Taking care of my spell-cutter,” Kaelen replied smoothly, pulling Soren back against his chest until Soren’s head was resting right in the hollow of Kaelen’s shoulder.
“Kaelen, I don’t need a pillow!” Soren snapped, his face burning hotter than his fever as he tried to push his hand against Kaelen’s hard chest.
“You’re freezing despite the fever,” Kaelen said, his heavy arm wrapping around Soren’s waist like an iron bar, holding him completely immobilized.
“My body heat will stabilize your core faster than any potion.
Lie still and sleep.”
“I hate you,” Soren muttered, his voice losing its edge as the immense fatigue of the anchor spell finally caught up with his body.
Wrapped in Kaelen’s overwhelming warmth, surrounded by the safe, heavy scent of pine and snow, Soren felt his eyelids growing impossibly heavy.
The feverish ache in his muscles was fading, replaced by a deep, terrifying sense of peaceful calm.
Kaelen rested his chin lightly against the top of Soren’s dark hair, his hand resting over Soren’s bandaged fingers.
“Sleep, Soren,” Kaelen murmured softly into the quiet room.
“I’ll handle the Council.
I’ll handle the traitor.
You just stay alive.”
Soren didn’t argue this time.
He closed his eyes, his small hand slowly relaxing against Kaelen’s chest, his fingers lightly gripping the Alpha’s tunic as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Outside, the snowstorm raged against the Citadel walls, and fifty Enforcers waited in the freezing courtyard.
But inside the locked private quarters, the rose-colored chain between their wrists glowed with a quiet type of unbroken warmth.
Lawd!
knee-buckling behavior right there!
He really went from ruthless Alpha in the Great Hall to soft protective caretaker in two seconds flat.
(^~^)!
Soren might say he hates him, but holding onto Kaelen’s tunic while he sleeps says otherwise!
How long do you think they can hide in this bedroom before the Council tries another move?
Drop your thoughts in the comments, and don’t forget to add the story to your library and drop a vote if you loved this chapter!
See you in Chapter 12