Page 46 of Blood Bond

Her eyes feel like daggers, cutting through the air. It's uncomfortable, like being scrutinised under a microscope. I try to block out her presence, focusing on the herbs, but it's challenging.

"You don't understand, do you?" Tasha's voice cuts through the quiet, sharp as a snapped twig. "It's not about jealousy. It's about survival."

Survival? The word looms large, casting a shadow over the room. I stop, the mortar and pestle now forgotten, as I process her words. What does she mean by survival?

Tasha leans forward, frustration and desperation mixing in her eyes. "Everything was fine before you came. We had our balance—us at the club, Killian and Naneve at their base. Then you show up and ..." Her voice wavers, betraying her emotions. "We were all fine."

Her words hit me hard, tightening a knot in my chest. My hands shake more noticeably. Tasha's accusation feels like a direct attack on the fragile connection I thought we were building.

"I didn't ask to be here," I murmur, my voice so low it's almost lost in the room. "I didn't choose any of this."

"But you chose to stay." She picks up her pad, but instead of resuming her drawing, she stands up abruptly, her glare piercing. "Tell Seth I'm in my room when he gets back. I'm sure he'll want to feed."

Her words hang in the air as she leaves, leaving me to grapple with the complex mix of emotions her departure stirs within me.

ChapterThirty-Six

Tasha only appears for our meal. Elena has prepared dinner, and Theo is still resting. The stew she's made fills the room with a warm, comforting aroma. Elena bakes the bread herself, fresh and warm. We spread butter on it, which melts into the bread, enriching its flavour.

Tasha enters, collects her food, and leaves without sitting with me. I pause, my spoon idly stirring the chunks of vegetables and tender meat in my bowl, the flavours barely registering.

"She doesn’t mean to be so harsh," Elena offers, sitting across from me.

I meet her gaze. "Yes, she does, but it’s okay," I respond, trying to sound unaffected. I'm used to it. Or at least I think I am. I can handle the hostility and the hurtful words. It's the constant tension and conflict that wears me down. "The stew is good," I say, steering the conversation away and glancing at the clock. Killian and Seth should be returning soon. Through the window, I notice the sky changing colours, heralding a new day.

I yearn for the sunrise, for the chance to sleep. Exhaustion envelops me, not just physically, but deep within. I'm tired of everything.

We eat mostly in silence, likely my fault. I don't have much to say, and Elena seems preoccupied, tallying the bags I filled. "What are you making?" I ask curiously if only to have conversation.

"Some healing bags, mainly for Theo. They'll help fight infection and aid his recovery," she explains as a timer goes off.

I finish my meal, soak up the last of the stew with my bread, and take my bowl to the sink. "Leave that. Take this to Theo. I'll clean up," Elena instructs, nodding towards the monitor. "Looks like they're back." My heart flutters at the sight of the gates opening on the screen. Seth is back.

Watching the monitor, my heart skips a beat as Seth dismounts some kind of vehicle. A quad bike, I think.

His presence, his confident stride, sends a wave of emotion through me.

Elena hands me the tray with Theo's healing bags, giving me an encouraging smile. "Go on."

I don’t want to, but I nod, take the tray and head down the corridor, the wooden floor creaking under my steps, resonating in the quiet hallway. Reaching Theo's door, I take a deep breath and knock gently.

Theo's voice invites me in. I enter to find him on his side, his back bandaged and treated, a weary but grateful smile on his face.

"Elena sent dinner for you," I say, offering the tray.

“Put it on that table and then move it over to me.”

I place the tray on the table as Theo instructs, then move both, noticing his pallid complexion and the slight wince of pain as he shifts. "How are you feeling?" I ask, concern evident in my tone.

He looks up with weary eyes. "I'm tired," he murmurs, his voice a faint whisper. "But I'll manage. Just need rest."

"You're a shifter?" I ask, curious.

"Half," he says, attempting to move but clearly in pain.

"Let me help." I assist him into a sitting position. The sores on his back seem to be festering rather than healing from what I can see. “What do you mean half? I thought …”

"My mother was a lycan, and my father was human."

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