Page 55 of Blood Bond

"But you don't know that. He could carry the dormant witch's power, passed on to his daughter. Her mother wasn't magical; she'd be alive if she were. The very power of the witches would have shielded her from Alitora," Marcus argues.

Realisation dawns on Donovan. "Which is why he survived, why he's still alive."

This new perspective sets Donovan's mind racing. A slow, calculating smile creeps across his face. "Get me Summers. We have much to discuss."

ChapterForty-Two

Restlessness grips me, its claws digging deep as I lie in my bed, the world outside bathed in sunlight. Time stretches endlessly, each tick of the clock echoing my inner turmoil. I'm back at the house, in the familiarity of my own room, yet it feels alien, the ceiling above a blank canvas for my troubled thoughts.

I replay the day's events, the weight of my actions crushing me. I didn't take her actual life, but I ended the one she had. My hands, once ordinary extensions of myself, now feel alien, tainted.

Restlessly, I toss and turn, the sheets twisting around me. The guilt is a relentless spectre, haunting every corner of my mind. The room feels like a prison, its silence suffocating.

Needing an escape, I rise shakily, the floorboards protesting under my tentative steps. The cool air of the hallway brushes against my skin, a fleeting respite from the oppressive guilt.

Approaching Seth's door, uncertainty gnaws at me. Fear of his judgement battles with the need to see him, to seek solace in his presence. My hand trembles as I push open the door, revealing the darkness beyond.

Seth's room is a haven of soft light and calm. He sits there, a solitary figure immersed in a book, his hair falling in a shadow over his eyes. My heart flutters at the sight, a mix of apprehension and longing.

I move towards him, each creak of the floor announcing my approach. Seth looks up, his eyes reflecting surprise and something deeper.

"Payton," he greets me, his voice a soothing melody that eases my inner chaos.

"Seth," I reply, my voice a mere whisper in the stillness. I drink in his appearance, finding solace in the familiarity of his features and the empathy in his eyes.

He gestures to the space beside him, a wordless invitation. I'm drawn to him, each step feeling like a leap across an emotional chasm. As I sit, the mattress dips gently, enveloping us in a shared space of comfort and understanding.

He sets aside his book, turning his full attention to me. The room thrums with a strumming energy, every inch alive with the intensity of our connection.

"I've been waiting for you," Seth admits, his voice a soft whisper laced with longing.

His words envelop my heart, a gentle balm that begins to thaw the remorse that has held it captive. His understanding and patience feel like a haven in the storm of my guilt.

"I know she was just a thirsty, that she was already lost, but I ..." My voice falters as I present my hands, symbols of my deed. I can't bear to look at them, to truly acknowledge what they've done. "I ended her life. I ..."

"You ended her suffering," Seth says, his tone firm yet compassionate.

I nod slowly, allowing his perspective to seep into my consciousness, to challenge my self-condemnation.

Seth's hands envelop mine, his touch a conduit of warmth and reassurance. His eyes, deep and searching, seem to dive into the very essence of my being. "You didn't take her life," he insists gently. "She was already beyond reach, ensnared in a shell that was no longer hers. You liberated her from that agony, from the fetters that kept her tethered to a torturous existence."

A solitary tear escapes, trailing down my cheek, a silent testament to the mingled sorrow and solace I feel. "Is that what it feels like for you?" I ask, my voice thick with emotion. "Are you bound by chains to this world?"

Seth's eyes meet mine, and in them, I see a reflection of his own inner struggle, the silent battles he wages. "We all bear our own burdens in this world," he says, a note of resigned acceptance in his voice.

"You have lived a long time without Katherine," I murmur, recalling the age-worn headstone and its silent testimony. "You loved her deeply." The intensity of that love had resonated in my vision. "And she loved you."

Seth's gaze on me is thoughtful, tinged with a sorrow long-held. "She was not meant to be mine."

"But the heart wants what the heart wants," I say softly, understanding the truth of these words.

A bittersweet smile graces Seth's lips, his eyes reflecting a world of unfulfilled desires and silent yearnings. "Yes," he acknowledges, the word heavy with unspoken emotions.

I reach out, my fingertips gently tracing the line of his cheek. "And what does your heart want, Seth?"

For a moment, Seth's eyes close, his face leaning into my caress as if drawing comfort from the simple touch. When he looks at me again, his eyes are pools of raw vulnerability, revealing the depths of his soul.

"I want you," he confesses, his voice a tremulous blend of longing and uncertainty.

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