Page 2 of Tethered In Blood

“I think you do.”His hand closed around my arm, his fingers dug deep, and I lost my balance. I stumbled, but he didn’t let go.The amusement in his voice vanished, replaced by indifference. “You have to stop running away from us like this. The dramatics have lost their flavor.”

“There is no us, Marcus,” I gritted through clenched teeth. “Now let me—”

“Oh, but there is. There has always been, Darling.” His smile twisted into a predatory hunger. “You and I are soon to be married. I’m sure you already know.”

His words struck hard, and a sick weight settled in my stomach.“Let. Me. Go.”He shoved me back. The breath rushed from my lungs when my boots slid over damp leaves, and I landed hard on the forest floor.

Marcus didn’t move to help me. He only watched, wiping his hands as though touching me had dirtied him. His silken and cruel voice carried through the frosty air.“Go ahead. Play your little games while you can. But don’t think for a second that you’re free of me.” He turned and walked back down the path with confidence. “You’ll come back,” he called over his shoulder. “You always do.”

I woke with a gasp, my heart slamming against my chest and my breath shallow. The river still murmured beside me, and the wind whispered through the branches above.

The freezing air bit at me as I sat still beneath the tree. I pushed a hand against the rough bark at my back to secure myself in the present. The Veilwoods stretched behind me, filled with the sounds of the river’s steady murmur, crickets, and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush. The sky above had deepened into the darkest shade of blue, with stars peeking through the canopy in pinpricks of light.

I wasn’t in the past.

I was here. Alone.

Forcing my stiff limbs to move, I reached for my satchel. My fingers grazed over the worn leather before slipping inside, grasping the small paper tucked between vials and dried herbs. The edges crinkled beneath my touch as I unfolded it.

Court Herbalist Needed.

The handling blurred the ink in places, but the words remained legible.

A strange, heavy sensation curled in my chest. It had only been a day since I had taken it, but it felt as though the slip of paper had been waiting for me much longer. I traced my thumb across the parchment and reread the words, even though I knew them by heart.

This was my way out. My chance to put distance between myself and the past that still haunted me—to be more than a ghost gliding through forests and back alleys. I wanted to step into a world where Marcus’s reach couldn’t find me.

I took a deep breath and folded the flier, slipping it back into my satchel. Its weight suggested a quiet promise. There was no time for ghosts.

The river ran shallow where I crossed, the icy water swirling around rocks as I crept over the bridge. With each step, the past tugged at me, urging me to linger and hesitate.

When I reached the other side, the land expanded. The trees receded, and the Veilwoods, once dense and endless behind me, loosened their grip, yielding to open space. However, with that openness came an unease coiling low in my spine.

Pulling my hood to hide my face, I crossed the old dirt path toward the bridge. Thick, swirling fog clung to the wooden planks and crept along the edges like ghostly fingers. The air smelled of damp soil and something faintly metallic, sending a chill down my spine.

A crow cawed from the railing, its dark eyes gleaming in the soft light. Another responded from the trees beyond, the sound piercing the muffled silence of the mist.

My fingers burrowed into my cloak. I was still shaking off the nightmare when the past came clawing at me again.

The wood beneath my feet gleamed with rain, and the air was heavy with wet pine and dampened lantern oil.

I was running.

My ragged breaths constricted my chest. My boots struck the wooden planks in rapid succession. Each step echoed with the pounding of a drum. The fog swallowed everything beyond the bridge and left shadows in its wake.

Marcus’s men weren’t far behind when I looked back. Their torches flickered in the mist, and their cruel and amused voices echoed. “She won’t get far.”

“She never does.”

The words scraped against my mind.

The village lights of Wickloe ahead glimmered in false salvation once I crossed the bridge. My lungs burned. My legs ached. But I kept moving. I had to—

A hand caught my wrist.

No.

The world spun, and the bridge beneath me tilted. My hip hit the railing, and pain lanced through my bones. Their fingers tightened with a bruising force as a voice murmured in my ear.

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