Page 138 of Brambles and Bellflowers
“Do we always have a Soul Bond in every life?” I asked.
“No,” Miles replied.
The mood had darkened, and I leaned back, touching my chest. What was this heaviness? Usually, I’d press for an answer—especially for such a cryptic statement. But…
This seemed to be a touchy subject.
“Is it… hard to do?” I asked instead. “What will our bond be like?”
He grinned, and my stomach fluttered. “Why don’t we find out?” he asked.
“O-okay…”
Miles moved to his feet and pulled at his left sleeve, ripping it from the shoulder down.
“What are you doing!?” I jumped up, my gaze filled with bulging biceps. I didn’t mind the view, but with only the warmth of a dying campfire, why would he proceed to stripnow?
And besides, he’d better not expect me to fix this. I’d had enough of mending clothes.
“Give me a minute,” he replied, pulling out a knife. He cut the sleeve into a long strip and continued, “There are many ways we can do it, but this is the easiest. I’ll wrap our wrists with a cloth, speak a blessing—”
“You want to do ahandfasting?” I interrupted, but how could I allow this madness to continue? We’d had all these discussions about none of us being allowed to marry, and now he wanted to enter the olden version of holy matrimony.
Was heinsane?
And even more importantly, I was already legally wed!
“It’s nota handfasting,” Miles said mildly as he began to fold the long strip of cloth. “But it is similar. We all bond differently, and witches like ritual.”
“So you’re not asking me to marry you?” I blurted, still trying to calm my racing heart.
Miles paused and glanced at me, the firelight and shadow highlighting his raised eyebrow. But the muted tones still weren’t enough to disguise his reddening cheeks. “You know I can’t ask that,” was his response.
My heart fell—even though, really, what did I expect?
“Of course,” I replied instead. “That would be silly.”
“Let’s just focus on this,” he said, grabbing my hand and kissing the tip of my finger. He held up the knife, pressing the back of it over the side of my hand.
I glared at the blade. “Are you going to stab me again?” What was with all the bloodletting? Did hereallyknow what he was doing?
“I didn’t stab you.” The corner of Miles’s lips lifted. “I pricked your finger with a thorn.” And before I could respond, he released my fingers and ran the blade over my left wrist.
A line of fire passed over my skin, and I cried out in response, pulling back. He did the same to himself and reached for my arm while I cradled my wrist to my chest. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said. “That didn’t even hurt!”
My eyes were trained on the very light, and barely bleeding, cut over my wrist.
“Are you serious?” he asked, his confidence fading. “It hurt?”
“No…” Not really. It was the point, however. Why did he keep stabbing me with things? “But—”
“Then let’s not waste time. I don’t want it to clot,” he interrupted. My breath seized, and my heart fluttered as he closed his wrist over mine. He used his right hand to tie them together.
His skin stuck to mine, our blood mixing, the snug wrappings holding me prisoner against him. Miles had always been larger than me, but sometimes it was easy to forget our differences—especially when compared to Titus, who was taller than the witch.
I stared as he watched me with his soft brown eyes. “What do we do next?” I asked.
“Just remember”—his fingers tightened over my hand—“our relationship won’t be like what you have with Julian—we’re different.”
