Blood and Bond
1168 Words
Kael
The jungle clawed at me as I ran—branches tearing at my skin, roots rising to trip me, shadows pressing close like watching eyes. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Every instinct, every primal thread of me screamed in one direction: her.
I had left Calder behind, bloodied and yelling at my back, his voice a buzz I swatted away. I didn’t care about the prisoner, the broken bones, the half-burned trail we had left behind. All I could focus on was the scent.
It hit me first as a whisper—a single thread in the air, nearly lost in the stench of rot and damp—but unmistakable. Her blood. Sharp. Wild. And laced with something more. Something that stirred every cell in my body like lightning in my veins.
Magic.
My teeth bared as I pushed harder, faster, dodging between gnarled trunks and lunging through vines. The jungle was alive with sound: distant howls, insect chatter, rustling movements I couldn’t place. It didn’t matter.
I would find her.
I had felt her once before. A flicker of her wolf—elusive but real. When our eyes met across the distance, something inside me shifted. My wolf had howled so loud I’d tasted it in my mouth. I knew what that feeling meant.
But now… I didn’t know what to believe.
The scent grew stronger, and with it came something else. Power. Ancient, untamed, wrong. The air buzzed with it, and my wolf—usually bristling at any sign of threat—was still. Not afraid. Not angry.
Just… confused.
I burst into a clearing like a storm breaking through a door—and there she was.
Crushed beneath a tangle of vines and branches, blood soaking the dirt beneath her, her body twisted at a cruel angle. My heart slammed into my ribs.
She was dying.
“No—” The word tore from me like a growl. I crossed the space in a heartbeat, fell to my knees beside her.
Her face was streaked with mud and blood, her skin pale as moonlight. And the scent—gods, that scent. Her blood called to me. Sang to me. It wasn’t just alluring. It was necessary. My wolf surged, nearly breaking through the surface.
Mine.
The word thundered through my skull. Not like desire. Not like lust. Like truth.
I reached for her, trembling as I turned her gently. She groaned weakly. Her tunic was soaked crimson from a deep wound beneath her ribs. Too close to her heart.
But even as I stared in horror, I saw it happening—saw the flesh draw closed, slowly, like invisible hands were weaving her back together. Blood still dripped, but less than it should. Muscle and skin knit with unnatural precision.
My stomach turned.
This wasn’t wolf healing.
This was witchcraft.
The word struck like a blade to the chest. Ice-cold. Familiar. Hated.
I reeled back slightly, fingers digging into the dirt. My breath came sharp. My wolf shifted uneasily, but didn’t snarl. Didn’t rage. He was… watching her.
“I should kill you,” I said aloud, voice hoarse. “If you’re a witch, I should.”
But I didn’t move.
Because no witch’s blood should ever smell like this. No witch’s presence should hit me like a tidal wave. And no magic will ever pull at my soul.
Something about her—everything about her—screamed fate. Not the soft, fairy-tale kind. The kind written in fire and blood. The kind that burned through logic.
She stirred in my arms. Her lips moved.
"You..." she whispered, eyes barely opening.
My gut clenched. Her voice was like wind on a blade. Weak. But defiant.
I ignored her words. I couldn’t let them matter.
I should’ve questioned her. Demanded answers. But I already knew too much.
Her blood was power. Her presence was a storm. And the silence of her wolf? That was the loudest noise of all.
Because I’d felt it once. When I met her the first time, I knew. She had a wolf. Not a strong one, not present on the surface—but it had been there. Real.
Now? Nothing. No echo. No whisper.
Gone.
But my instincts didn’t care. My body didn’t care. My wolf might be silent, but the rest of me was screaming.
She’s the key.
To the curse. To our salvation. Or our destruction.
I didn’t want to feel it. I hated what she was. Witches had brought ruin to my pack. The curse had taken my father. My brother. My future.
And yet, here she was. Dripping with the magic I swore to destroy—and all I could do was wrap my arms around her and hold her close.
She was mine. Not in the romantic sense. Not in softness.
In purpose.
I rose, cradling her broken form. Her blood soaked into my shirt, and the heat of it sent another wave of that maddening scent through me. It was wild, electric, right. I felt drunk on it.
"I should leave you here," I muttered, starting back through the trees. "Let the jungle finish what it started."
But my legs kept moving.
I knew what this meant.
I would take her back. Lock her down. Chain her if I had to.
Not because I wanted to protect her.
But because I couldn’t afford to let her go.
This wasn’t about mercy. It wasn’t about love.
This was war. And she was a weapon. One I intended to use.
My jaw clenched, heart pounding.
She would be mine.
My prisoner.
My curse-breaker.
And gods help me, if she tried to run—I would burn the world down to bring her back.
But even as I said it, something twisted in my chest.
The scent of her clung to me like smoke—wild, scorched, unforgettable. Her skin was too cold against mine, her breaths too shallow. Yet every step I took felt heavier, like the jungle itself was trying to remind me what I was carrying. Who I was carrying.
Not just a witch. Not just a key.
Her.
I tightened my grip, jaw aching from how hard I clenched it. She shifted slightly in my arms, head falling against my shoulder, and the sound she made—barely a breath—hit me harder than a battle wound.
I couldn’t afford this.
Affection. Pity. Weakness.
I had lost too much to let anything slip past my guard again. And if the gods were cruel enough to tie my fate to a witch, then so be it. I’d still find a way to survive it. To own it.
But even as I laid her on the furs in the cold stone chamber, the shadows dancing around us, I couldn’t stop the feeling threading deeper into my veins.
This wasn’t the end of a hunt.
It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.
Something I was no longer sure I could control.
- Writer
