EVER BOUND

SEVEN

Thea stirred slowly, her head rolling against the cold windowpane.

Outside, the world was a wash of grays and greens, the late afternoon sky smeared with clouds. Rain had threatened them for hours, but it had never quite fallen. The truck's tires hummed steadily along the winding road, and the forest outside pressed close—tall pines swaying like watchers in the mist.

She blinked hard, trying to shake the sleep from her eyes.

Her neck ached. Marg was curled into a tight ball in her crate on the floor, her tail flicking lazily with every bump in the road.

Silas sat beside her, one hand loosely resting on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead like he hadn't moved in hours.

"How long was I out?" she asked, her voice scratchy with sleep.

"Not long," Silas said without looking at her. "Just a few hours. We're nearly there."

Thea sat up straighter in her seat, rubbing her eyes. "Where's there?"

"One of my manors," he replied calmly. "Old estate. Remote enough that I don't expect we'll be found easily. If I can keep you hidden, even for a little while, we might have a chance to figure out what's next."

She was quiet for a moment, watching the trees blur past.

Then, softly, "What is going on, Silas? Why me?"

His jaw twitched.

"Because of your power," he said, his voice low. "You're being hunted, Thea. You always have been."

Her stomach twisted.

"Then why haven't they come before now?" she asked. "Why now?"

"Because your power's been dormant until recently. You were shielded. Quiet. Off the map. Now..." He finally glanced at her, his eyes catching hers. "Now, you've lit a flare."

Thea turned her gaze back to the road, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat.

"I didn't ask for this," she said quietly.

"No," Silas agreed. "But it's still yours."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

As the truck crested a hill, a great wrought-iron gate emerged from the fog, flanked by tall stone pillars wrapped in ivy. Beyond it, a long cobbled drive snaked toward a manor that sat high and brooding on the hillside, its dark roof peeking just above the treetops.

The gates groaned open slowly as they approached.

Silas reached across the console, resting a hand gently on Thea's forearm.

"I'll protect you," he said. "Whatever comes next, I swear it."

The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they stepped out of the truck.

Thea wrapped her arms around herself instinctively. The manor stood tall and imposing above her—stone and slate softened only slightly by vines and the faint bloom of wild roses along the lower walls. It was beautiful in the way old things often were: proud, weathered, and steeped in secrets.

Before she could take in more, the front doors creaked open.

A handful of staff stepped out to greet them, most of them young women dressed in practical uniforms—buttoned blouses, dark skirts, and aprons dusted from the work they'd been doing inside. They offered polite nods as they passed, eyes flicking curiously to Thea as they took her bags.

But the man who approached was older. Mid-sixties, perhaps, with neat silver hair and warm brown eyes that studied Thea for a moment before turning to Silas.

"Welcome home, Master Silas," the man said, voice smooth and deferential. "Shall I have a meal brought to your study?"

Thea tilted her head slightly.

Silas stiffened beside her. "Not tonight, Adair," he said, with a glance at Thea. "I'm not hungry."

Adair's gaze flicked between them. "Of course," he replied with a knowing nod that said he didn't quite believe him. "We'll prepare a room for your guest then. The usual east wing?"

"Yes," Silas said. "Make sure it's aired out. She'll need something comfortable."

Adair looked to Thea now, offering a small bow of his head. "It's been some time since we've had visitors. Forgive the state of the house—some of the girls are still finishing up the cleaning."

"It's fine," Thea said softly. "I wasn't expecting luxury."

At that moment, her stomach gave a loud, traitorous growl.

Silas glanced at her, something like amusement flickering in his eyes.

"She hasn't eaten," he said, then looked back to Adair. "Have something prepared for her while her room is set. Something light, but filling."

"Right away, sir." Adair gestured for one of the maids to follow him back toward the kitchen.

Silas turned back to Thea, his expression soft but distant now.

"I have work to do," he said. "It's... a lot to sort through. But you're safe here."

With that, he turned and strode toward a dark hallway, leaving Thea alone in the entryway with her cat's crate in hand, a whirlwind of questions in her chest, and an aging housekeeper watching her with a quiet, thoughtful expression.

"Come, Miss," Adair said gently. "Let's get you something to eat. I imagine you've had quite the journey."

A younger maid gently lifted the carrier from Thea's hand. "I'll take care of her, miss," she said softly.

Thea hesitated. "She doesn't like strangers."

"She won't be far," Adair reassured. "The staff knows how to treat guests—and their companions—with care."

Thea followed Adair through a vast corridor lit by ornate sconces, the soft golden light flickering over stone walls older than any building she'd ever stepped foot in. Her boots echoed faintly on the checkered floor, and above her, the ceiling arched high like a cathedral's spine, lined with intricate carvings and faded frescoes. Dust motes danced in the light as they passed.

"It's more of a castle than a manor," she murmured, unable to keep the awe from her voice.

"Aye," Adair said, hands folded behind his back. "Parts of it date back to the thirteenth century. Of course, Master Silas has added modern amenities where necessary—but he's quite fond of keeping the character intact."

"It's... beautiful. But too large. Too cold," she said truthfully, fingers brushing a tapestry depicting a battle scene stitched in dull reds and golds.

Adair didn't comment on her discomfort. "We'll do our best to make you feel at home."

They passed a library with soaring shelves, a parlor room with velvet settees and cracked oil paintings, and a sunroom—currently dark and closed off for the night.

As they turned into a wide hallway, Thea's nose caught the aroma of something rich and savory. Her stomach, already coaxed by the earlier scent of butter and garlic, rumbled again.

They reached the dining room—lavish in an understated way. A long oak table sat beneath a chandelier of wrought iron and crystal. Tapestries hung on either end of the room, and a fire had been lit in the hearth, casting warmth across the ancient stones.

At the far end, a woman in her fifties bustled in with a ladle in one hand and a dish towel in the other. She wore an apron embroidered with small red flowers, her auburn curls tucked beneath a scarf.

"Miss Thea," Adair said. "This is Cook Elsbeth. She's been with the estate longer than most of us."

Elsbeth offered a kind smile. "So you're the one who's shaken the old house awake. Sit, sit. I hope you like stew. It's venison tonight with roasted root vegetables and barley bread."

Thea blinked. "This is all for me?"

Elsbeth laughed as she set down a bowl that looked like it belonged at a feast. "You'll need your strength, love. Besides, the house hasn't had a proper appetite around in years. Silas only eats when he has to."

The comment caught Thea off guard. She gave a polite smile but said nothing, sitting stiffly as more food was brought out—steamed greens with lemon, a pot of herbed potatoes, and warm custard for dessert.

As she ate, she found herself relaxing despite the chill of the stone walls. The food was rich, comforting, almost too much. It felt like being expected.

Like they knew she would come.

And while the castle dazzled her, it unsettled her too. Every corner was heavy with history, every corridor with secrets. This wasn't her world—it belonged in a novel or a television show. She was just a small-town vet with a complicated history and a handful of strange dreams.

Now she was tucked away in a hidden manor, surrounded by staff who served her like royalty—and no one back home even knew she was gone. No one would notice. The thought curled in her chest like a stone.

Adair reappeared just as she set her spoon down.

"Your room is ready, Miss," he said gently. "If you'll follow me."

She trailed behind him through another set of winding halls, this time ascending a wide staircase of worn stone. He led her down a narrower corridor with polished wood panels and a velvet runner. At the end was a heavy door with brass handles.

When he pushed it open, Thea's breath caught.

The room was massive—easily the size of her living room and bedroom combined. A four-poster bed stood at the center with sheer linen curtains draping the frame. The walls were lined with bookshelves and pale floral wallpaper. A clawfoot tub peeked from behind an adjoining doorway, and a full tray of fresh towels and soaps sat beside it.

A small hearth crackled in the corner, and curled at the foot of the bed was Marg, sleeping peacefully on top of a folded blanket.

"Feel free to shower," Adair said. "There's fresh clothes in the armoire, should you need them. If you require anything else, ring the bell." He gestured toward a long golden pull cord near the bed.

"Thank you," Thea said quietly, unsure of how to absorb all of this.

Adair gave a small bow. "Rest well, Miss Thea."

He closed the door softly behind him, leaving Thea alone with the fire, her sleeping cat, and a thousand questions that refused to be quiet.

~*~

Silas stood alone at the far edge of the manor's western wing, where the stone walls gave way to a high balcony overlooking the cliffs. The sea below crashed against the rocks with violent rhythm, the salt wind biting at his cheeks. His coat billowed behind him like a specter. He didn't flinch when the door clicked shut behind him—he already knew he was alone.

He gripped the iron railing, knuckles white.

Bringing her here had been a risk. A selfish one.

And yet... seeing her curled up on the seat of his car, breathing softly in sleep, her cat nestled against her legs like a talisman, had struck something in him that had long gone quiet.

Thea. But not.

This version of her was softer. Kinder. A wild thing reborn, still unaware of her own teeth.

He'd trained legions of his kind to fight her. Studied every iteration of her power. Built walls of defense against a woman he both loved and feared. And now here she was—in an oversized hoodie and rain boots, asking if he sparkled in the sun. She'd brought none of the fire he remembered. None of the rage that once cracked the skies when she screamed.

She was... unarmed.

And that terrified him more than her at full strength.

Silas turned his gaze back toward the sea.

She hadn't questioned why his kind hunted her. Not really. Not deeply.

She hadn't pressed him about the prophecy.

And he hadn't told her the truth.

That her powers—now dormant—were waking up. That being near him stirred something in her blood. That the moment her powers returned in full, every creature still loyal to him would try to kill her.

Not out of loyalty anymore, but fear.

He should leave her. Should run. Let someone else deal with the weight of the prophecy, the danger she carried in her veins. But he couldn't. Not this time. Not with how she looked at him like she trusted him.

It made him feel human again.

A sound behind him broke the silence—Adair, as silent-footed as ever.

"She's settled?" Silas asked without turning.

"Aye," Adair said, stepping beside him. "Fed, warmed, and tucked away with her beast."

"She's not safe here."

"No," Adair said plainly. "But she's safer than she was. And safer than you are."

Silas huffed a bitter breath. "They found us."

Adair's jaw ticked. "They always would."

"They're not following orders anymore," Silas said. "Even when I give them directly."

Adair was quiet for a moment, then said, "You could've ended this a long time ago."

Silas finally looked at him.

"She was a child," he growled. "She is still a child, in her way. And I won't kill her just because the rest of them are afraid of a story they barely understand."

Adair raised a brow. "So you'll protect her instead."

Silas didn't answer.

"Then you'd best be ready. Because this time, there's no running. No war councils. No hiding behind strategy. If she is awakening, they'll come faster. And harder."

"I know."

"And when she remembers everything?"

Silas closed his eyes.

"She won't," he said. "Not all of it."

"And if she does?"

The silence stretched.

Silas finally turned his gaze back to the ocean. "Then I'll deal with it."

Adair gave a stiff nod. "I'll increase the watch. Set a few of the girls to ward the perimeter. We'll buy you time."

"Time is all I need," Silas murmured.

But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie.

Time wasn't something he had anymore.