EVER BOUND

SIX

Silas

Silas moved in front of her before the wind even shifted.

One arm angled slightly behind him, barring Thea's body with his own as if instinct alone could shield her from what was coming.

His stance was still—anchored—but his voice, when he spoke, was iron.

"Leave," he said without looking back at her. "Now."

Thea didn't argue.

For once, she turned and ran.

Silas waited until he heard the front door slam shut, her footsteps echoing through the wood, before he faced the three men fully.

Only two remained familiar.

Micah. Brynne.

The third was new. Young. Impatient. Barely blooded.

The same one who'd flinched when Thea's magic had lashed out in the clearing days ago.

"You've gotten sloppy," Brynne said, her mouth curling. "Used to be, you would've never let her touch you. Now you're out here kissing her?"

"You've lost perspective," Silas growled.

Micah stepped forward. "No. You have."

"This isn't her," Silas said, sharp and unwavering. "She's not awakened. She doesn't remember the ritual. She hasn't touched her full power. You felt it. That's not the version we trained for."

Brynne snorted. "Then it should be easier to kill her."

"No."

Micah's jaw clenched. "You taught us how to end her, Silas. You were the one who said she couldn't be trusted."

"I was wrong."

"You don't believe that."

"I believe what I see," Silas snapped. "And what I see is a woman who hasn't earned the blade at her throat."

"She will." Brynne's tone was cold. "We all know it. Just a matter of time."

"I'm your commander," Silas said, his voice deadly calm. "And I'm giving you a direct order. Stand. Down."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Micah's eyes darkened. "Not anymore."

The third man struck first.

Silas dodged the blade easily—his own sword drawn in the blink of an eye. The weapon caught the light of dawn for one instant before it buried deep into the attacker's side. The man gasped, staggered back—and dropped.

Dead.

Blood soaked the grass at Silas's feet.

Brynne lunged, but Micah held her back with a hand to her chest.

Silas turned slowly toward them, eyes bright with fury. "The next one of you who tries it dies faster."

Brynne hissed between her teeth. "She's going to kill us all. You know that."

Silas pointed his blade at them. "Then make sure your message gets through."

Micah's eyes met his.

Then, slowly, he pulled Brynne back by the collar of her coat.

They vanished into the trees without another word.

Silas stood alone in the mist, blood cooling at his feet.

And behind the window, Thea watched—silently, eyes wide, heart racing—as the man who'd kissed her minutes ago became something else entirely.

Silas stepped back into the cottage, leaving the smell of blood and damp earth behind him.

The door closed with a soft click, but Thea didn't flinch. She stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, face unreadable. He could still feel her eyes on him, just like they'd been from the window—watching every movement, every swing of his blade.

He didn't give her a chance to speak first.

"Pack a bag," he said.

She blinked. "What?"

"We're leaving."

"Now?"

He nodded once. "Before the sun gets any higher."

Thea stood her ground. "Why? You just handled them. You said I'm not awakened. Why can't we stay?"

"Because they'll bring more next time," he said. "I barely got out of that without being overrun. If they come back in force, I won't be able to protect you."

"You're not the only one with power," she said, but the words felt thinner now. Less certain.

Silas shook his head. "You're still learning. And I'm not going to let them use your inexperience as an advantage."

She hesitated. Then nodded, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

He pulled a phone from his coat—old and battered, but functional. He stepped toward the far corner of the room and dialed.

After a few seconds, a voice picked up on the other end.

"Is it done?" the man asked.

"No," Silas said. "It's begun. I need to move her—quietly."

There was a pause. Then: "My place?"

Silas's gaze flicked to Thea as she disappeared into her room to gather her things.

"Yes. I'm heading there now."

The man exhaled. "I'll prep the wards."

Silas ended the call and slid the phone back into his coat.

His destination was set—Cairnmoore Keep, a fortress nestled deep in the Scottish Highlands, unreachable by road and shielded by old blood magic. It had been in his family for centuries, long before the curse. Its walls were thick with memory and protection. And above all—secrecy.

It was the last place on earth they'd think to look for her.

~*~

Thea

Thea moved through her room in a blur.

Clothes, toiletries, chargers—all shoved hurriedly into the same duffel she used for vet conference weekends. Her fingers moved fast, but her thoughts tangled in circles, like a string she couldn't unwind.

It didn't make sense.

None of this did.

But her body was on autopilot, trusting something deeper than logic—something older.

From her dresser, Marg watched her silently. The cat's ears were flat, her golden eyes fixed on Thea's every movement like she understood more than she should. She gave a low, uncertain chirp when Thea zipped the bag closed.

Thea exhaled and crossed the room to crouch beside her.

"I don't know what's going on either," she whispered, smoothing a hand down Marg's back. "But I think we're safe with him."

Marg flicked her tail, unconvinced.

Thea sat back on her heels.

She'd met Silas yesterday.

But it didn't feel that way. Not really.

In her dreams, he had always been there—at her side, at her back. A voice in the dark. A hand on her hip. A kiss at her throat. He'd been her protector. Her secret. Her something.

And now, standing in her bedroom while the sky outside lightened by the second, all she could think about was the kiss.

The way it hadn't startled her. The way it had fit.

It was muscle memory. A past life whispering through present nerves. The warmth of it still lingered on her lips—like he'd pressed himself into her skin and left part of himself behind.

She swallowed, stood, and grabbed Marg's crate from the closet.

"Come on, old girl," she said. "You're coming too."

By the time she descended the stairs, Silas was waiting at the front door, keys in one hand and a backpack slung over the other.

He paused when he saw the crate.

"You're bringing the cat?" he asked, brow lifted.

"She's a required presence," Thea replied flatly, as if it weren't up for debate.

Silas gave Marg a long, assessing look. The cat returned it, tail twitching.

"She might be more powerful than you," he muttered.

Thea cracked a smile. "You're just now realizing that?"

Silas opened the door and took her duffel without another word, heading for her truck parked just off the gravel drive. Thea followed close behind, the crate cradled in her arms.

As he slid the last bag into the bed of the truck, she hesitated.

"What about you?" she asked. "The sun's coming up."

He looked at her, a flicker of something ancient crossing his features.

"When I'm near you," he said, "I'm protected. It's not something I ever understood. But I learned a long time ago—it's real."

Thea swallowed, unsure of what to do with that information.

"You keep saying I'm not awake yet," she said softly. "But what if I never do? What if I'm just... this?"

"Then I'll protect this version of you," he said simply, shutting the truck bed.

She didn't respond.

They climbed into the cab—Thea behind the wheel, Marg's crate tucked on the floor of the passenger side, Silas quiet beside her.

As the engine turned over and the tires crunched down the long dirt road, Thea took one last look at her cottage in the rearview mirror.

She didn't know if she'd ever see it again.