The Primordial Flame

The patch up.

"Come Vane, let’s get your hands cleaned up, they are as raw as fresh meat," I say gently, taking his arm and steering him toward a sturdy wooden chair that survived the brawl intact.

He doesn't fight me, letting out a long, weary sigh as he sits down with a slight wince. I walk over to the side washbasin, pouring clean water into a bowl and grabbing a roll of fresh linen strips. Bringing the basin over, I set it on a nearby stool and take a seat opposite him.

I gently pull his right hand into mine, dipping a cloth into the cool water and carefully dabbing away the blood and grit embedded in his swollen knuckles.

"You really are a true friend, Vane," I say softly, looking up into his storm grey eyes with genuine warmth, "but don’t go getting yourself into trouble over a few silly opinions on my behalf. I’m a big girl, I can take it."

Vane winces slightly as the water cleans a raw cut, but a faint, lopsided smirk tugs at his lips. He tilts his head back against the chair's tall back, his dark, shoulder length hair framing his face as he looks down at me through long lashes.

"Silly opinions?" Vane rasps, his tone softening into that rare, earnest space he usually hides behind jokes. "Little Tiger, he was talking about leaving you out to dry. You think I’m going to sit there and listen to some back alley thug disrespect the future lady of this guild, and my best friend?"

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet, bitter huff.

"Besides," Vane murmurs, his expression softening as I wrap the clean linen snug around his palm and fingers, "you stood up for me this morning when I was being a pain.

The Blackhand doesn't have many people who actually give a damn about each other, Ame. Bram found a good one in you. I'm not going to let anyone in this hall forget it."

Before I can answer, the heavy outer double doors burst open with a resounding thud.

Bram steps into the hall, his dark cloak spattered with mud and his leather armor damp from the ride. His massive frame fills the doorway, his sharp, dark eyes immediately sweeping across the flipped tables, shattered wood, and overturned benches, before locking directly onto me sitting beside a bruised, bandaged Vane.

Bram’s jaw sets like iron. He takes three long, thunderous strides into the room, his hand resting heavy on the pommel of his broadsword.

"What happened here?" Bram’s deep voice rumbles like thunder through the silent hall, his gaze darting between Vane's raw face and my quiet posture. "Vane. Ame. Talk to me."

"You best explain, Vane. I only arrived towards the end to break it up," I say, pulling the linen tight and tying a neat, secure knot over his knuckles.

I pat his hand gently before standing, walking over to stand right beside Bram. As soon as I reach him, I place a grounding, gentle palm flat against his rain dampened leather chest.

I can feel the tight, furious thrum of his heartbeat beneath the leather, his whole body coiled like a steel spring.

Vane rolls his shoulders, wincing slightly as he sits up straight in his chair. He holds up his freshly wrapped hands, offering Bram a lopsided, totally unrepentant grin that doesn't quite reach his storm grey eyes.

"Relax, Commander," Vane rasps, his voice smooth and easy despite the split lip. "Just a small difference of opinion regarding guild hierarchy and basic manners. Sinfred was under the impression that he runs strategy around here now. I took it upon myself to correct his misunderstanding."

Bram’s dark eyes narrow, his gaze shifting from Vane’s bruised jaw down to my calm face. His broad hand rises instinctively, cupping the side of my neck, his thumb brushing over my jawline as if checking for any invisible harm.

"What did he say, Vane?" Bram rumbles, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register that makes the ambient air in the hall feel thin.

"Nothing that matters," I say softly, leaning up just a fraction into the warmth of Bram's hand against my neck. "He thought the guild should leave me behind for Thursday. Vane put him in his place, and I made it clear to Sinfred that I don't need anyone's permission to do my job."

Bram’s jaw tightens so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek. A dark, possessive anger flares in his eyes, but as he looks down at me, safe, unbothered, and completely steady, the lethal edge slowly recedes into a deep, protective quiet.

"He's reassigned to the outer perimeter guards in the eastern marshes," Bram states flatly, his word final and absolute. "He won't set foot in this hall again until the Carrion ledgers are in my hands."

Vane lets out a low whistle, leaning back. "Brutal. He's going to love the leeches down there."

Bram ignores Vane entirely, turning his full attention back to me. He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side as if re-anchoring himself after the ride.

"Did Vivienne get the fitting done?" he asks low, his thumb softly tracing pattern strokes against my hip.

A shadow flickers behind my eyes, the sting of Sinfred’s words echoing louder than the violent clash of steel and fists. Bram's losing his edge because of a woman. It’s only been a single day since the guild learned about us, and already the cracks are showing. Already men are questioning Bram's focus, his lethal reputation, all because of me.

I slowly slide my hand off his damp leather chest and take a deliberate step backward, creating a cool slice of space between us.

I offer Bram a smooth, practiced nod, the calm, unreadable face of someone who knows how to mask what she's feeling.

"She did," I say softly, keeping my voice steady and light. "Everything is sorted. I’ll collect the dress in two days. She knows it’s high priority."

Bram’s hand hovers in the empty air where my waist just was. His dark eyes contract slightly, sharp and hyper observant. He doesn't miss the subtle pull back, the sudden distance in my posture, or the guarded shift in my tone. He doesn't know the exact poison Sinfred spewed, but he knows something just shifted.

Vane sits up in his chair, his storm grey eyes flicking between the two of us as the easy atmosphere evaporates completely. He wraps his freshly bandaged hands in a clean cloth and stands up, clearing his throat quietly.

"I'm going to go check on the stables," Vane rasps, giving me a quiet, supportive look that promises he won't breathe a word to Bram unless I want him to. "Give you two a minute."

Once the heavy oak doors close behind Vane, Bram takes a step toward me, his tall frame looming over mine, his expression darkening with an intense, probing focus.

"Amelisse," Bram rumbles low, his deep voice cutting through the quiet hall. He reaches out, his large, warm hand coming up to gently rest against the side of my neck, his thumb lifting my chin so I have to look him straight in the eye.

"Look at me."

His dark eyes search my face, trying to read every hidden thought behind my eyes.

"Don't retreat on me," he murmurs softly, his thumb tracing the fine line of my cheekbone. "I know that look. Something happened while I was out on that trail. Talk to me, Little Tiger."

I let out a slow, quiet breath, leaning my face just a fraction heavier into the warm palm cupping my neck. Hiding things from Bram, especially now, feels wrong. He deserves the truth, even if it hurts to say it out loud.

"Sinfred said you were losing your edge," I murmur, my voice low and barely carrying across the empty dining hall. "Because of me. He said you were getting soft, that having me here is making you weak, and that the guild shouldn't trust a plan centered around a woman holding your focus."

I lift my hand, gently resting my fingers over his wrist. "It's only been one day since everyone found out about us, Bram. And already the lieutenants are fighting, tables are smashed, and men are questioning your command. I don't ever want to be the reason your authority fractures."

Bram doesn't pull away. He doesn't explode in anger, either. Instead, his dark eyes darken into something heavy, profound, and terrifyingly absolute. His grip on my neck remains infinitely gentle, but the muscle in his jaw flexes hard as he absorbs every single word.

"Is that what you think?" Bram rumbles, his deep voice carrying a quiet intensity that vibrates right through his chest. "You think you make me soft?"

He takes a step closer, closing every bit of distance I had put between us, his free arm wrapping around my lower back to pull me flush against him.

"Listen to me, Amelisse," he says, leaning down until his lips are inches from mine, his dark eyes locked onto mine with unshakeable conviction. "Before you, I fought because it was all I knew. I ran this guild because power keeps a man alive. But now? Now I have something I will tear this entire city down to protect. That doesn't make me soft, Little Tiger. That makes me lethal."

He tilts my head up slightly, his thumb smoothing over my cheek.

"Sinfred is a coward who mistakes cruelty for strength," Bram continues, a dark, dangerous smirk touching the corner of his lips. "He’s rotting on the eastern marsh watch because he dared to open his mouth. Let the rest of them wonder. On Thursday night, when we walk out of Carrion’s estate with his ledgers and King Alaric wrapped around your finger, every man in this guild will know exactly who rules this shadow."

His words settle into the quiet room, washing away the doubt that Sinfred had planted. Bram leans in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss against my forehead before resting his brow against mine.

"Don't ever step back from me again," he whispers against my skin. "We stand together. Always."