Bound by Bloodline

Chapter 10

The room felt smaller than the rest of the place.

Not actually smaller, I realized as I stepped inside, but closer. More contained. The kind of space where every movement mattered more, where there was nowhere to disappear without being noticed.

I stopped just past the doorway, taking it in without turning too obviously. It was the same as everything else. Clean. Controlled. Nothing out of place.

But this felt different.

More personal.

That thought alone made something tighten in my chest.

“You can take the bed.”

His voice came from behind me, closer than I expected.

I turned slightly. “No.”

He did not argue immediately, which surprised me more than anything else he had done tonight.

“I am not taking your bed,” I continued, folding my arms.

“You are not sleeping on the floor.”

“I have done it before.”

“Not here.”

“That does not matter.”

“It does to me.”

I held his gaze for a second, trying to read what that meant, trying to decide if it was another attempt at control or something else I could not quite place.

“I will take the chair,” I said finally.

“There is no chair.”

I glanced around.

He was right.

Of course he was.

“You did that on purpose,” I muttered.

“No,” he said. “I just do not need one.”

“That is convenient.”

“It is practical.”

I almost rolled my eyes, but the tension in the room made it harder to hold onto something that normal.

“Then I will stay by the door,” I said.

“You are not sleeping by the door.”

“I am not sleeping in your bed.”

“You are not sleeping on the floor.”

We stared at each other.

Neither of us moving.

Neither of us giving in.

The bond pulsed again, softer this time but deeper, like it was paying attention, like it was waiting to see who would break first.

I exhaled slowly.

“This is ridiculous.”

“It is temporary.”

“That does not make it better.”

“It makes it necessary.”

I shook my head, turning away from him before I said something I could not take back.

“I am not comfortable with this,” I said.

“I know.”

The answer came too quickly.

Too easily.

That made me turn back.

“Then act like it.”

“I am.”

“No, you are not,” I said, my voice tightening. “You are acting like this is normal.”

“I am acting like this is what keeps you safe.”

I stepped toward him before I could stop myself.

“Do you hear how that sounds.”

“Yes.”

“And you still think it is okay.”

“I think it is the only option.”

We were closer now.

I had not realized how close until I stopped.

Until I felt it.

The shift.

The way the air changed.

The way the bond reacted instantly, tightening in my chest, pulling something sharp and unfamiliar through me that made it harder to breathe.

I should have stepped back.

I didn’t.

He did not move either.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

The silence stretched, but it was not empty. It was full, heavy with everything we were both trying not to acknowledge.

His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second.

Not enough to miss.

Just enough to notice.

My breath caught.

I hated that.

“You are doing it again,” I said, quieter now.

“Doing what.”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Like you already decided something.”

His eyes lifted back to mine.

“I did.”

My chest tightened.

I should have moved.

I should have broken the space between us before it got worse.

Instead, I stayed exactly where I was.

“Say it,” I said before I could stop myself.

His brows pulled together slightly. “Say what.”

“Whatever you think you decided.”

The words came out softer than I intended.

More real.

For a second, I thought he would ignore it.

Then he stepped closer.

Not enough to touch.

Enough to matter.

The space between us disappeared into something thin and fragile, like it would only take one movement to break it completely.

“You felt it first,” he said quietly.

My breath hitched.

“That does not mean anything.”

“It does to me.”

I shook my head. “You do not get to decide that.”

“I am not deciding,” he said. “I am telling you what it is.”

My hand lifted without thinking.

Just slightly.

Like I was going to push him back.

Or maybe hold onto something.

I did not know.

His gaze dropped again.

This time, to my hand.

For a second, neither of us moved.

The tension snapped tighter.

My fingers curled slightly, hesitating just before they reached him.

Then I stopped.

Pulled back.

The moment broke.

Sharp and sudden.

I stepped away immediately, putting space between us before the feeling could settle into something worse.

“This does not change anything,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“It already did.”

“No,” I snapped. “It did not.”

His expression did not change.

But something in his eyes did.

Something that made my chest tighten again.

“You can keep saying that,” he said. “It does not make it true.”

I turned away from him, moving toward the edge of the bed just to have something solid to focus on, something real that was not him, not the bond, not the way everything felt like it was shifting too fast.

“I am sleeping here,” I said, sitting down without looking at him.

There was a pause.

Then I felt it.

The shift in the air as he moved.

Not closer this time.

But not far enough either.

Close enough that I could still feel him.

Always.

I lay back without saying anything else, staring up at the ceiling, trying to slow my breathing, trying to ignore the way the bond had not settled, the way it still pulsed faintly beneath everything else.

After a moment, his voice came again.

Quieter this time.

“Get some rest.”

I almost laughed at that.

Almost.

Instead, I closed my eyes.

Knowing full well I was not going to sleep.