Bound by Bloodline

Chapter 8

I shouldn’t have stayed.

That was the first thought that hit me the second he stepped away and gave me space, like that somehow made this better. Like it changed the fact that I was standing inside a place that belonged to him, surrounded by walls I didn’t know, exits I hadn’t mapped yet, and a man I didn’t trust watching me like I wasn’t leaving.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my breathing to even out as I took a few steps forward.

The space was… not what I expected.

For someone like him, I had imagined something colder. Sharper. More obvious in its power. But this felt controlled in a different way. Clean lines, dark finishes, everything placed with intention. Nothing out of place. Nothing unnecessary.

It felt like him.

I hated that I noticed.

“You’re staring,” his voice came from behind me.

I didn’t turn around.

“I’m looking,” I corrected.

“At what?”

“Trying to figure out why you think this is somewhere I should feel safe.”

I moved further into the room as I spoke, my fingers brushing lightly over the edge of a table, the back of a chair, anything that gave me a sense of where I was. Mapping. Measuring. Counting steps without making it obvious.

Old habits.

Necessary ones.

“Because no one gets in here unless I allow it,” he said.

I glanced over my shoulder. He hadn’t moved much. Still near the entrance, watching me like he didn’t need to follow to keep track of where I was.

“And I’m supposed to find that comforting?” I asked.

“It should be.”

“It’s not.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted slightly, like he expected that answer.

Of course he did.

I turned away from him again, continuing to move through the space, slower now, more deliberate. There were no personal items in sight. No clutter. No distractions. Just controlled, deliberate space.

“You live like this?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Nothing personal.”

“I don’t need it.”

I almost rolled my eyes at that.

“Right,” I muttered.

I stepped into the next area, pausing briefly as I took it in. Bigger. More open. Still controlled, still precise, but something about it felt less… empty. Not warmer. Just less untouched.

My attention shifted to a window, large enough to overlook part of the city. I moved toward it without thinking, drawn to the view, to the faint glow of lights below that reminded me how far I had come from the chaos of the market.

Too far.

The thought came quick and sharp.

Too far from anything familiar.

“You’re thinking about leaving,” he said.

I turned this time.

“You say that like it’s surprising.”

“You’re calculating,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

I crossed my arms, leaning slightly against the edge of the window as I studied him.

“And you’re watching me like I’m going to disappear if you blink.”

His jaw tightened just enough for me to notice.

“I am.”

There was no hesitation in it.

No attempt to soften the truth.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

I looked away first.

“Don’t get used to this,” I said.

“To what?”

“Me being here.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “I’ll just expect it.”

My eyes snapped back to his.

“You really don’t hear yourself, do you?”

“I hear you just fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I pushed off the window, moving again just to break the feeling that was starting to settle too heavily in my chest. The bond hadn’t gone quiet since we got here. If anything, it felt stronger in the silence, more aware, more present now that there was nothing else pulling at my attention.

It was distracting.

Uncomfortable.

And worse, it wasn’t fading.

I stopped near the center of the room, turning slightly so I could see him without fully facing him.

“This isn’t normal,” I said.

“I know.”

“No, I mean it,” I continued, my voice tightening despite myself. “Bonds don’t happen like this. They don’t just… snap into place.”

“They did.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s the only one we have right now.”

Frustration flared again, sharp and immediate.

“That’s not enough for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

I stared at him.

“You keep saying things like that,” I said slowly, “like what I want doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he said.

“Then act like it.”

“I am.”

My breath caught slightly, more from irritation than anything else.

“No, you’re not,” I shot back. “You’re deciding everything for both of us and calling it protection.”

“And you’re pretending you can walk away from something that’s already happened.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

Because part of me knew he wasn’t wrong.

I hated that part.

I turned away again, pacing this time, slower, more restless. My fingers curled slightly at my sides, tension building in a way I didn’t like, in a way I couldn’t easily control.

“Stop pacing,” he said.

I froze.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re wearing a path into the floor.”

I turned slowly, narrowing my eyes at him.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do in here.”

“I do if you’re going to make yourself more anxious than you already are.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he repeated, like it was obvious, like he could see right through me.

My jaw tightened.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re trying to find a way out.”

“And?”

“There isn’t one.”

Something in my chest tightened again.

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“It is if I’m the one stopping you from walking into a worse situation.”

I held his gaze for a long second, the tension between us stretching tight, heavier now, more personal than before.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” I said.

“I have to be.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It’s necessary.”

I almost laughed at that, but the sound caught in my throat before it could fully form.

Because the truth was, I understood that more than I wanted to.

Silence settled again, but this time it wasn’t empty.

It was charged.

The kind that made it hard to ignore the way he was looking at me, the way the bond reacted every time I got too close, the way my body seemed to respond whether I wanted it to or not.

I stepped back slightly, putting a little more distance between us.

It didn’t help.

I could still feel him.

Everywhere.

Constant.

“You’re not going to stop watching me, are you?” I asked.

“No.”

At least he was consistent.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair as I looked around the space again, trying to ground myself in something real, something I could control.

“I’m only staying because I have to,” I said.

“I know.”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.”

My breath caught again.

I didn’t answer that.

Didn’t know how to.

Because the worst part was, I could feel it.

The shift.

The way everything had already changed whether I accepted it or not.

And the way he stood there, watching me like he already knew it.