Wicked is the Curse.

19 | Prisoner

Chapter 19 | Prisoner 

Aire's blood went cold.

Sweet one.

The arm banded around her waist was warm and unwavering, but she was not struggling. Memories, of what seemed like an age ago washed over her. The smell of burning fire in the camp. 'Sweet one' he had called her.

Before, in the markets of Irial. The wind, the noise of the city – he had called her something else. Strange girl. A Bloodbound with a penchance for nicknames. It had been easy to forget him in the days of travel. She had been silly, letting herself feel some kind of freedom now that the shackles were left in the dirt.

She had forgotten the way he had stared at her as he beheld what grew at her feet.

She should have known.

Her lips parted and her breath rough against his palm. His breath tickled her ear as he spoke again. "The creature who hunts you has wandered far. He will not bother you now."

Which should have been a relief, but that meant there was nothing here in this forest only him. The Bloodbound who had fought his own kind to let her escape. The magic-hunter who parted fire.

He smelled of the forest – of rich, rain-soaked earth. Under that, something cleaner. Something distantly familiar.

"How did you find me?" She could barely force the question out, her voice muffled by his palm.

He was blisteringly warm behind her. Darkness was falling around them, casting deep and dark shadows in between the trees.

"A Wielder who grows life in a land that is dying is easy to find if you know what you're looking for."

He straightened, making her feel boxed in. Surrounded. Not trapped like before, but she didn't like it. His movement jolted her and it felt as if she was breaking out of a casing of stone. 'Move Aire, you foolish thing!'

She shifted, driving her elbow into his hard stomach, her other hand resting atop her fist to drive the blow in further.

His breath stuttered, his grip loosening just a smidge. She broke out, surging forward to gain distance. She spun away from him, raising her blade to level it at him.

The Bloodbound pressed a hand against his stomach, but he had gathered himself. Lips pursed, he perused the distance that she had created. The distance wasn't far enough for her. She could still feel the feel of his palm against her mouth, the weight of his arm around her torso. The warmth of his back.

Her blade did not waver. Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You should not have followed me."

"Why ever not?"

She hated the amusement in his voice. "You and I have no business with each other. You gave me a mercy and you should have left it at that."

The Bloodbound regarded her. He looked different amongst the dark forest. His dark hair had begun to grow out and a dark shadow lined that regal jaw. The glimmer of his silver tattoos was darkened by dirt, but Aire knew that was on purpose. It was too methodical – too perfect. He was a dark shroud, a rotted tree amongst the oaks that had refused to fall. Strangely beautiful in it's wrongness.

Aire gritted her teeth.

"I did not spare you for mercy, sweet one."

"Do not call me that. You know my name. Use it."

For a second, a wry smile curled at his cruel mouth. The slight, quick shift of mood un-nerved Aire. Bloodbounds were supposed to feel nothing but cruel enjoyment at the suffering of their captees. At least, that is what was whispered in dark corners.