Wicked is the Curse.

34 | An itch

*I uploaded Chapter 35 before this chapter. Apologies. 

Chapter 34 | An Itch

"I don't..." Feel her. Aire trailed off. In that moment, she did. Her awareness had come too late, but she felt the tread of boots on stone floors. Her Wield, woven into the stone of the mountain, flurried inside of her. Like her spirits warning her of incoming danger, this new Wield did the same.

A deep, long sigh echoed outside. Too close.

The Pretender – Eimile – had gotten inside the house and made it halfway up the stairs before Aire or the Bloodbound had noticed. Gaela hovered, clearly scared for her. Warnings pulled at the threads holding her lips shut and she reached for Aire, her hand passing clear through.

Hide. Her panicked expression screamed. Hide.

Where would she hide? The underside of the bed was too narrow, the hallway to exposed to slip into. That left only the curtains, heavy and long enough to hide their feet. The Bloodbound, seemingly coming to the same conclusion, moved quickly. His hand wrapped tight around her arm and he pulled her alongside him effortlessly. He tucked her behind the inlet of stone hidden by the opened curtains, sliding in beside her moments later. Aire struggled, just feeling him surrounding her. Her mind raced, even as cold stone leached into her back. The space was tiny, his chest pressing into hers. His hands wrapped around her arms.

One slipped up, cupping her mouth.

She breathed harsh against her hand, her heartbeat thrumming inside her chest. She told herself it was from the danger she was in, though she had found herself in countless predicaments like this over the years.

"Shhh," He soothed.

The door opened. Aire stilled. The Bloodbound continued to hold her tight, his hand firm around her mouth. Footsteps sounded inside the room, but Aire couldn't see into it. She listened hard; Gaela lingered – Aire could feel her in the room like a chip of ice lodged in her throat. The spirit had not abandoned them. Yet.

Eimile hummed as she walked about the room. Fabric rustled and Aire's gaze shot to the Bloodbound. Clothes hit the floor. A jangle of jewellery being set down. By the gods, this would be her luck. The Pretender began to sing softly to herself as she moved about her bedroom, opening drawers and tossing things onto the ground. Aire willed herself to calm, her body growing soft as tension leaked from her shoulders. Two things would happen; this Eimile would discover them, or she wouldn't. Aire would have to deal with either.

The Bloodbound's head dipped, his lips a soft breath against the shell of her ear. "Good."

Her stomach tightened.

"Good," He repeated.

She forced herself to look at him again. She refused to let herself balk at the sight of him, not after everything she had gone through. Not after all she had endured since leaving Irial. But the glimpse of those darkened eyes, watching her in the small hidey-hole, was enough to send heat coiling inside of her stomach. This was not a night of debauchery after drinking. She had made plenty of mistakes in her bedpartners before but this – this, would be the worst. This passing fancy would cause damage. Yet, that insatiable curiosity of hers wondered how he would feel under her hands. Would the strength she flexed even bother him when she pressed herself into him?

The Bloodbound was watching her. Like two flames of silver moonlight, he tracked her expression closely. He was still too close – enough that she could trace those freckles across his nose. Enough that she could see a minuet scar on his upper lip. A tiny thing, like a mark from a life long ago. Close enough that she could smell the faint sweetness of Eoban on his skin, then the salt of the sea.