Page 33 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)
C Hapter
We’ve been riding for over an hour. Not wanting to wear the horses out, we slow our pace between sprints. The landscape stretches out before us in a vast expanse of rugged terrain and untamed wilderness. Darkening clouds loom ominously overhead, casting a shadow of uncertainty over our journey. The air is heavy with the promise of an impending storm, and I can feel the weight of anxiety settling in the pit of my stomach.
The path ahead winds its way through dense forests and rolling hills, each step bringing us closer to the unknown. The looming threat of the approaching storm adds a sense of urgency to our quest, driving us onward despite the trepidation that gnaws at the edges of my mind.
As the wind picks up, the wails are accompanied by the howls of wolves. It’s as if they cry a warning to us. I can’t help but feel a sense of unease creeping over me. The countryside is both beautiful and foreboding, its untamed beauty a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk within its depths.
Thunder rumbles in the sky, and the heavens alight as lightning strikes. The clouds open up, and heavy rain flows, pelting us as if with fury. As the storm rages around us, a tempest of wind and rain threatens to swallow us whole. Dark clouds surge overhead, obscuring the sky with their ominous presence, while jagged streaks of lightning pierce the darkness, illuminating the landscape in brief, fleeting flashes.
The wind howls like a wounded beast, whipping through the trees and sending shivers down my spine. I try to keep my hood over my head, but it is constantly ripped away from me. Sheets of rain keep us drenched to the bone, and my clothes cling to me like a second skin.
Despite the chaos surrounding us, Dante remains steadfast at my side, his presence a reassuring anchor in the midst of the storm. We press on through the deluge, our horses trudging their way through the muddy terrain. I can feel the tension mounting with each passing moment, the urgency of our situation driving us forward with single-minded determination.
Dante’s voice cuts through the roar of the storm, his words barely audible over the deafening cacophony. “I know a place where we can find shelter!”
I try to answer, but my voice gets lost in the wind. I nod, clenching Thora’s reins tightly.
Above the roar of the wind and the pounding rain, a haunting chorus rises into the night air—a symphony of primal howls that resonate up and down my spine. The wolves’ mournful cries echo through the darkness, penetrating the veil of the storm with eerie precision. The sound should be terrifying, a harbinger of danger lurking in the shadows. Yet somehow, it feels different. Almost… comforting.
Dante and I press on through the tempest. The howls seem to grow louder, drawing us ever closer to our destination. It’s as if the wolves are guiding us, leading us toward the safety of shelter amidst the chaos of the storm.
The cabin emerges from the darkness like a beacon of refuge, its sturdy frame weathering the onslaught of the storm with unwavering resolve. Rain lashes against its walls, and gusts of wind whip through the surrounding trees, but the cabin stands firm, a solitary sanctuary in the midst of chaos .
We tie the horses in an empty barn, and I can only hope that the wooden structure is strong enough to keep Thora and Lightning safe. Dante throws an arm over my shoulders and leads me to the door of the cabin, which opens without issue.
Stepping through the door, we find ourselves engulfed in warmth and shelter. The interior is modest, the furnishings simple. But compared to the dangers of the storm outside, the rough-hewn table and chairs and the worn sofa are inviting. A few shelves are lined with dust-covered books and trinkets. The space feels lived-in, as if it has seen its fair share of weary travelers seeking respite from the elements.
Despite the storm still raging outside, there is a sense of calm within these walls. The sound of rain drums against the roof, almost like a soothing lullaby.
“There’s no telling how long it will last,” Dante says, removing his soaked coat and hanging it by the door. “We should settle in for the night.”
Fuck. I know he’s right. I’ve seen storms like this. Accepting defeat, I nod in agreement, feeling the chill of the night seeping into my bones. I’m soaked to the skin, my clothes heavy with rainwater.
Dante wastes no time in starting a fire, the flames dancing to life under his expert touch. The crackling warmth casts flickering shadows across the room, dispelling the cold that had settled in my bones. The angles of Dante’s face are illuminated by the glow of the flames, and the scent of burning wood fills the air, mingling with the damp earthiness of the storm outside.
“How do you know about this place?” I inquire, curiosity piqued as Dante moves around the room like he’s familiar with it.
He pauses for a moment, his expression unreadable as he glances back at me. “I stumbled upon it during my travels.”
Before I can question him further, Dante strips his shirt off.
“W-What are you doing?” Try as I might, I can’t keep my eyes off the firm muscles of his chest, the sultry, tan color of his skin, and the bulge of his biceps.
“We can’t stay in these. They’re soaked through. We’ll put ourselves in danger of illness if we don’t dry off.” Dante rings his shirt out, letting the rainwater drop to the floor. Every move he makes accentuates the contours of his pecs and shoulders. He gestures toward the other room. “You can undress in there, if that makes you more comfortable.”
I arch an eyebrow, feeling a hint of defiance. “And change into what?”
“I don’t think you’ll find any clothes here. You’ll have to use the blanket for now.”
With a huff, I gather my resolve and head into the other room to undress. I glance over my shoulder at him as I step into the other room, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
The room greets me with a chill, sending a shiver down my spine. I quickly peel off the damp layers, feeling the cold fabric cling to my skin before I discard the clothing onto the floor in a heap. I rake my fingers through my wet hair, brushing it all back from my face.
As I slip the blanket around my naked form, my thoughts drift back to Dante, and I can’t help but wonder why he intrigues me so. There’s an enigmatic quality about him, a complexity that draws me in despite my better judgment. Perhaps it’s the way he carries himself, with an air of confidence that borders on arrogance, or the intensity in his stormy-grey eyes that seems to pierce through the walls I’ve built around myself.
Though I’m loath to admit it, there have been moments when his presence offered solace amidst the turmoil, his quiet strength a reminder that I was not alone in my struggles.
But there’s more to it than that. And there’s a part of me that’s too afraid to question what it might be.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize how much time has passed until I hear Dante moving about in the other room, breaking through the silence of the cabin. With a steadying breath, I push aside my inner turmoil and snugly wrap the fabric of the blanket around me. A pang of guilt gnaws at my conscience. Why am I thinking about Dante when I should be concentrating on finding Torbin?
I pick up my wet clothes from the floor and open the door.
When I come back into the main room, Dante’s back is turned to me. His shirt hangs by the fire. I can’t keep myself from gazing at the taut muscles of his shoulders, the firm lines of his back, and for a moment, I’m jealous of the firelight that touches his bare skin.
Gods, what is wrong with me?
My feet pad across the room, and he turns to face me. His eyes move up and down my body before finally landing on my handful of wet clothes.
“I’ll hang these,” he says. “They should dry before morning.”
“Thank you.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
I watch as he props my garments over the edge of the mantel so that they dangle in the heat of the fire. The brightness of the flames causes the room to dim in contrast. It somehow makes the space around us disappear, as if Dante and I exist alone together in this small circle of light.
Dante turns to me, studying my face. “Are you warm enough?”
“Getting there.”
As I shiver, Dante comes closer and touches the blanket, tugging it more tightly around my shoulders with a tenderness that takes me by surprise. Our eyes meet, a silent understanding passing between us in the glow of the fire. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if the world outside ceases to exist, leaving only the two of us in this quiet sanctuary.
The air crackles with tension, the space between us charged with the promise of something more. He pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and I have to force myself to breathe. Our lips hover mere inches apart, temptation dancing at the edges of my mind. But just as our breaths mingle, a sudden gust of wind rattles the cabin’s shutters, breaking the spell.
With a rueful smile, Dante pulls away, the moment slipping through our fingers like grains of sand. Yet despite the interruption, the warmth of the fire and the closeness between us lingers.
“We should rest while we can,” he suggests. “I’ll make a spot for us near the fire. Hopefully, the storm passes by morning.”
As Dante moves the small couch back to make space, the wind beats at the windows, and rain pelts the roof. A small spark of frustration ignites inside me, as if the elements themselves are keeping me at bay, holding me back from completing my mission. I hope it’s just a temporary setback and not a sign that I’m not meant to find Torbin.
Once Dante and I arrange blankets on the floor—with a clear separation of at least two feet away from each other—I feel the pull of exhaustion. Yet somehow, I’m still wound up tight. I feel like a bow whose string has been drawn back to its limit. The tension has been building and building, begging for release.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to snap.