Page 54 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

ODESSA, PRESENT

“ I t’s a long story,” Kastian says, his eyes wide and pleading. “Just listen.”

Listen ? How can I listen when all I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears.

A moment ago, I was all too aware that Kastian was furious with me. Everything from his livid expression to his growling tone made it entirely too clear that I’d accidentally pushed him too far.

I probably should have expected it.

I’ve seen this happen dozens of times before with Fae couples. At first, the jealousy and intensity is hard to watch, but after a while, the couple either forms a soul bond or the feeling wears off and they go their separate ways.

I’d assumed—convinced myself, perhaps—that the same would happen with us. Obviously we’re not forming a soul bond, and as I’m determined not to destroy his life for a second time, whatever possessiveness he’s biologically wired to feel for me will wear off, eventually.

At least, that’s what I thought up until five seconds ago.

Now, I’m staring at Kastian, standing up to his knees in the swampy river.

His shirt is off, and his chest, broad and sculpted like a statue, gleams with a sun-kissed tan, the lines of muscle defined and hard.

Black swirling tattoos cover both his arms and the right side of his chest. Right over his heart, a shockingly realistic portrait of my own face stares back at me.

I feel like the ground has fallen out from under me.

“That’s me!” I hiss, pointing an accusatory finger at the tattoo.

“It wasn’t intentional, I swear.”

“How the fuck would you get a tattoo of my face without meaning to?”

He closes his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. Then, he wades back out of the water and stands in front of me on the riverbank. “This is a long story.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, so you better start talking,” I hiss, my hands shaking with…something. I don’t know. Shock? Horror? Excitement? I’m not even sure what I’m feeling at the moment.

“Remember, I told you about my soul-bond?” Kastian begins.

My eyes widen and I hear my own voice coming out of my mouth, sort of disembodied as if I’m having a dissociative experience. “You’re not saying?—”

“Just listen,” he insists. “I told you I found my soul bond, but lost her. The truth is, I don’t even remember her.”

All at once, my feelings about the tattoo take second fiddle to a crashing wave of guilt.

This is my fault, then. I don’t know how it’s possible, but there’s only one reason he wouldn’t remember his bond.

It’s the same reason he won’t remember anything else until the day he dies—because I let the sirens take his memories.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quickly. “I noticed the bond shortly before getting sent to Dyaspora. I don’t fully remember what happened. One morning I woke up and it was just…there.”

A shooting pain throbs in my chest as if I’ve been stabbed in the heart. I grit my teeth. “Explain to me why that would inspire you to get a tattoo of my face.”

He winces, raising an arm to drag his hand over the back of his head. The motion makes his muscles contract, only bringing the tattoos into sharper relief.

“For the last century, I’ve never stopped thinking about the bond. I’d always thought if I ever escaped Dyaspora I’d go looking for her—whoever she is. I should have gotten out of prison and immediately felt the urge to go back to Hydratta to find her.”

I cock my head, hating myself for being curious about this story. “That didn’t happen?”

“No. Once I was free I never felt any strong urge to go back to Hydratta. After Daemon and Alix bonded and I saw how they were together I started to wonder if I’d been wrong all along about the bond. Except that I can still feel it,” he reaches up and rubs his chest, “right here.”

My head spins and I feel a bit faint. If we weren’t standing on the muddy, swampy riverbank I’d sit down and put my head between my knees.

I’m sure Kastian has no idea how he could form a bond and not remember it, but I know. I know exactly how it could have happened…except that it makes no sense, because there was no one there he might have formed a bond with. Except, well, me …but if that were the case wouldn’t I know?

One of the few certain things that everyone knows about bonds is that once formed they can’t be broken.

The bond is a biological shift that can only happen once.

Males tend to feel it first, and once bonded, they will never leave their partners—ever.

That’s why there’s nearly no such thing as infidelity among the Fae.

I can’t believe I hadn’t really thought about that until now.

I was so focused on my horror at realizing he’s bonded and my obsession with trying to keep us both alive, that I never realized that if Kastian really bonded with someone else who isn’t me, he shouldn’t—wouldn’t—be able to be here with me now.

The other night could never have happened.

But that doesn’t feel like it makes perfect sense either.

If we’d bonded decades ago, surely I wouldn’t have been able to carry on living my life ever since.

I know that women tend to feel the bond second, but I’ve never heard of something like this where a bond started and was left incomplete for decades.

“How the hell could this happen?” I wonder out loud, meaning the question more to myself than to Kastian.

Kastian shakes his head, looking frustrated. “I’ve been asking myself the same fucking thing for years. So, about six months ago I decided to do something about it. I decided to find her—whoever she is—at least to know if she’s still alive.”

My throat feels dry, and I run my tongue nervously over my lips. “So what did you do?”

“I went looking for an oracle.”

My eyebrows raise even higher, as if they might disappear into my hairline. “I don’t remember you ever taking a long trip away from the estate.”

“I didn’t.” He runs a nervous hand over his neck again, his agitation obviously building.

“As I’m sure you know, premonition isn’t an ability that naturally occurs among Fae.

Human sorceresses sometimes have psychic abilities, and there are other monsters that claim to have it, but it wasn’t as if I could just walk into the local tavern and find someone to help.

Aurelia told me about another sorceress she knew who might have a strong enough psychic talent to help. ”

“You told Aurelia about this?” I ask, momentarily distracted. “I didn’t realize you were so close .”

There must be something bitter in my voice because his eyes flash, and for a moment he looks almost pleased before his contrite expression returns. “We’re not, but she asked me about it directly. I don’t know how she knew; I assumed it was part of her magic.”

“Hmm,” I hum, my lips tight. “Alright, so what happened?”

“The other sorceress lives near the border of Vernallis and Thermia and was willing to talk to me. She has psychic abilities, but they're very specific. She only practices premonitions through art.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”

“She goes into a trance and inks her visions on a person’s skin, then wakes up and doesn’t remember exactly what she saw. I agreed to do it. At this point, what would one more tattoo matter?” he raises his arms, both entirely covered in ink from wrist to shoulder, and shrugs.

“But I don’t understand,” I say again, my frustration rising. “This doesn’t explain anything. I’m not your soul bond. I can’t be—this is insane.”

“I know you’re not,” he says, shaking his head. “But the day before I saw the ink oracle we’d had an argument.”

“We what?” I demand, incredulous.

“We’d had an argument,” he repeats. “I poured half the lake on you, remember?”

I blink, startled. I remember exactly what he’s talking about, which is saying something since Kastian and I seem to find ourselves sniping at each other at least twice a week.

Except, that day was different.

I remember him coming to my room to apologize—something he’d never done before.

It made me uneasy, as I was all too aware that I could never simply exist peacefully with him.

I could never call a truce and be friends with Kastian, because if I let my guard down for even a second something catastrophic could happen.

Something like this , for example.

Something like standing alone with him on a darkening riverbank, terrified that this conversation is careening toward the edge of something neither of us can walk back from.

“How did that fight change your tattoo?” I ask, my throat dry and my voice wavering.

Kastian’s gaze flicks down at the river. He picks up a pebble off the ground and flips it from thumb to forefinger before tossing it into the water. For a moment we both watch the ripples before they disappear into the flowing stream.

His jaw flexes, and he sucks in a deep breath before continuing.

“Part of the process was that I was supposed to think about the bond while she worked, but instead I kept thinking about the argument we’d had.

It was the last thing on my mind before the trance, and the whole thing spiraled from there.

By the time she was done and I realized what happened… it was too late to fix it.”

I gape at him, horrified. “You’re telling me that you went through an arcane tattoo ritual designed to reveal the love of your life, and now you’re stuck with… that?” I gesture at the portrait. “Because you were mad at me?”

He huffs a bleak laugh. “In my defense, you’re extremely distracting when you’re angry.”

I don’t laugh. I’m too overwhelmed to pretend.