Page 14
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BLOOD AND PROMISES
T he abandoned hunting lodge smelled of dust and old wood, but it was defensible and hidden. Silas guided Thorne to a worn couch near the cold fireplace, his hands never leaving his guardian's body. Every breath Thorne took felt like a miracle after seeing him chained and suffering.
“Let me see,” Silas murmured, gently pushing aside torn fabric to examine the angry red marks circling Thorne's wrists. The binding chains had burned deep, leaving wounds that went beyond flesh.
Thorne tried to pull away. “They'll heal.”
“Don't.” Silas caught his hand, pressing a kiss to the damaged skin. “Don't hide from me. Not now.”
Something broke in Thorne's expression. He collapsed against Silas, all his ancient strength crumbling as delayed reaction hit. Silas held him tight, feeling tremors run through the powerful body he'd feared he'd never touch again.
“I thought I'd lost you,” Silas whispered into silver hair. “When the bond went quiet, I thought...”
“I'm here.” Thorne's voice cracked. “I'm here, love. I'm here.”
Their kisses tasted of tears and desperation. Hands relearned familiar curves and planes, seeking reassurance in heated skin and racing pulses. Magic sparked between them with each touch, guardian green mixing with the gold of Silas's newfound power.
Elena cleared her throat from the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but the others are gathering for debriefing.”
Silas nodded without looking away from Thorne. “We'll be there shortly.”
When Elena's footsteps faded, Silas returned to treating Thorne's wounds. He found a basin of water and clean cloths, adding herbs from his pack that would ease magical burns. As he worked, their bond hummed with renewed strength, carrying emotions too complex for words.
“You've grown stronger,” Thorne observed, watching golden light flow from Silas's hands to soothe angry flesh.
“Had to.” Silas managed a weak smile. “Someone needed to rescue your stubborn ass.”
The main room of the lodge had become a makeshift war council. Kai burst through the door, breathing hard and covered in travel dust.
“Fucking finally found you!” he exclaimed, then stopped short at the sight of Thorne. “Holy shit, you actually got him out?”
“Kai?” Silas stared at his friend in shock. “How did you even find us?”
“Diana's network,” Kai explained, collapsing into a chair. “She's got informants everywhere. When word spread about a massive magical battle at the Eldergrove, she sent me to track you down.” He pulled out a flask and took a long drink. “Brought medical supplies too. Figured you'd need them.”
He tossed his pack on the table, revealing bottles of healing potions and magical salves. “Diana's secured the palace archives. She found something about the original binding rituals that Sebastian's been using. Apparently they're incomplete—he's missing key components that limit their power.”
“Thank the gods for small favors,” Elena muttered.
“There's more,” Kai continued, his expression darkening. “Diana intercepted communications about a 'grand convergence.' She thinks Sebastian’s trying to permanently merge with the Shadowblight.”
“That would explain the accelerated timeline,” Thorne said, wincing as he shifted position.
Kai immediately moved to Thorne's side, his hands glowing with soft green light. “Let me help with those wounds. I'm no master healer, but I picked up a few tricks from my grandmother.”
As Kai worked, Silas hesitated, then asked the question that had been weighing on him since the battle ended. “My father... how is he?”
Kai glanced up, his expression softening. “Still alive. Holding on. Diana says the healers are optimistic, but it’s going to be a long road. She’s keeping him under tight guard, just in case.”
Silas let out a slow breath, some knot inside him loosening without truly unraveling. He gave a small nod, accepting the answer even if it did little to quiet the storm inside him.
Kai returned to his task, his voice steady. “The resistance is growing. Diana's got half the city guard ready to turn when you give the signal. Your grandmother's been magnificent—she's convinced most of the noble houses that Sebastian's possessed rather than just power-hungry.”
“Which is technically true,” Silas noted grimly.
“Exactly. Oh, and Diana said to tell you, and I quote: 'If that forest-loving idiot gets himself killed before fixing this mess, I'll find a way to resurrect him just to kill him again myself.'”
Despite everything, Silas laughed. “That sounds like her.”
As reports continued around the war table, Silas couldn’t ignore the way eyes kept drifting to him and Thorne. Whispers paused mid-sentence. Glances were stolen. It wasn’t just that they stood side by side. It was their hands, clasped like lifelines, and the way Silas leaned into Thorne’s shoulder when the ache of leadership caught up to him. Their bond had become a living symbol. Human noble and forest guardian. The impossible union. The kind of hope that made broken people believe healing was still possible.
Even rebels who had never trusted nobles looked at Silas differently now. Not because of speeches or orders, but because Thorne, ancient, untamed, and feared, looked at him like he was the only god that mattered.
Later, the candlelight in their borrowed room flickered across creaking floorboards and timeworn beams. The moment the door clicked shut, they crashed into each other. Not with gentleness. Not with restraint. But with hunger sharpened by loss. Months of separation, of aching in the dark, of battles fought without knowing if the other still breathed, broke through them like floodwaters through rotted wood.
Thorne’s mouth was rough on his, lips parted and teeth grazing skin. Silas’s back hit the wall. He moaned into Thorne’s mouth as fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise. They kissed like drowning men, like the air between them wasn’t enough unless it came from each other.
Clothes were a nuisance. Silas fumbled with buckles and buttons, yanking free his tunic and pulling Thorne’s over his head. Thorne’s hands were already down his trousers, palming his cock like it was something sacred, something he’d mourned. Silas gasped, his knees buckling as Thorne pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to his throat.
They stumbled across the room, leaving a trail of clothing behind like breadcrumbs to their madness. Thorne shoved him onto the creaking bed, climbing over him with the force of a storm. Their bodies collided again, skin to skin now, sweat slick and shivering where air touched. Thorne kissed him deep, biting Silas’s lower lip until he whimpered.
Silas wrapped a leg around his waist and ground up, needy and unashamed. “Never again,” he gasped between kisses. “Never letting you go again.”
Thorne growled and rolled them, pinning Silas beneath his greater weight, cock hard and heavy against his thigh. “Mine,” he snarled into Silas’s mouth. Not gentle. Not sweet. A claim spoken in ancient magic. Possessive, reverent, animal.
Silas shuddered, cock twitching where it rubbed against Thorne’s stomach. He spread his legs instinctively, hands clutching Thorne’s shoulders like he might float away otherwise. “Then take me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Make it real.”
Thorne’s mouth moved lower, dragging down his chest, across his ribs, biting into the soft flesh of his hip before licking the mark left behind. “You smell like forest and blood,” he murmured, voice hoarse with want. “Like you belong to me.”
“I do,” Silas said, tilting his head back. “I always have.”
Thorne pushed his thighs open wider, settling between them with a low groan. Silas’s hole pulsed in anticipation, already slick with the remnants of magic and longing that clung to their skin like dew. Thorne didn’t waste time. He pressed two fingers inside, thick and calloused, and Silas cried out, hips jerking up.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was the kind of desperation that came from losing everything and clawing it back. Thorne twisted his fingers inside him, stretching him open, pressing against his sweet spot again and again until Silas was panting and begging.
“More,” he gasped. “I need you, Thorne, please.”
Thorne removed his fingers and lined himself up. The head of his cock was hot and leaking against Silas’s entrance. “I dreamed of this,” he whispered. “I thought I’d never feel you again.”
Silas wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him down. “Then fuck me,” he said, voice cracking. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to know you’re real.”
Thorne pushed in with a low groan, slow but relentless. Silas cried out at the stretch, nails digging into Thorne’s back. He felt every inch, every thick, aching inch, and it burned in the best way. His hole clenched greedily around Thorne’s cock as it slid deeper, deeper, until Thorne was buried to the hilt and shaking with the effort not to move.
They held still, breathing each other in. Thorne pressed their foreheads together. “You feel like home.”
Silas choked on a laugh that turned into a sob. “Then don’t leave again.”
“I won’t,” Thorne swore. Then he pulled back and thrust in hard.
Their bodies slammed together in a rhythm born of fury and need. Thorne fucked him like he was trying to carve himself into Silas’s soul, and maybe he was. Magic sparked where their skin touched, brilliant arcs of green and gold dancing up the ceiling beams like northern lights. Silas’s back arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry as Thorne hit the perfect spot again and again.
“Gods,” Silas gasped, sweat dripping down his temples. “You’re... fuck... so deep...”
Thorne growled again, the sound vibrating against his throat as he bit into Silas’s shoulder. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” Silas cried, legs shaking. “Yours, Thorne, gods, don’t stop.”
Their magic merged fully then, wild and untamed. The air thickened around them. Silas felt Thorne’s essence pouring into him, wrapping around his soul like vines reclaiming something sacred. It wasn’t just sex. It was communion. It was forgiveness and fury and mourning all wrapped in breathless, brutal pleasure.
Silas came first, with a hoarse shout and his whole body locking up. Come painted their bellies, sticky and hot between them. Thorne didn’t slow. He fucked him through it, hips snapping harder, chasing his own end. Silas gritted his teeth, overstimulated and trembling, but desperate for more.
“Come inside me,” he begged, voice wrecked. “Mark me. Fill me.”
Thorne groaned his name like a prayer and slammed in once more, burying himself deep as he spilled inside him with a shudder. Silas felt the heat flood his hole, pulsing with each wave of Thorne’s release. Their magic surged in tandem, light flashing wildly across the cracked beams before fading, leaving only their ragged breathing behind.
Afterward, they lay tangled in sheets that smelled of lavender and sage, limbs heavy and bodies sore. The room had cooled, but neither moved to cover themselves. Thorne’s fingers traced aimless patterns on Silas’s chest, every stroke reverent, as if memorizing the shape of him all over again.
“I almost lost myself,” Thorne said at last, voice barely audible.
Silas turned his face toward him. “What do you mean?”
“The forest needed so much,” Thorne murmured. “And without you to anchor me... I started forgetting what it meant to be individual. I stopped dreaming. I forgot my name when I woke up. Only remembered your face.”
Silas pulled him closer, burying his face in Thorne’s damp hair. “But you didn’t lose yourself. You held on.”
“Because of you.” Thorne pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Even when I couldn’t feel our bond clearly, I knew you were fighting to reach me.”
“Always will,” Silas promised. Then, quieter, “I was terrified I was becoming my father. Using people. Manipulating. The court brings out the worst in Ashworths.”
Thorne lifted his head, eyes fierce. “You’re nothing like him.”
“You don’t know what I did to survive.”
“You use power to protect,” Thorne said. “Not control. That’s the difference.”
Before Silas could respond, a sharp knock rattled the door. Lyra’s voice carried through the thick wood. “Silas? I have an urgent message from my father.”
Silas closed his eyes and exhaled. Reality was already creeping in, but Thorne’s hand was still on his chest, warm and steady.
“I’m not letting go,” Silas whispered.
“You don’t have to,” Thorne said. “We’re not done. We’re just getting started.”
They dressed quickly and met Lyra in the hallway. Her expression made Silas's stomach clench.
“Father's discovered something about the Shadowblight's origin,” she said without preamble. “The healing ritual requires more than we thought.”
In the main room, Lyra spread ancient documents across the table. The text seemed to shift when viewed directly, words in languages that predated humanity.
“The Shadowblight isn't just corruption,” Lyra explained. “It's the manifestation of the original broken promise. To heal it, someone from the bloodline that first betrayed must offer themselves.”
“Offer themselves?” Silas felt cold despite the fire Elena had built. “You mean...”
“Not necessarily death,” Lyra clarified quickly. “But transformation. Fundamental change. The volunteer becomes a living bridge between realms, forever altered.”
Silence fell as implications sank in. Silas felt Thorne's hand tighten on his shoulder.
“That's why the bond chose us,” Silas realized. “Why everything led here. I'm meant to be that bridge.”
“We don't know that,” Thorne protested. “There are other Ashworths?—”
“None with a guardian bond,” Lyra interrupted. “None who've already started bridging the gap. Father thinks that's crucial.”
The weight of destiny settled on Silas's shoulders like a physical thing. He'd known his choices would have consequences, but this...
“When do we need to decide?” he asked.
“Soon. The ritual must be performed at the right conjunction, and Sebastian's forces grow stronger daily.”
Dawn brought unexpected arrivals. Representatives from various factions crowded into the lodge and surrounding forest, creating an atmosphere of barely controlled chaos. Forest spirits mingled uneasily with rebel nobles while frost fey eyed summer court refugees with ancient hostility.
Silas found himself naturally taking charge, his unique position allowing him to navigate the complex web of alliances. With Thorne beside him, projecting quiet strength, he mediated disputes and forged agreements.
“The northern passes are still clear,” reported a grizzled scout. “But Sebastian's shadow creatures patrol the main roads.”
“We'll need frost magic to cover our movement,” Kai suggested, fiddling with a vial of something that glowed faintly. “If Queen Mab agrees to help. Diana said the Frost Court's been making overtures to the resistance.”
As if summoned, the temperature plummeted. Frost patterns spread across windows as Queen Mab herself materialized in their midst. Her beauty was terrible, all sharp angles and winter's bite.
Negotiations with the Frost Queen proved delicate. Mab circled the room like a predator, her crystalline gown leaving trails of frost on the wooden floor. Her eyes, ancient and calculating, fixed on each person in turn as if weighing their worth.
“You seek the Winter Court's aid,” she stated, her voice carrying the bite of arctic wind. “Yet you offer nothing concrete in return. Pretty words and promises of friendship mean little when blood freezes on the battlefield.”
Silas stepped forward, refusing to be intimidated. “What would you have of us, Your Majesty?”
Mab's smile revealed teeth like icicles. “The Northern Reaches have been disputed territory for eight centuries. I want them recognized as sovereign Winter Court domain.”
“That's a third of the kingdom's timber resources,” Kai protested.
“Silence, witchling,” Mab snapped, and frost crept up Kai's legs, rooting him in place. “You speak to the Queen of Air and Darkness.”
Thorne moved protectively closer to Silas. “Release him, Mab. We're here to negotiate, not threaten.”
The frost receded, and Mab laughed like breaking ice. “Still so protective, guardian? How... quaint.” She turned back to Silas. “The Reaches are my first demand. Second, formal recognition of the Winter Court as an independent nation, with embassy rights in your capital.”
“And third?” Silas asked, already dreading the answer.
“A binding oath.” Mab's eyes gleamed. “If you fail to defeat the Shadowblight, all contested territories default to Winter Court control. Your forests, your mines, your rivers—all will freeze under my dominion.”
“That's everything,” Elena gasped. “You'd leave the kingdom with nothing.”
“I'd leave you with your lives,” Mab countered. “Which is more than the Shadowblight will offer. Besides, if you succeed, the oath becomes moot. Unless, of course, you doubt your ability to win?”
The challenge hung in the air. Silas felt the weight of every eye in the room. He glanced at Thorne, who gave him a subtle nod.
“Your terms are... steep,” Silas said carefully. “But we need your power. The frost fey's magic could turn the tide.”
“Indeed it could,” Mab agreed. “My warriors can freeze shadows solid, shatter corrupted flesh like glass. But such power comes at a price. Do you accept my terms, Ashworth heir?”
“I need guarantees,” Silas countered. “If we succeed, you'll honor the alliance. No claiming territory through technicalities or fey trickery.”
Mab's laugh filled the room with winter's chill. “Clever boy. You've learned something of our ways.” She extended a hand, nails like frozen daggers. “Very well. I swear by star and stone, by ice and bone, that the Winter Court will honor its alliance should you prevail against the Shadowblight. Do you accept?”
Silas took her hand, gasping as cold burned through him. “I accept.”
Power flowed between them, ancient magic sealing the bargain. Frost patterns spiraled up Silas's arm, marking him with the oath's binding.
“It is done,” Mab declared. “The Winter Court marches with you. Pray you don't fail, young Ashworth. I would so hate to turn your pretty forests into frozen wasteland.”
As she departed in a swirl of snow, Kai whistled low. “Well, that was terrifying. Anyone else feel like we just made a deal with the devil?”
“Sometimes you need ice to fight shadows,” Thorne said grimly. “But yes, we'll need to win. The alternative is unthinkable.”
* * *
Moving an army of such diverse forces proved challenging. Forest spirits traveled through root networks while human soldiers marched traditional routes. Frost fey created ice bridges over rivers while summer refugees called forth healing warmth.
Silas and Thorne led from the front, their combined presence helping maintain harmony. When arguments broke out between former enemies, they mediated with patience born of their own unlikely bond.
“Never thought I'd see sprites teaching swordplay to knights,” Kai commented during one rest stop. He'd arrived with reinforcements from the capital, bringing news of growing resistance.
“Strange times,” Silas agreed, watching a dryad demonstrate archery to fascinated human scouts.
Sebastian's forces harassed them constantly. Shadow creatures picked off stragglers while corrupted mages attempted to poison water sources. Each attack tested their alliance's strength.
The first major battle came at Widow's Crossing, where the Silver River carved through granite cliffs. Sebastian’s forces had destroyed the old bridges and fortified the far bank with siege weapons and shadow-forged abominations.
“We need that crossing,” Kai said during the war council, tapping the map Diana had sent with him. “It’s the fastest route to the valley—and to the capital beyond.”
“The river’s too wild for normal fording,” a local guide added. “She’s killed more folks than swords ever did.”
Silas studied the terrain, fingers tracing the bends of the river. He looked up at Thorne, whose expression mirrored the weight of his own thoughts. “What if we combined our magic—human structure with guardian will? We don’t need to force the river. We ask it.”
The strategy became their gamble—and their triumph.
Guardian spirits slipped beneath the roaring current, quieting the river’s fury. Human mages froze wide paths across the surface while frost fey conjured mirrored shields to catch incoming arrows. Thorne summoned the roots of the mountain itself, and Silas directed engineers to anchor the bridge of ice and magic with steel and spell.
When Sebastian’s monsters swarmed to repel them, Silas and Thorne fought back to back. The Sword of Balance pulsed with every heartbeat, shifting forms to meet each threat—blade to bow to hammer—while Thorne's magic surged in wild arcs of elemental fury. Thorns erupted like claws from the earth, catching shadows in their grasp, and flame danced behind Silas's blade.
They won the crossing. But not without cost.
The fields behind them were heavy with the dead. Soldiers tended the wounded by moonlight, and campfires burned low in quiet tribute. Yet among the ranks, hope bloomed. They had breached Sebastian’s strongest line.
* * *
Silas stood on a rise overlooking the river they had conquered, his arms crossed, eyes lost in the dark silhouette of the valley beyond. The moon silvered the cliffs and threw shadows long across the water. He didn’t flinch when Thorne stepped up behind him, his presence a grounding warmth against the chill wind.
“You’ve been quiet,” Thorne said softly.
Silas exhaled, but it wasn’t quite a sigh. “I’ve been thinking.”
“I know.” Thorne’s gaze followed his. “The river runs forward, and so do we.”
Silas tilted his head toward him. “That’s your poetic way of saying I’m brooding again.”
“Not brooding. Just carrying more than your share.” Thorne’s hand brushed his. “You always do.”
A beat of silence passed between them before Thorne added, “You're afraid of what’s waiting at the end. Aren’t you?”
Silas didn’t answer immediately. He swallowed, eyes still fixed on the mountains in the distance. “Everyone’s betting everything on what happens next. They don’t even understand what it might cost.”
“And you think you do?”
“I don’t know what shape it takes,” Silas admitted, voice low, “but I can feel it—pressing in. Like the magic itself knows what’s coming, even if I don’t.”
Thorne nodded, his voice quieter now. “And you think you’ll have to change to meet it.”
Silas finally turned to him, eyes shining with something between resolve and sorrow. “I don’t think. I know . There’s no way through this where I stay exactly the same. I might not be human after this. Not fully.”
Thorne’s brows drew together, but his voice didn’t waver. “And if that happens, you’ll still be you. I’ve watched you change already, Silas. You’ve grown into someone who sees both the roots and the sky—and I love that man. Not his blood, not his title. You.”
“But if I lose myself?—”
“You won’t.” Thorne stepped in, touching Silas’s chest. “Because you’re already anchoring yourself to love and mercy. Whatever transformation comes, it’s not a loss. It’s a becoming.”
Silas looked down at Thorne’s hand on his heart. “And if I become something monstrous?”
“Then I’ll love the monster, too,” Thorne said simply. “If it’s you, it’s worth saving.”
* * *
A rider slipped through the perimeter of their camp. Silas rose at once, tension knotting his chest, until the flickering firelight revealed a familiar figure dismounting.
“Cousin,” Nathaniel said as he approached, his voice rough but steady. “You have done well to come this far.”
Silas accepted the offered forearm clasp, feeling the strength still coiled within the older man.
Nathaniel’s gaze shifted past him, settling on Thorne. He hesitated for a breath, then stepped forward with deliberate respect.
“And you must be Thorne,” Nathaniel said. “The guardian I have heard so much about. It is an honor to finally meet the one who stood beside our bloodline when so many others turned away.”
Thorne inclined his head, his voice low. “It is an honor to stand with those who still remember what was lost.”
The moment held weight, an unspoken acknowledgment that neither side had walked an easy road to reach this point.
They gathered in Silas’s command tent, the flickering lamplight throwing long shadows as Nathaniel unrolled worn parchment and ancient diagrams across the table.
“The ritual we need is the same one attempted centuries ago,” Nathaniel began, tracing the intricate runes with a scarred finger. “The one that failed when the first pact broke and the realms fell apart. It was never meant to be a weapon. It was meant to be a bridge.”
Thorne’s eyes darkened, memories stirring beneath the surface. Silas felt the tension in their bond tighten like a drawn bowstring.
“The Ashworth who volunteers does not die,” Nathaniel continued. “Not in the way we once feared. They become something new. A permanent link between the human and guardian realms, able to hold both magics within a single soul.”
Silas leaned forward, his mind racing. “What does that mean practically? What would I become?”
Nathaniel shook his head, grim. “No one knows for certain. It has not been done properly since the first breaking. The old texts suggest the transformed one is neither fully human nor guardian but something beyond both. A living bond that can sustain the new world we are trying to build.”
Silence wrapped itself around the tent, heavy and suffocating.
Silas felt Thorne’s turmoil. Fear, love, acceptance — all colliding in a storm of emotions he could barely contain. They had always known this journey would demand everything. Now the shape of that price stood clear before them.
“I will do it,” Silas said, the words falling into the hush like stones into deep water.
Before anyone else could speak, he straightened, meeting each pair of stunned eyes in turn.
“This is why I was born,” Silas continued. “This is why the bond chose me. No one else can carry this. It has to be me.”
“Silas, no,” Kai said sharply, his face pale. Thorne's protest came almost simultaneously, a broken whisper. Even Briar cried out in alarm, her wings buzzing in distress.
Silas raised a hand, stopping them.
“Who else?” he asked quietly. “I am already bridging realms through my bond with Thorne. I am the heir to the Ashworth legacy. Every choice, every step, has led to this. We have no other.”
Eventually, acceptance settled over the group like a funeral shroud. They spent the remaining hours in preparation, gathering supplies, fortifying the camp, and speaking the words that had long remained unspoken.
Under the cold stars, Silas sat beside Thorne, their hands entwined, feeling every heartbeat as if it might be the last. Tomorrow would either break them or forge something new from the ashes.