The forest was alive with sound. The rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant crack of a branch underfoot. But to Taryn, it felt suffocatingly quiet. Every noise echoed too loudly, and every silence pressed too closely.

Lucien walked a step behind her, his usual fluid stride muted, as if even he felt the weight of the trees pressing down on them. Normally, he would have filled the silence by now, his voice a low hum of teasing remarks or unnecessary observations. But this time, he said nothing.

Taryn glanced over her shoulder, catching the faintest glimmer of his silver eyes in the dappled light. "You're quiet," she said, her voice rough.

Lucien arched a brow, but the smirk she expected didn't come. "I figured you'd appreciate the peace."

"Since when do you care what I appreciate?" she muttered, turning her focus back to the path.

"Since I realized even I'm not in the mood for conversation," he replied, his voice softer than usual.

Taryn clenched her jaw, her grip tightening on the hilt of her dagger. She hated the way the quiet between them felt heavier than it should, filled with the unspoken truth: they were alone. Betrayed. And hunted.

"They didn't hesitate," she said finally, her words barely audible over the crunch of leaves beneath their boots. "Not for a second." Lucien was silent for a moment.

"They never do." His tone was resigned, as though he'd long since stopped expecting anything else. Taryn's chest tightened at the weariness in his voice, a reminder that betrayal was something they were all too familiar with.

She didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing, letting the silence stretch again. They pushed deeper into the forest, the light growing dimmer as the canopy thickened overhead. The ground was soft, damp from recent rain, and the scent of moss and decay clung to the air.

After another few paces, Lucien stopped abruptly, his hand going to the satchel slung over his shoulder. "The bag Bren gave you," he said, almost to himself.

Taryn turned, her brows knitting together. "You think now's the time to count our blessings?"

Lucien shook his head, the faintest trace of a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Call it curiosity. He said it was coin and papers—might be worth knowing exactly what kind of help he's offering."

Taryn hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

They crouched beneath a twisted tree with low-hanging branches. Lucien knelt, setting the bag down between them. The forest seemed to hold its breath as he unfastened the worn leather flap and reached inside.

The first thing he pulled out was a hefty pouch, the unmistakable clink of gold coins filling the air. Lucien raised a brow as he opened it, revealing more coin than Taryn had expected—enough to last them for months, maybe longer.

"Well," Lucien murmured, pouring a handful of the coins into his palm. "At least he's generous when he feels guilty."

Taryn snorted, though her expression remained guarded. "He owes me more than coin."

Next came a bundle of folded parchment, tied neatly with twine.

Lucien untied it, unfolding the papers carefully. His eyes scanned the contents.

"What is it?" Taryn asked, leaning closer.

Lucien handed her one of the sheets. "Travel papers, forged to look official."

Taryn examined the document, her eyes narrowing as she traced the familiar seal of the Human Accord. "These could get us through checkpoints," she muttered. "Assuming they're as good as they look."

Lucien didn't respond. He was focused on another piece of folded parchment, his jaw tightening as he read. Taryn caught a glimpse of elegant, looping script—far more formal than the forged papers. He handed it to Taryn. "Looks like this one's for you."

Taryn hesitated, her fingers brushing against the familiar seal. She recognized Bren's handwriting, neat and precise. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the words quickly. Her face hardened as she read.

Ryn,

There's nothing I can say that will change what I did. I left you for dead, and I've carried that weight every day since. You didn't deserve that, and no amount of coin or apologies will ever be enough to make up for it. But I'm giving you what I can: a way forward.

You were right not to trust the Council. They're working with the Coven in ways they won't admit, pulling strings to keep this war on the edge of chaos. But it's not just them. There's someone higher up—someone who benefits from both sides fighting. I don't know who, but I've left you a name. Start there.

Varek.

Find him, and you'll find the truth.

I hope this helps, even if it's not enough. Stay alive, Taryn. You're better at it than anyone I've ever known.

Bren.

Taryn read the letter twice, her grip tightening on the parchment. She bristled at the nickname he used to call her. He had no right to be so familiar with her.

But the name at the bottom—Varek—burned into her mind.

Lucien watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. "Well?"

Taryn folded the letter and tucked it into her coat. "He gave us a lead," she said quietly. "A name: Varek. Someone tied to both the Council and the Coven."

Lucien's gaze sharpened. "Useful. If we can find him."

Taryn nodded, her mind already racing. "It's something."

The blood bond thrummed faintly between them, a quiet pulse of shared tension and unspoken frustration. It was a reminder that, for better or worse, they were in this together.

Taryn pushed herself to her feet, her movements brisk and deliberate. "Let's keep moving," she said. "The longer we stay in one place, the easier it'll be for someone to find us."

Lucien rose smoothly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Lead the way, warrior."

They fell back into step, the weight of the forest pressing down on them once more. But now, with Bren's letter in hand, the path ahead felt slightly less uncertain.

And slightly more dangerous.

The blood bond between them thrummed softly, a distant pulse neither could fully ignore. It was a steady, quiet reminder of the connection they hadn't chosen, but which tied them together more intimately than either would admit. Taryn felt it hum against her skin like the rhythm of a heartbeat just beneath her own.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, pulling her from her thoughts. She stopped abruptly, her hand darting to the hilt of her dagger.

"What is it?" Lucien's voice was low, immediately alert.

Taryn scanned the trees, her gaze narrowing. "Thought I saw something."

Lucien stepped closer, his own blade glinting faintly in the dim light. They stood still, listening, but the forest had gone quiet again, as if holding its breath.

Taryn's pulse quickened. The silence wasn't comforting—it was the kind that came before something pounced.

Lucien shifted beside her, his tone casual but laced with tension. "Do you think it'll ask for directions before it eats us?"

"Hopefully it will start with you," Taryn muttered, her eyes still sweeping the trees.

"Optimist and a comedian. Truly, you're a woman of many talents," Lucien murmured.

But his usual humor lacked its sharp edge, and Taryn didn't bite back. The weight of their circumstances dulled even their most familiar rhythms. It wasn't just the forest that felt different; it was them.

But then a low, distant growl rippled through the trees, and every muscle in Taryn's body tensed. She turned toward the sound, her dagger held steady. The growl came again, closer this time, reverberating through the ground like a warning.

Lucien's eyes glinted with something predatory. "Well," he said sharply, "looks like we've got company."

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The growl deepened, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. Taryn crouched, her dagger gleaming in the faint light that filtered through the dense canopy. She scanned the shadows, her heartbeat steady but her muscles coiled, ready.

Lucien shifted beside her, his own blade held loosely in one hand, his stance deceptively casual. "A shadow wraith," he muttered, his voice low and calm. "Haven't seen one in years."

Taryn glanced at him. "Seen one or fought one?"

Lucien's smirk was brief. "Both."

Before Taryn could respond, a sudden rush of wind swept through the trees, and the shadows seemed to deepen, pooling like ink around their feet. The growl turned into a low, almost human wail, echoing from every direction.

The wraith emerged from the darkness, a shifting, amorphous form with glowing eyes that burned like twin embers. It moved unnaturally, gliding just above the forest floor, its shape rippling and distorting as if it were made of smoke.

Taryn's grip tightened on her dagger. "Fast," she said under her breath.

Lucien's gaze never left the creature. "And smart. It'll try to separate us."

The wraith lunged, its form stretching unnaturally as it closed the distance in a heartbeat. Taryn barely had time to react, throwing herself to the side as its claws raked through the space she had occupied moments before. She hit the ground hard, rolling to her feet with practiced ease.

Lucien was already moving, his blade slicing through the air. The wraith twisted, avoiding the strike with an inhuman speed, its eyes locking onto him with a predatory focus.

Taryn surged forward, aiming for its flank. Her dagger struck true, slicing into the creature's shadowy form. The wraith let out a piercing screech, its shape convulsing around the wound. But it didn't slow down.

"Taryn, move!" Lucien's voice cut through the wraith's cry.

She ducked just as the creature lashed out, its claws slicing through the air where her head had been. She felt the cold bite of its energy as it passed, a chill that sank deep into her bones.

Lucien was there in an instant, driving his blade toward the wraith's core. But the creature anticipated him. It twisted mid-air, its mouth opening to reveal rows of jagged, spectral teeth. Before Lucien could react, it clamped down on his shoulder.

He let out a sharp, guttural noise, his blade plunging into the wraith's side as he tore free from its grasp. The wraith screeched, its form flickering violently, but it wasn't done yet.

Lucien staggered back, one hand clutching his shoulder as dark blood seeped through his fingers. "Persistent little bastard," he hissed.

Taryn didn't hesitate. She lunged again, her dagger plunging into the wraith's core. The creature shrieked, its form distorting wildly. Lucien, despite his injury, swung his blade in a final, brutal arc, slicing through the wraith's center.

With a final, ear-splitting wail, the creature dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, the remnants dispersing into the air. The forest fell silent once more, the oppressive weight of the wraith's presence lifting.

Taryn stood still, her breathing heavy. "You alright?" she asked, glancing at Lucien.

He gave her a strained smile, his hand still pressed to his shoulder. "Nothing I can't handle."

Taryn didn't look convinced. "Let me see."

Lucien waved her off. "Later. We need to move before its friends show up."

Taryn frowned but didn't argue. The blood bond thrummed faintly between them, a quiet pulse of shared tension and unspoken urgency.

"Fine," she said, sliding her dagger back into its sheath. "But we're not going far until we deal with that."

Lucien gave a mock salute, though his usual humor was muted. "Lead the way, warrior."

They set off again, the weight of the fight still heavy on their shoulders.

The forest pressed in around them, each step drawing them deeper into its shadowed embrace. The oppressive silence was only broken by the occasional snap of a twig beneath their boots or the distant call of some unseen creature.

Taryn's focus remained ahead, her eyes scanning for any sign of danger. The fight with the wraith had left her on edge, and Lucien's injury gnawed at the back of her mind. She glanced at him occasionally, catching the faint winces he tried to hide.

"You're slowing down," she said, her voice low but sharp.

Lucien gave her a crooked smile, though it lacked his usual bite. "Just savoring the scenery."

Taryn rolled her eyes but didn't press further. The blood bond pulsed faintly between them, a reminder of his presence, his pain. She couldn't ignore it, even if she wanted to.

After what felt like forever walking, the outline of a structure emerged through the thick trees. Taryn slowed, raising a hand to signal Lucien. They moved cautiously, the dense underbrush giving way to an overgrown clearing.

The building was small, barely more than a cabin, its wooden frame partially hidden beneath vines and moss. The roof sagged in places, and one of the windows had been shattered, leaving a jagged hole in the wall. Still, it stood firm, a lonely relic in the middle of nowhere.

Taryn exchanged a glance with Lucien. "What do you think?"

He shrugged, his left hand still pressed to his injured shoulder. "We've seen worse."

Taryn nodded and moved forward, her dagger drawn. She pushed open the warped wooden door with her boot, its rusty hinges groaning in protest. The interior was dark and musty, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and old decay.

"Looks clear," she said, stepping inside. Her eyes adjusted quickly, taking in the small, single-room space. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, while a rickety table and two mismatched chairs sat in the center. A narrow cot was shoved into the corner, its frame bent but still intact.

Lucien followed her in, his gaze sweeping the room. "Cozy," he muttered.

Taryn ignored him, moving to the fireplace. She crouched, inspecting the old, charred wood within. "We can make this work," she said. "Get a fire going, dry out."

Lucien dropped the satchel onto the table with a soft thud and sank into one of the chairs, his usual grace dulled by exhaustion. "Fine by me. But first, you're going to play medic, right?"

Taryn straightened and turned to him, her expression hard. "You're damn right I am. Take off your coat."

Lucien raised a brow, his smirk half-hearted. "I'd argue, but I'm too tired to deal with your temper."

He shrugged off his coat, wincing as he moved his injured arm. The fabric beneath was soaked with blood, the dark stain spreading across his shoulder and down his sleeve.

Taryn knelt beside him, pulling out a small kit from her pack. "Let me see," she said, her tone brooking no argument.

Lucien sighed and leaned forward, allowing her to peel back the fabric of his shirt. The bite wound was deep, jagged edges still oozing dark crimson. His skin was unnaturally pale around the injury, faint veins darkened in a way that made Taryn's stomach twist.

"This should be healing faster," she muttered, her brows drawing together.

Lucien's gaze flicked to her, his voice calm but strained. "You know why it's not."

Taryn stiffened, her hands pausing briefly. "Lucien…"

"You're the only one I can feed from." he said, his tone gentle but firm. "It's the bond, Taryn."

She didn't meet his eyes, her fingers tightening on the cloth in her hands. "You're not dying," she said, her voice sharper than she intended.

"No," Lucien said quietly, "but we both know it'll help." He leaned forward slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his injury. "I won't push, but I'm asking."

Taryn's jaw clenched, her thoughts racing. She hated the vulnerability the bond forced on her, the reminder of how deeply their lives were entangled now. But she couldn't deny the logic—or the necessity.

Finally, she let out a slow breath and pulled back her collar, exposing the curve of her neck. "Fine. Just get it over with."

Lucien's lips quirked in a faint smile. "I'll be quick."

He leaned in slowly, his movements careful, almost reverent. His breath was warm against her skin, and Taryn forced herself to remain still, even as her pulse quickened. Then his teeth sank in, and pain bloomed, sharp and immediate.

Taryn's breath hitched, her fingers digging into her thighs as she fought the urge to pull away. The pain was biting, almost unbearable—but then the bond surged between them, a wave of heat that dulled the worst of it.

As the initial shock subsided, Lucien did not pull away. Instead, his lips parting slightly as his tongue reaching out to caress the wound he had just made. The sensation was bizarre—cool and wet against the raw, pulsing pain of the bite. Taryn tensed, a sharp intake of breath slicing through the thick silence. The touch of his tongue was initially excruciating, as if he were reigniting every nerve the teeth had punished, but gradually, the pain began to dissolve into a soothing tingle.

He moved meticulously, his tongue working with a precision that was both clinical and deeply intimate, lapping at the puncture wounds in slow, deliberate strokes. Each pass seemed to draw the sting away, replaced by a spreading warmth that radiated through her veins. The discomfort lingered, a low throb beneath the surface, but it was joined by something else—the connection between them deepened, their heartbeats aligning in a rhythm that felt both foreign and familiar. The bond's pulse grew steadier, the pain easing into a strange warmth that suffused her body.

Lucien pulled back after a moment, his silver eyes meeting hers briefly. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice almost apologetic.

Taryn nodded stiffly, brushing her fingers over the faint marks he left, now less tender to the touch. "Let's just get this taken care of," she murmured, turning her attention back to his shoulder, her frown deepening as she cleaned the wound. But as she wiped away the blood, something dark and solid caught her eye, embedded deep in the flesh.

"There's something in there," she muttered, rummaging in her first aid kit. "Hold still."

Lucien tensed as she worked, his hands gripping the chair's edges. "Fantastic."

Taryn didn't respond, her focus narrowing as she carefully extracted the shard. It came free with a sickening tug, a jagged black tooth coated in blood.

She held it up, her eyes narrowing. It shimmered faintly, its surface slick and unnatural. "This is why you're not healing," she said. "The venom probably still in your system."

She tossed the tooth into the fireplace and poured antiseptic over the wound. Lucien hissed through his teeth but didn't complain.

"That should help," Taryn said, wrapping a clean bandage around his shoulder. "But you'll need time."

Lucien leaned back, his eyes half-closed. "Time we don't have."

Taryn didn't respond, her thoughts still caught on the lingering heat of the bond.

For now, they were safe. But the forest was watching.

Taryn crouched by the fireplace, gathering bits of dry kindling from the corners of the room. The mossy air made the wood stubborn, but she worked quickly, arranging the pieces into a loose pile. She struck the flint against her dagger, sending a spark onto the brittle tinder.

It took a few tries, but soon a small flame caught, flickering weakly at first before growing stronger. She fed it methodically, adding larger pieces of wood until the fire crackled steadily, casting a dull warmth through the room.

Taryn sat on knees in front of the fire, her thoughts as restless as the forest outside. Lucien leaned against the table, his bandaged shoulder catching the firelight as he poured himself a small measure of water from a canteen.

For a few moments, the silence between them stretched, not oppressive, but charged. Finally, Lucien broke it.

"You're still wound up," he said, his voice light but laced with observation.

Taryn didn't look at him. "We're in the middle of a cursed forest with half the world trying to kill us. What do you expect?"

Lucien chuckled softly, taking a sip from the canteen. "I expect you to at least pretend you're not always one wrong move away from stabbing someone."

Taryn shot him a glare, but her response was clipped. "Force of habit."

Lucien set the canteen down and took a step closer. "You keep saying that, but I'm starting to think you just like the adrenaline."

Taryn stood abruptly, brushing past him toward the fireplace. "I like staying alive."

Lucien turned, his gaze following her. "You can be both alive and less tense, you know."

Taryn crouched by the fire, adding another piece of wood. "If you're trying to annoy me, it's working."

"Annoying you is just a bonus." Lucien's voice softened, losing some of its playful edge. "You've been carrying all of this, Taryn. The mission, the bond, the weight of every betrayal. You don't have to bear it alone."

Taryn froze for a fraction of a second before standing, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "I'm fine."

Lucien closed the distance between them, his presence a steady heat at her back. "You're lying."

Taryn exhaled sharply, finally turning to face him. "What do you want me to say, Lucien? That I'm not fine? That everything is—"

Her words faltered as he stepped closer, his silver eyes darkening, not with humor, but something deeper, quieter. The tension between them coiled tighter, the air heavy with unspoken things.

"You don't have to say anything, Warrior." Lucien murmured, his voice low. "Just don't lie."

Taryn's breath caught as his hand lifted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver down her spine. Her instincts screamed at her to pull back, to put distance between them, but her feet stayed rooted in place.

"Lucien…" Her voice was barely a whisper, half warning, half plea.

He leaned in, his head tilting slightly, his gaze flicking down to her lips before meeting her eyes again.

Taryn's pulse thundered in her ears, her thoughts warring with the heat building between them. She knew she should stop this, knew it was reckless, dangerous. But when Lucien closed the remaining distance, his lips capturing hers, she didn't pull away.

The kiss was a clash of restraint and longing, slow at first but quickly deepening as the tension between them snapped. Taryn's hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as Lucien's uninjured arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer.

For a moment, the world outside the outpost ceased to exist. There was no forest, no enemies, no looming threats—just the heat of their shared connection, the blood bond thrumming in the background like a second heartbeat.

But just as quickly as it began, Taryn broke the kiss, stepping back abruptly. Her breath came fast, her heart racing as she put distance between them.

Lucien didn't try to close the gap, his silver eyes studying her carefully. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. "That's one way to relax."

Taryn shook her head, her emotions a whirlwind. "This doesn't change anything."

Lucien gave her a small, knowing smile. "Never said it did."

She turned away, forcing herself to focus on the fire again, her hands trembling slightly. "Get some rest. We move at first light."

Lucien lingered for a moment longer, then nodded. "Whatever you say, warrior."

As he settled onto the cot, the tension between them lingered, unspoken but undeniable. The kiss had been a temporary reprieve, a spark in the darkness. But the forest still loomed, and their mission remained.

For now, there was only the fragile silence of the outpost and the flickering firelight to carry them through the night.