Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 37 - 41

Chapter 37: Chapter 41

Avara POV

Resting against the expansive window of the library, nestled on the cushioned corner. Engrossed in reading a book, In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust. I’ve been reading for hours, indulging in literature. My eyes stray to the view outside, waking me from my daydream. The canopy of stars scattered like elf fust across the breadth of the sky. It causes the penumbra of colors to reflect on the lake, mirroring the cosmos. I smile softly... then it starts to fade.

I sniff the air. A horrid smell like burnt toast but a thousand times stronger.

I discard the book, running out of the library and dashing down the corridor. I appear in the foyer and I race inside the chef-style kitchen, immediately bombarded by the smell of burnt onions. My eyes jump to multiple pots and pans on the stove, some simmering, most at a roiling boil. And a skillet looking close to being a fire hazard.

Landen explodes into a litany of curses, taking a glove and grabbing the handle of the skillet to dump it in the sink. He catches a glimpse of me and he turns sharply. He feigns nonchalance, placing a casual hand on the slab of marble, the kitchen engulfed in smoke.

"Hey, I was just about to call you."

"You should consider calling the fire department first."

He gives me a flat stare, then he continues, "Call you, so you can have dinner."

I free a cough, tapping my chest. "I appreciate the sentiment." I go to the stove, inspecting the food that has the deadly potential of being weaponized.

"I want you to try something."

"No," I blurt. "I’m full."

"You haven’t eaten?"

"I think I prefer starvation."

He advances to me, forcing me to retreat. Landen backs me against the edge of the counter.

"I wasn’t asking."

He takes a hold of me and settles me on the counter, my legs dangling from the edge. He goes back to retrieve a simmering pot with a wooden spoon still inside. He comes back to me—too close. I shift—he presses himself between my thighs, instantly pinning me to the verge of the counter. Landen smirks and stirs the pot before he lets the sauce pool in the palm of the spoon.

"Be a good girl," he whispers smokily, "and open wide."

I glare back at him, my lips clamped shut.

He drops the spoon back in the pot. Landen seizes my thigh—the jolt sends my mouth flying open. He takes this chance to deliver his sauce into my mouth and I choke. It’s sour, like it’s expired and over-spiced, too much in too little. I swallow hard, liberating coughs that make me shudder. He rolls his eyes and takes the pot away.

I place my hand on my chest.

"How about... you clean these pots and I make us something edible."

His face deadpans.

I lift an apologetic hand. "Again, I appreciate the sentiment."

I hop off the counter. Landen collects the pots and dumps whatever he tried to cook before he starts with the dishes—which I’m not sure he’ll wash properly. I go to the fridge, evaluating its contents as well as the freezer and cupboards, as I decide on what to cook, only taking out ingredients of interest. I start with heating up a large skillet with butter, tossing in the shrimp with salt and pepper. Next is the twice-fried plantains.

"I’m sorry," he says whilst scrubbing stubborn pots.

"What about?" I ask, dicing up some onions.

"The reason you ran from me on the plane. The reason you’ve been avoiding me, dodging my calls and messages ever since we hit the club."

I blink fast, trying to alleviate the sear in my eyes. Damn onions.

"You don’t need to apologize for my own actions. I chose to drink and a part of me doesn’t regret it."

The kitchen goes anxiously still and silent before he resumes his washing.

I turn on the oven, waiting for it to heat up. Landen finishes washing the dishes, then proceeds to dry them as he packs them. I put the finishing touches on the bastilla, then the buttery glaze before I wrap the pastry around the seafood mix. Landen saunters off to prepare the outdoor table on the deck. I pop the earthenware into the oven, letting it do its thing.

When it’s ready, I put on the oven gloves and I transport it outside. I go through the sun lounge to exit through the sliding door. Landen sits slumped at the table that can fit ten more people, but the chairs are at an intimate distance, standing candles atop with two bottles of wine and cutlery at the ready.

I place it down, opening the glass lid, releasing the aroma.

Landen moans. "Smells good."

I dish him and I a portion as he watches me closely.

"If this is the treatment my brother is going to be getting on the daily. I might have to keep you all for myself."

When I’m done, I ease down on the velvet chair on his left.

I hang back, waiting for his reaction. He picks up a knife and fork and cuts a piece, fitting it into his mouth. I can see it melt on his tongue by the tell of his eyes fluttering close, freeing a long, rolling moan. He uses the fork to point at it, nodding dramatically.

"If your main is this good. I can’t wait to taste your dessert."

I flare a brow, finally picking up my own utensils. "I didn’t make anything for dessert?"

His eyes flick up, filling with something sinful. "I wasn’t talking about food."

I freeze. "Must you flirt with anything with a pulse? Including your future, sister-in-law."

He slots in another mouthful. "That’s still to be determined. So where did someone as busy as you learn how to cook?"

I steal several more bites before I respond. "I’m the only girl with two brothers and my dad. I didn’t have a choice. It was that or survive on a lifetime of microwave meals and take-outs."

Landen snorts, reaching for an uncorked bottle of wine and popping it open.

"I did most of my experiments with Kelsey. But she’s more of a baker."

His glass fills with a sleek robe of red. And he makes a subtle gesture to it. I shake my head.

"C’mon, it’s a medical fact that wine is good for your heart."

After a long moment, I nod my approval. He fills my glass until the very brim.

"If you don’t mind me asking. How did your mother pass?"

He looks up, his eyes flash with a sudden storm. "Yes, I do mind."

I avert my gaze, taking another bite of my food.

Landen inhales his glass, only leaving ounces behind before he goes for another refill.

"I lost mine in a car accident," I begin, even though I hate talking about it. I know this is a pain he is acquainted with like me. "You would think I would find solace by now... I’ve only learned to co-exist with the pain."

His response is resigned to a tenacious silence.

"I’m not telling you this to try to relate. I do relate. I know."

He lifts his gaze slowly, and in that quiet moment, something shifts. His eyes, once guarded, now shimmer with an unfamiliar softness, betraying a vulnerability he can no longer hide. He tries to conceal it with a smug smile and takes a generous sip of his second glass, leaving it halfway finished. I take up my glass and I take a liberal sip before I continue eating. He smiles faintly and shakes his head.

"So, will we ever learn the reason why you accepted to be a prize in the alliance?"

"I told you," I mumble through a mouthful.

He glares at me playfully. "You gave me your motivation," he corrects. "Not your reason."

I mirror his glare. "Maybe I agreed because I find your brother hot."

He roars a laugh, his face turned heavenward. "Glad to know Mrs Vacheron has a sense of humor."

I pop another crisp-edged piece of pastry into my mouth.

"Don’t call me that."

"Why not?"

"Because everything out of your mouth sounds dirty."

He tilts forward with a sultry smile. "Maybe because all your thoughts of me are dirty."

I drop my utensils on the porcelain plate, ringing out a shrill clink. "You’re so cocky."

He moans again, dragging his gaze over me. "I like that word in your mouth."

Flustered, I pitch my gaze into the distant darkness. "My point exactly."

Landen reaches for his glass and finishes it. We both finish our meals and despite that, we stay outside talking, unaware of time traipsing by, everything consolidated in moments, every laugh and every tale. It must be the wine’s influence that makes him share stories about this lake house and his favorite memories in them. His face is aglow with euphoria as he talks about a time when his mother still walked the earth. I listen attentively, sipping on the wine and somewhere between then and now. We’re on the second bottle. This time, I do most of the drinking.

"I’m not surprised you got expelled."

He shoots forward with a delirious laugh. "I got expelled for what Vance did."

I drop my folded arms on the table. "You’re so lying," I say with a giggle, lowering my head to tuck my chin inside my elbow.

He nods with a hysterical laugh. "He smuggled weed onto the campus of our boarding school and I took the blame. I smoked it, got the smell on me and everything just to make it obvious that it was mine."

"What did Vance do?"

"Tried to tell the truth, but no one even believed him. My parents just thought he was protecting me, but in fact, it was the other way around. No one would believe anything bad about that boy."

I smile whimsically, my eyes droopy. "Seeing the way you guys are. I’d never think you’re that close."

He perks up, looking back at me with heavy-lidded eyes. "Don’t get it wrong, I hate the fucker. I just love him more. I’d do anything for him."

He reaches for yet another glass of wine.

I grab his wrist. He looks back at me, his head swaying unsteadily.

"You’ve had enough," I whisper.

He slips out of my hold. "You know what goes well with wine?" He shoves my glass back into my hand. "More wine," he answers with a dreamy smile.

We clink glasses, and we take a swig. Suddenly, a splatter of rain spits at us before the heavens split to unleash a deluge. I lift my hands to my shoulders in shock, gaping, squinting through the downpour of rain. Landen laughs, sitting coolly in his seat, soaked to the bone in seconds. My shock subsides and I launch to my feet.

"Save the food."

"No, the wine!"

He gets up, returning the glass to the table. I reach for the earthenware, but he cuts in front of me. I straighten and he closes the gap between us, rain pelting our bodies, drenched clothes clinging to our forms. It’s as if the walls he’s kept so carefully intact have finally cracked, revealing a depth of emotion neither of us are prepared for.

"Landen."

"What?"

"You know what."

"That you’re scared?" he goads.

I meet his gaze, water dripping from his eyelashes, rivulets trailing down toned muscles. He peers into my eyes with a devilish dare in his. I come even closer, meeting his challenge head-on, the tension visible in his taut muscles.

"I’m not scared. Because I feel nothing."

He unveils another grand and vexing smile. "Let’s test that theory."

He pulls me flush against him and his lips crash on mine. The unrelenting, heavy rain dissipates into something as featherlight as flakes of snow. He encircles me in a firm and demanding embrace, kissing me passionately—hungrily. I snap out of the stupor, pushing him away as I stumble back, aghast, but he smiles back at me with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"I’d say that theory was successfully and effectively refuted, Mrs Vacheron."