Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 58 - 62

Chapter 58: Chapter 62

The warmth of Vance’s embrace surrounds me like a protective shield, his arms solid and steady against the shivering of my shoulders. The grief that’s been gnawing at me softens, its harsh edges dulled by the comfort of his presence. As he strokes a hand over my hair, a gentle rhythm, his heart beats close to mine—a steady, calming pulse that seems to fill the empty spaces with something warm, something reassuring. I can feel my breathing start to slow, matching his, grounding me in this simple moment.

I finally lift my arms, sliding them around him, surrendering fully to the comfort he’s offering, and as I do, his embrace tightens, holding me with a fierce protectiveness. His chin rests lightly atop my head, and I close my eyes, letting myself lean into him, letting his quiet strength carry the weight I can’t bear alone. In his arms, the sorrow ebbs, the despair shrinking to the farthest edges of my mind, leaving behind only a quiet ache and the unexpected, steady solace of his heartbeat.

"I’m sorry," I mumble into his chest. "I don’t know where that came from."

"Your heart," he says simply. "Grief is a fickle kind of ghost that reveals itself at the most bizarre times. You could me completely fine one moment and... collapse into complete sorrow in the next."

I withdraw slightly so my arms slip to belt his hips. I gaze up at him. His usual stoic mask has settled over his features, his expression impassive yet soft, as though he’s burying his own emotions to hold space for mine. He lifts his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks with a tenderness that feels almost reverent. His thumbs trace over my tear-streaked skin, brushing away the remnants of grief with a gentle insistence.

"Never apologize for how you feel, or for how someone has made you feel," he murmurs, his voice low and steady, each word sinking into me like a balm.

I reach up, my fingers curling around his wrists, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my touch. For a moment, it’s just the two of us, locked in this fragile intimacy, where words fall away and only the raw, unspoken connection lingers.

Then, a loud sizzle erupts from the stove, and he pulls away, his focus shifting back to the pan. Reluctantly, he steps back and turns, grabbing a wooden spoon to stir the tuna as it browns in the shimmering oil. He quickly reaches for canned sauce, cracking it open to pour a rich, tangy liquid into the skillet, filling the kitchen with the savory scent that mingles with the warmth between us.

I blink, gathering myself, and step up beside him, wiping the last of the tears from my face. As he stirs, I grab the packet of pasta, sniffling one last time as I tear it open. Moving to the pot, I tip the noodles into the bubbling water, watching as they sink and swirl in the rolling boil. He glances over with a stoic but serene look that eases the lingering ache in my chest. The kitchen fills with a sense of comforting purpose, each of us moving in sync as we piece together a simple meal—one small, tangible way to steady ourselves against the upheaval that had existed.

After a while, Vance moves everything over to dish our portions on plates he retrieves from the top cupboard. The smell is deceptive as how it appears; not something that was scrambled from the recesses of a sequestered cabin.

He whirls around and slides open a draw to collect the utensils.

"The moment of truth," I say before taking a fork from him.

I stab the tuna and twirl the pasta around the teeth slick with sauce before I sample a taste. I pause, chewing to process and synthesize the flavors. Vance looks back at me expectedly and I yield a slow nod.

"Well, I can attest that it’s fit for human consumption."

He snorts a laugh before he takes a bite from his portion. I don’t say it but I think this home-made pasta supersedes whatever gourmet dishes were prepared for us at that mega high-end restaurant. Vance finishes first and his eyes stray to my plate. With a mouthful, I shake my head, sliding my plate away and that draws him closer like a tangible tether. I swivel around so he comes pressed against my back to reach for my pasta with his fork.

"Stop it," I mumble with bloated cheeks.

I swipe away my plate as I scurry out of my seat to shovel the rest of the pasta into my mouth like a live mukbang. Vance gapes at me with sparkling eyes, a laugh in his throat even though he tries to muster a serious expression.

"Really?"

I nod theatrically, unable to answer.

He shakes his head amusedly. "Sometimes it becomes very clear that you were raised with brothers."

***

After washing the dishes, I drag my feet into the primary space of the living lounge, still too heavy to even stand. And it’s at that moment that I realize that this cabin has only one bedroom. I perk up and Vance follows me out and I can feel his stare pinned to my back.

"What?" he says, sensing the spark of tension.

I give a casual shrug. "Nothing," I say with a chipmunk-high inflection in my voice. "Just noticed there’s only one bedroom."

He casts out a mocking laugh and shakes his head one again, this one almost condescending. "There’s also a couch."

"No," I blurt, then my approach treads a more careful path. "It’s quite cold in here, I couldn’t possibly force you to sleep on the couch like a disgruntled husband in the doghouse."

He cracks a smirk and glances at his floor.

"Besides, we’re both grown," I point out as I turn away to make a start to the bedroom. "You stay on your side of the bed and I’ll stay on mine."

"Yes, ma’am," he says to my back.

With my back turned, I grin foolishly, folding my lips inwards. I return to the room with its large, inviting bed draped with layers of those thick, earth-toned woven blankets. I rummage through the pillows of mismatched flannel and rough wool to peel layers open so I can crawl inside. Vance strips down with a nonchalance that leaves me both amused and flustered. The casual way he shrugs off his jeans and pulls his shirt over his head catches me off guard once again, and my gaze darts away once I catch a glimpse of his finely carved, toned frame—a sight that somehow feels too intimate, yet impossible to ignore.