Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 77 - 79

Chapter 77: Chapter 79

Botan POV

We come into the expansive library with towering bookshelves, carved from dark mahogany and inlaid with gold leaf. A spiraling glass staircase climbs the shelves, granting access to the higher tiers. The centerpiece is a circular reading nook, encased in a dome of faceted glass that filters sunlight into a spectrum of soft, enchanting hues. Plush armchairs upholstered in velvet the color of midnight.

A sharp scream—my hand flies to my gun.

Avara runs out of an aisle like a junkie and this is a room full of crack.

Swiveling around, she shouts, "There are so many books!" She pauses to glance back at me before her eyes leap to another bookcase. "Can I read one?"

"In due time, you might read them all—they are yours, after all."

She freezes, and her eyes seize a breath from my lungs. "What do you mean by that?"

I step aside to introduce everyone. "Avara, this is Martha. My grandmother."

Martha gasps and kicks my calf in a playful chide, maintaining a solemn composure as I gesture to the staff and security. "These are the main members of the household guard and staff. They all work for you."

"Me?"

"This palace and the lands surrounding it are yours. The title deed and other paperwork are in your office."

Avara appears like she might scream again or vomit but I brace for either reaction. She spins around, turning her back on us momentarily as she paces feverishly, fanning herself with her hand, breathing audibly before she decides to graces us again by turning back around to gawk at me with glassy eyes.

"Botan—I couldn’t, possibly." She swivels again, arms outstretched expansively. "This is way too much. I mean, it’s a whole fricken palace!"

"I’m aware of what it is."

"Botan!"

I cut a laugh short when it escapes me. "It’s already done, all the documentation and legal transfers. All that is needed now are your signatures."

Her face is a freeze frame of shock.

I struggle against a smile. "Why don’t we start simple?"

"You two traveled far," Martha interjects. "Why don’t you freshen up for tonight?"

***

I stand in the centre of the ballroom, eaten alive by my nerves. I have endured hostile confrontations from operations that went wrong, outflanked by enemy combatants—eye-to-eye with death. And yet this foreign feeling of anxiety dwarfs every other fear.

The walls in the ballroom are a seamless fusion of sleek white stone and shimmering glass panels, offering panoramic views of the gardens and the starry sky beyond. Massive arches line the space, their frames embossed with gold and silver vines entwined with roses. I force myself to a stop, not realising I had been pacing, my eyes locked on my embroidered leather shoes.

The floor is polished, reflecting the ornate, hand-blown glass chandeliers that seem to float like bright clouds. At one end, a pianist is poised on a raised dais that holds a gleaming grand piano, its lacquered surface catching the dim glow of warm, recessed lighting.

I halt mid-turn, caught by a flaring flame in my periphery. My gaze lifts as Avara glides towards me at the center of the ballroom. Her presence commands every particle of air, her hair curled in cascading waves, a few elegant strands pinned like a queen’s crown. She is gilded in a golden yellow gown—a resplendent homage to Princess Belle, yet distinctly hers. The off-shoulder corset-style dress molds to her form like a second skin, accentuated by elbow-length gloves that gleam under the chandeliers. She is grace incarnate, luminous and untouchable.

She stops a breath away, and in a movement so fluid it feels like a spell, she holds out her hand with a flourish. The pianist begins to play—Howard Ashman’s unmistakable melody that fills the space, its notes wrapping around us. I take her hand reverently, as if cradling a priceless jewel. Without breaking our locked gaze, I lower my lips to the back of her hand, lingering there as she nibbles the corner of her lip. My jaw tightens, and before I can think better of it, I pull her closer so my teeth can graze the softness of her bottom lip, coaxing a startled gasp from her.

I release her, savoring her sharp intake of breath, needing to see her fully again. Formally now, I raise her hand aloft, my other arm curling firmly around her waist as I guide her into the waltz. Together, we orbit the empty dancefloor in slow, deliberate circles, the world dissolving into nothing beyond the two of us.

"This place..." she begins, her voice soft with her face suffused with wonder. "I knew it seemed familiar. The library made me suspect, but the Disney princess dress sealed it. How would you even know this about me? My nickname—only my mother ever called me that, no one else. I wouldn’t even let my father use it."

"Do you want me to stop?" I ask, half-smiling.

"That’s not what I said," she counters, narrowing her eyes, the suspicion in them simmering like dark embers. "How do you know?"

"You know how I know."

She steps slightly back, enough to hold my gaze as her thoughts churn aloud. "You watched me. You watched my family before the alliance," she recalls, "but why?"

I twirl her, the hem of her gown catching the light in a golden swirl. Before she can pull away, I catch her hand, guiding her back into my arms. At the last moment, I lift her off the floor, high into the air. She clings to my shoulders to steady herself, her head tilting back, exposing the swan-like column of her throat. Starlight filters through the glass dome above us, painting her skin in soft silver as I lower her slowly. But I stop midway, holding her just close enough that our breaths marry.

"I did what I was told," I murmur, my voice taut between half a truth and half a lie. "Those were Haru’s orders. At the time, I was already a rising star but also just another foot soldier. I wasn’t yet trusted with that kind of intel. Even now that I am. I don’t ask. It’s not my job to question and when it comes to you... I never have to."

Her fingers rise, featherlight to imprint on my cheek. The simple touch sends a gallop through my chest, wild and unyielding. Her thumb brushes over my lower lip in a way that makes them part. Her smile coy, daring, and utterly disarming.

"That tongue of yours," she whispers, a challenge laced with something sultry.

"You want to see what else it can do?"

"Other than tell me what I want to hear?" she retorts.

I carefully lower her to her feet. "Only the truth."

"So every man has claimed," she mutters in a way like I wasn’t supposed to hear it.

"I can’t speak of others but only of my own heart," I confess. "If you can’t trust in anything else, trust in that."

She steps closer, and I eagerly close the gap, the kiss igniting like a thousand shooting stars colliding in the night. My arms wrap around her instinctively, drawing her into a deeper embrace as I tilt her backward. Her laughter rings out, light and melodic, as she stretches her arms wide, surrendering to the moment as I dip her deeply. Her hair cascades in waves, brushing against the floor like whispers of silk. With a quick motion, I pull her back up, our noses brushing in playful intimacy as we hover close, savoring the breathlessness.

Her eyes glimmer, but before we can lose ourselves entirely, Martha’s voice breaks the spell with quiet formality.

"Madam Du Pont."

Avara’s lashes flutter, the title catching her by surprise.

"Dinner is ready," Martha continues. "We’ve set it in the rose garden, but if it’s too late, we can move it to the dining hall."

Avara shakes her head, her eagerness bubbling to the surface. "No trouble at all—the gardens sound perfect, thank you. And please, call me Avara."

Martha nods, sparing me a knowing glance. "I also had the chef prepare your favorite Edomae sushi."

I extend my hand to Avara, a silent gesture, and she slips her fingers into mine as if they’ve always belonged there. So we follow Martha out.

"Are you two... close?" Avara asks.

I can’t suppress this smile, however faint. "She’s like my great aunt, or maybe even a mother. She cared for me during Haru’s tutelage when I was a child back in Shizuoka Prefecture."

"The where?"

"Near the Izu Peninsula in Japan. It’s a beautiful place, known for its hot springs and beaches."

"Your home?" Her voice holds a gentle wonder.

I pause, the weight of unspoken truths settling in my chest. "My origins," I say carefully. "But it’s not my home."

Tucked away, accessible only through a concealed archway in the hedges, lies the hidden rose courtyard. A festooned table is set outside bedecked with a variety of dishes. I seat Avara at the head of the table, then I settle beside her, but her attention is elsewhere.

Avara’s question cuts through the silence, her voice quiet, tentative all of a sudden.

"So... Haru raised you for most of your life?"

I nod, a motion weighed with memories. "I come from a rural village out on the outskirts. I don’t remember much from my time as an orphan, but I’m better for it."

Her hand stretches toward mine, and when her fingers brush my skin, I let her. As if softening something jagged, her touch eases within me, like an old wound that refuses to heal now finds its solace.

"Do you know what happened to your parents?" she asks softly.

"They didn’t die." My voice hardens with the words. "I left. My mom liked getting knocked around. I didn’t."