Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 78 - 80

Chapter 78: Chapter 80

Botan POV

The sharpness makes her flinch, her fingers tightening around mine like she could soothe the raw edges. I feel the weight of her reaction, and a bitter laugh threatens to escape, but I swallow it back. I exhale slowly, retreating from the edge of my anger.

"I tried to protect her," I say, my voice quieter now, almost to myself. "But there’s only so much a kid can do against a grown man." The images rise, searing, but I push through. "One night, it was too much. I left that house crawling, nothing but a scared little shit."

Her eyes brim with a pain that isn’t hers but feels just as real. "And you never saw them again?"

I look at her, the words stuck somewhere between honesty and evasion. Finally, I answer. "Haru scraped me off the streets. Gave me a life, a purpose. And when I’d grown enough—taller, stronger—I went back. Got my mom out of there and put her in a penthouse near mine in Tokyo."

She hesitates, her breath shaky, her gaze steady but unsure. "And... your dad?"

The silence that follows stretches tight, a thread about to snap. My jaw clenches, my stare fixed on hers, measuring what to say, what to leave buried. Her breath catches and something flickers in her eyes—fear.

I hate it. Hate seeing it directed at me, the one thing I never wanted to inspire in her. But the truth lingers, heavy, and unspoken.

"Botan... did you—"

"I didn’t kill him."

She deflates but she still remains wary. I look away, my appetite evaporating. She tries to suppress the tension by selecting a dish and pouring a portion of pasta—penne alla vodka—her favourite dish. All of them are tailored to her preferences. I don’t realize how long I’ve been trapped by my own thoughts until I notice Avara is halfway through her meal.

"You’re not going to eat?" she asks softly, her voice drawing me back.

I stare back at her wordlessly. She lights a sun-bright smile and she picks up her fork, twirling pasta effortlessly, and leans forward with it. I concede by tilting forward, letting her feed me, leaning in to take the offered bite. The taste barely registers. When I swallow, she does it again, a small giggle bubbling up from her chest. It’s light, airy and melodic, a sound swirling in the silence between us.

"Imagine," she teases, her lips quirking into a grin, "if people saw the ruthless wolf being fed like a pup."

I lean back in my chair, her words cutting deeper than she could possibly know. The humor in her eyes dims as she notices the shift, her fork hesitating midair.

"I only meant it as a joke," she says softly, the smile faltering but still there, as though trying to reassure both of us.

I can’t be mad at her for it—she’s only playing with the door I left open for her. But letting her in means letting everything in: the bad, the dangerous, and the worst—me.

Avara POV

It was just a joke but clearly Botan didn’t see it that way.

After dinner we retired to the grand master suite. Botan is asleep but I’m wide awake, a war of things, excitement, dismay, desire and trepidation.

The stars pour through the floor-to-ceiling windows, their light silvering the room and washing over Botan’s still form beside me. He lies on his stomach with his face turned away, the sheets pooling loosely around his waist, his bare skin catching the glow. I edge closer to the edge of the bed, attempting to slip out unnoticed, but the moment I shift, his arm sweeps across my stomach. My heart jolts, and my breath stills as I glance to confirm that he’s still asleep.

But then my gaze drops, and I see them: the uneven patches of his skin, warped and textured on his lower back. My throat tightens. I know scars like those—mementos left by acid. I’ve seen them before, carried by soldiers—prisoners of war who endured systematic torture. Without thinking, I lower the sheets further, drawn to the mottled lines. My fingertips hover before daring to graze them, tracing the jagged terrain of his flesh. Tears sting as questions rush in. Were these inflicted under Haru’s brutal tutelage? Or was this the legacy of his father?

Summoning courage, I gently ease away, slipping free of his slack hold. My feet hit the floor, and I rush out of the bedroom, as though fleeing the weight of all the truths I can’t bring myself to confront. The hallways stretch endlessly before me, the quiet amplifying every thought that hammers in my chest.

Love is supposed to conquer all—even mortality?

I wonder if this is how Botan came to bind himself to Haru. Love, after all, is what compels him, this unwavering loyalty to the man who once saved him from the brink. I can only imagine it: a broken boy plucked from the streets, malleable but hard, a lump of steel shaped into something lethal. But this life—this life carved from shadows and blood—it is in his veins, and it’s bleeding into mine.

I see no future, the only foresight I am permitted is him—it’s all I can see—only him. My ideals, once so clear, are now fractured, blurred by this love that consumes me. How can I reconcile the man I love with the darkness he walks in? It is foolish to believe love is ever in our control. Love chooses. Love dictates. And it led me here, against every fiber of my younger self’s resolve. If you had told me years ago that I’d fall for a renowned criminal, I would’ve laughed in your face then been disgusted with both versions of myself. My life, at least I thought it was founded on the politics of going against crime and corruption and yet I find my heart at the center of it.

"Maîtresse."

The voice yanks me from my spiral, and I spin so quickly that my back hits the wall, a hand clamping over my mouth to stifle a gasp. A guard stands a few paces away, hands raised in apology.

"I didn’t mean to startle you."

I let out a shaky breath, forcing a smile. "No, no—it’s fine. I seem to scare easily these days." My voice is too light. "Since you’re here, could you show me to the library? Every hallway looks the same here, even with the lights on."

With a nod, he takes the lead, keeping a respectful distance as I follow.

***

The library is a world unto itself, a treasure trove of literature from every corner of the globe. Shelves brimming with books—authors I’ve never heard of, stories from distant lands, and realms I’ve yet to explore. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way. For the past two hours, I’ve been cuddled up in the reading nook, with a science fiction novel that feels like a blend of Dune and a YA dystopian like Divergent. I’ve been engrossed until I hear the unmistakable sound of heavy footfalls echoing down the hall.

I freeze, my finger still nestled in the pages as I keep the book close for a moment longer before Botan appears, spilling from the shadows with a stormy expression. His gaze locks on me, and I immediately feel a twinge of guilt.

"Sorry," I murmur, trying to deflect. "I couldn’t sleep... figured I’d come read."

Botan doesn’t respond at first, his face set in that intimidating way that can repel anyone that meets his gaze. He approaches, his presence powerful, and I instinctively widen my arms as he lowers himself onto the long couch in front of me, resting his head against my chest. A giggle escapes me as I shift the book into one hand, my free arm curling around his striated shoulders.

"Read to me," he requests, his voice low, almost a command.

"I’m past the beginning," I answer, my eyes still tracing the words.

"I’ll figure out the plot as you go."

I smile softly, settling into the moment. "Actually, there’s this broody character, who barely smiles and likes to cut people up with this really cool shape-shifting sword—remind you of anyone?"

"I don’t have a shape-shifting sword," he deadpans, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

My hand covers his mouth playfully. "Not the takeaway point in that sentence."

Out of nowhere, his wet tongue licks my palm and I squeal, wiping his saliva on his arm with a dramatic drag.

***

Botan POV

I wake to the soft, fluttering brush of her fingertips, curled over my shoulder is her arm, her body a warm, comforting weight behind me. I shift around on the long seat, careful not to disturb her slumber. My left arm is pinned beneath us, but with my free hand, I push away the silky strands of her dark hair, revealing the smooth honeyed ivory of her skin. My fingers linger, savoring the ghostly tickle of sensation as they trace gentle lines down her seraphic features.

She stirs, her lips parting in a soft murmur, and I snap my hand back instinctively. Avara turns onto her side, her back now facing me, and I can’t help but lean in, drawn by the soul-soothing scent of her. Resting my chin lightly on her shoulder as I wrap an arm around her waist, keeping her close. The world fades as I nestle deeper into her warmth, the rise and fall of her breathing a lullaby that pulls me into sleep again.