Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 81 - 83

Chapter 81: Chapter 83

Avara POV

Time marches relentlessly, grinding the three weeks I’ve spent here into the finest grains of memory. Only one week remains before I must return home, and I can already feel the ache of leaving. A part of me dreads going back, fears what it will mean to step out of this stolen idyll. If I let myself fall into the reverie of one more day, one more moment, I might never leave.

Botan has been persistent, his pressured coaxing masked by smooth words and pleading eyes. The documents—the ones that would tie me to this palace, this life—wait in his—or my—private office, but they’re not why I came. I didn’t come for sprawling grounds or luxurious halls. I came for him. I came to silence my mind’s doubts and let my heart’s reckless yearning have its say. Perhaps, just perhaps, something beautiful could grow out of something so broken—something pure born of the tainted.

Every day has been a tapestry of moments spent together, and with each shared second, the fantastical illusion weaves tighter around me. Yet today, there’s an unusual stillness in his absence. As I scrub dishes, much to Martha’s disapproval, I realize how much I hate the idea of others serving my whims—it makes me feel like a trust-fund brat like someone else I know.

After I’m done and I wipe my hands dry, I set out to find him. My search leads me first to the private office, where those cursed land papers glare back at me like an unspoken ultimatum. The silence is oppressive, so I retreat to the library instead, a sanctuary where I hope the weight of my thoughts might lessen.

I flinch at the sharp bark that stabs me.

Botan’s voice is thunderous but this violent tone and volume is one that scares me.

"The percentage doesn’t change—not even for the Iranians. You tell Coska we expect a full fucking load at the Peruvian terminal via the southern route. If not, the heads of his men will be shipped back in his own container."

My illusions crack, reality seeping through the fractures.

The moment Botan notices me, he stiffens, his expression shifting from cold calculation to something far softer. He ends the call with a terse word but the damage is already done.

I turn sharply but he’s already following. I whirl around before he can even reach me, my anger stopping him in his tracks.

"Just when I start to forget..."

"Avara—" he begins, his tone almost pleading.

"Simon was right. I can’t forget, and I would hate the person I’d have to become to ignore this."

"Simon... Mansfield?" he asks, his voice darkening.

I hesitate, my stomach knotting painfully. I make an adjustment "Months ago, he warned me about you before he disappeared. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?"

His expression twists, shifting from ruefulness to indignation. "What did he warn you about?"

"You. Your world. Everything about it." I shake my head. "And how it can’t coexist with mine."

"Mansfield doesn’t know what he’s talking about," he says tightly.

I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow even in my own ears. "Don’t patronize me. I heard that call. I know what you do. I want to be with you, Botan—but not the man Haru made."

"They’re the same," he says firmly, his eyes burning with an emotion too dark for me to name. "What, are you saying your love comes with conditions?"

"Killing people is a dealbreaker—yes."

I turn on my heel, but this time, he grabs my hips, pulling me back against him. I struggle half-heartedly, torn between pushing him away and collapsing into the comfort I crave.

"Just let me explain—"

I shake my head, my hands gripping his wrists, trying to pry them away. I don’t want to hear it. Not the words he’ll use to dull my clarity. Not the sway he has to make me believe in the impossible.

"Avara, please—"

My voice hardens. "If you don’t let me go right now, I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again."

It’s a bluff, of course. He could make me stay if he wanted, but he’s a better man than that. Slowly, reluctantly, his hands fall away. I step back, the distance between us feeling insurmountable.

I was heading for the library, but now I need more than books or words. I need solitude, silence, a place to think where his presence won’t cloud my thoughts.

And so I find myself all the way outside. Even the open air feels thick as I drift away from the manicured perfection of the gardens. My steps lead me toward the open field. Behind me, the willowy tree stands and I can still see us there, shrouded in its shade, its presence a bittersweet ache. I force my gaze upward, to the endless expanse of sky, as if its immensity might make my troubles seem smaller.

Angelo and another guard flank me in silent vigilance, both a comfort and a warning. I didn’t ask for their company, but I don’t send them away either.

"Angelo?" My voice cutting through the rustling quiet.

"Yes, Maîtresse," he responds, his tone rigid.

I hesitate, feeling the weight of my question before it’s even spoken.

"Do you know who Botan is?"

His posture stiffens, but he offers no answer.

"Do you know what he does—who he works for?"

A shadow flickers across his expression, and the silence that follows is damning.

Before I can press further, their earpieces crackle to life, abrupt and urgent. Both men pause, listening intently, their expressions hardening. Angelo exchanges quick, fevered words with the other guard in a language I don’t recognize.

"What’s happening?" I ask.

Angelo’s grip on my arm is sudden and firm. "We need to move. Now."

The urgency in his tone leaves no room for argument. He pulls me back toward the palace, his pace brisk and unrelenting. We barely make it to the grand foyer when the situation escalates.

The main doors burst open, and a flood of black-clad figures swarms the space. Their sheer number dwarfs the line of guards who form a protective barrier around me. My heart pounds as I take in the imposing sight—at the head of the invading force stands a man with striking platinum-white hair. He strides forward, his sharp gaze sweeping the room before settling on Angelo.

"Where is he?" he demands, his voice cold and cutting.

The room seems to shift as Botan enters, his presence as commanding as a storm on the horizon, it fills the place to the point all you can feel is him. The guards part like a tide, giving him a clear path to the newcomer. Despite the formidable force before him, Botan’s calm, steady demeanor tilts the balance of power.

The white-haired man—Akio—lowers his gaze respectfully, a flicker of deference breaking through his bravado.

"I get that I’m known as a hound," Botan mutters, "but I won’t be summoned like a damn dog."

"You left us no choice," Akio retorts, his tone stern but watching. "Haru wants to speak to you."

"I’ll go to him when I’m ready."

"No need. He’s already here."

The tension in the room reaches its peak as another figure steps inside. Haru’s presence is magnetic and oppressive, his iron-streaked hair and tailored ensemble a perfect blend of modernity and Japanese tradition. Even Botan bows his head in deference.

"I want to see her," Haru commands.