Vicious Bonds: A Dark Romantic Fantasy (The Tether Trilogy Book 1)
Vicious Bonds: Chapter 63

The weight of the gun feels too heavy in my hand. I can hardly lift it. Ever since leaving Moren’s, a weakness has plagued me that’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

When I try bringing the gun to my head, it rolls out of my hand, clattering to the ground. I breathe in, exhale, and Cerberus whines at my feet.

My eyes move around the cabin, focused on the bare wooden walls, the green vines threading across them. The vines have taken over the place, and I swore to myself I’d take care of it, but it won’t be long before the vines consume it entirely.

My eyes shift to the kitchen, where my mother used to cook. She’d hum her songs and knead the dough to bake fresh bread. Then she’d pull it out of the oven, slice several pieces for me, and bring it out to the garden, where I studied.

Her bread was good—sweet, but not too sweet. She’d sit with me, eat bread smothered with blackberry jam, then when I was done with my studies, she’d take me through the garden to pick out vegetables for dinner.

The memory slashes through me, and I close my eyes as the throbbing in my chest worsens. This pain isn’t dull anymore. It’s as sharp as the point of a knife, digging deeper and deeper into my flesh, ready to cut me in half. And the cold—the cold is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s in my bones, slithering through my bloodstream like ice. No matter how many coats or quilts I wear, I can’t get warm.

I lift an arm, focusing on the black veins running down them. They slither to my hands now, dark and bold.

I lean forward, reaching for the gold tonic. My fingers tremble as I bring the cup to my lips and sip. It eases the pain, only temporarily.

Drunk and weak. That’s what I am. Weak and pathetic, just like my father told me I’d be—just like all of them said I would be. It’s impossible to deny fate, isn’t it? Such simple words can haunt you until the day you die, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Even in death, I’ll be remembered as such.

I lie on my side, reaching for a black tablet on the table and bringing it to my mouth, gulping it down. If I die, I’d rather be alert. Dying in my sleep is too easy. I’d prefer to feel the pain. The black tablet keeps me awake, aware.

I close my eyes, hoping this is it. I plead to no one in particular, begging to be taken out of this world…out of this land.

Don’t let the people I love replace me. Don’t let them see me like this.

Another chill shoots through me and I shiver. Cerberus growls and barks at the door as it swings open and slams into the wall. Through my periphery, I notice something black standing between the frames. A gust of wind swirls through the cabin, charging the atmosphere, and I turn my head just enough to see it. Its eyes are crimson red, its hands at its sides. The talons of it are revealed, sharp and twitching, as if aching for a touch.

Mournwrath.

The cabin becomes colder, and I shiver more. It’s come for me. It’s come to rob me of this torturous Tether. I close my eyes, listening as it approaches. Closer. Closer.

But then I hear a voice.

Caz, I’m here.

My eyes pop open, and the black figure stands only a few steps away, it’s dark cape billowing in the cold wind. The inside of the cabin is now cloaked in ice that splinters across the walls and floors.

I sit up and look out the open door.

Show me where you are. Willow. Her voice rings through me, and that weakness I’d once claimed disappears. I stare at the dark figure as it stretches one of its taloned hands toward me.

“What are you waiting for?” I demand.

It doesn’t move, and I realize this is clearly my choice. This is not an attack. It’s a request of submission. If he touches me, I go. I’ll leave this world, and all will fade.

But if I stay…

I use as much strength as my body will allow and climb off the couch, walking through the cabin and past the dark figure. When I reach the door, I look back at it, curious why I’ve been given the choice. I assumed there was none—that it’d come for me and be done with it.

“Go to her, and you’ll die.” Its voice is hollow. It crackles, echoes. It’s a threat that feels anything but.

“I don’t believe you.”

It remains floating, reaching.

“Come with me. Make this simple…unless you wish to suffer.”

“Caz!” Willow’s voice is growing louder. She’s close. I can feel her. Wherever she is, my body senses it. She beckons to me, and I have the sweet, sweet yearning to be with her.

“Well, if I must suffer,” I murmur, dropping my gaze. “I’d rather it happen while I’m in her arms.”

The cold wraps me up further as Mournwrath raises its hand higher. I feel the weight of its pull like a magnet, reeling me backward, but with one loud yell—one that slaps the air like a clap of thunder—I break the pull and stumble out of the cabin, hurrying to replace my mate.