Bonded: Part 1

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Elon glanced at her, and the fire in his eyes flared, burning hotter and brighter.

Carissa's gaze slid along his sword's reddened edge. Had he killed the other men? She followed the steel up to his blood-flecked hands—gentle, calloused hands that healed and comforted and loved.

"Quint." His voice swelled to fill the room, almost as if it were a physical weight making the air heavier. Though his eyes were fiery, his tone was ice, the pitch of his voice low and deadly.

Quint was a few shades paler than when she'd last looked at him. He didn't speak.

Elon strode one step forward, and though thick metal bars separated them, Quint backpedaled. "You've stolen my bride from me, imprisoned her, tormented her."

"I did so for justice." Quint jerked his chin upward, though his trembling belied his bold words.

"This isn't justice, Quint. You know it isn't. You could've come to me, yet instead you chose to prey upon my wife." He twirled his sword idly, the red metal flashing. "Are you going to come here and face me like a man? Or," his lips tipped in a smile, a tight, controlled smile, "are you going to make me come for you?"

Quint drew in a shuddering breath, backing farther into the cell.

A key flashed into Elon's palm, seeming to appear from nowhere, and he stood before the cell padlock. "I granted you mercy, Quint." The key clanked against metal. The door swung open. "I forgave your acts of defiance, hoping one day you'd forsake the dark path you were on. Instead, you allowed your bitterness to twist you into this." He stepped into the tiny cell, his presence filling what little space was left. "You've asked for justice. Now I've come to deliver it."

Quint's jaw tensed. Then he lunged for Carissa.

"No." Elon's sword clashed against the stonewall, right where Quint would have been had he not pulled back. Carissa flinched as the blade whistled through the air, inches from her ear.

Quint scrambled to the other corner of the cell, eyeing the exit, while Elon planted himself in front of Carissa. Elon's sword arced through the air. Quint lifted his sword to deflect, but Elon batted it aside. It clanged against the cell bars before clattering to the stone floor.

Elon set the tip of his sword on the ground, standing with his legs splayed. Carissa squeezed her the base of her finger, trying to ease the pain. Her husband was so often tender and shy and sweet, but his expression revealed none of those characteristics now—no amused glint in his eyes, no soft smiles, no flush on his cheeks.

In the dim of the cell, his gaze sparked against the darkness, tension rippled across his brows, and his mouth was pressed into an unforgivingly flat line. He could have been a statue of one of the kings of old, his stern expression carved into marble.

"Quint of Oran, son of Nevar, you have been judged and found guilty."

Quint's laugh was a tiny, slippery thing. "No judge, your highness? No trial?"

Elon glanced down at Quint, the anger in his eyes smoldering, yet his body remained as still as stone. While Quint had loomed above her and dragged her by her hair, he'd seemed a giant, yet he seemed smaller now, barely above Elon's chin.  "I am the judge, and you have been tried. You've taken my bride, you've tormented her, and you've betrayed me. Do you deny these charges?"

Quint's brow puckered, and he seemed as though he were considering it. Then he shook his head. "No, but... you're a king of mercy. Might I be granted a second chance?"

Elon's laughter was dark, rolling into the room like a storm cloud. "You think I haven't? The only reason I've waited to retrieve my queen until now is on your account, Quint. I gave you every chance I could, first allowing you to hear Valen's entreaties and then hers. I waited until I knew for certain this was the path you'd chosen, and nothing I or anyone else could do would sway you from it." His voice grew a hint softer, his expression a touch sadder. "She suffered, so you could be given every last chance at mercy I had to offer. And you rejected every single one." And then the sorrow was gone, as if evaporated by the heat of his fury. "Know you the penalty for these crimes?"

"Death." Quint's voice was a rustling whisper, no louder than the movement of a scampering mouse. And then he slipped a dagger from his sleeve, rushed towards Elon, and swiped it across his chest.

Sitting slightly behind Elon as she was, she couldn't see the extent of the wound, but it had to be life-threatening. And Elon hadn't even made a move to defend himself. Was he truly going to die and leave her at the mercy of this man? Why hadn't he used his Foresight?

And then Quint drew back, his face white as flour. Elon lifted his sword, leveled it at Quint, and drove it through his chest. It pierced through his back, sprouting like a silver cornstalk, its blade glossy with fresh blood. And then Elon drew his sword out.

Quint's body hit the floor with a dull thud, his head cracking against the stone. In the confines of the cell, the sound was as sharp and loud as shattering glass.

Elon knelt beside him, brushed Quint's eyelids so they were closed. Then he turned towards Carissa.

Carissa's gaze landed on the floor by his feet. She didn't want to see the remnants of anger of his face, the blood drying on his sword. She'd never seen such darkness and violence in him, and it frightened her a bit, to be reminded that the man who held her when she cried had the power to take life with a flick of his wrist.

He brushed her hair aside, his fingertips gliding along her cheek. "Carissa?"

His voice sounded breathless, with a soft, sweet tone that made her chest ache. She squeezed the base of her finger harder. After Quint had dunked her head in the bucket, she'd begun to fear that he'd never come, that she hadn't meant as much to him as she'd thought she did.

Elon caught the first tear on the edge of his thumb and wiped it away. He pressed a kiss to her temple before scooping her into his arms.

And then he was off, sprinting down the dark hallways at a speed that made her dizzy, the air ripping by so fast that she could barely catch enough to fill her lungs. He clasped her tightly against chest, to keep from jostling her. Even so, her chest burned with each of his steps, likely from when Quint had punched her.

She closed her eyes, hoping that if she didn't look at her finger it'd hurt less. It felt like someone had driven a nail into her stump, the cold metal parting flesh and nudging aside bone as it drove itself into her palm.

Water splashed around her, soaking her to her chest, and she startled, opening her eyes.

They were in her room. Elon had placed her into a tub, clothes and all. He held up her hand, then pressed the severed end of her finger to it. Carissa blinked. He must have taken it from the cell. The end felt cold and dead against her sensitive flesh, so pale it appeared waxy. Though she knew it'd been cut off, it was strange that she couldn't feel it, as if it'd become completely numb.

Her stomach twisted, its contents swishing, and she glanced away before she could vomit.

Water engulfed her hand, Elon rubbing the seam between the stump on her palm and the end of her finger. Warm tingles shot up her arm. Gradually, feeling returned to the end of her finger, until it could feel the wetness and warmth of the water.

She glanced at it. It was as if it'd never been cut. The skin was perfectly smooth, and it flexed at her command.

Elon moved to her back, fumbling with the laces on her dress. He was more clumsy than usual. Finally, it slipped off her shoulders. Elon helped her slip it off before setting the wet heap of cloth next to the tub. Then came her chemise.

Elon's hand curved against the bottom of her ribs. Carissa continued to curl and uncurl her hand as warmth sank through her, easing the pain in her chest. For once, Elon's touch against her bare skin was soothing, the gentle pressure of his hand, the grate of his callouses. She followed the line of his shoulder down his arm to his fingers.

And she stopped.

He was missing a finger. The ring finger of his left hand, right beneath the second joint.

Carissa caught his hand up in hers, examining the stub that had moments ago been on her hand. "Elon..."

He pulled his hand away and brushed her forehead, where Quint had slammed it against the side of the bucket. "It's alright, Carissa. I knew this was a possibility."

"But your finger."

He shrugged and continued to caress her forehead. When he drew away, her body was perfectly painless.

"But this injury is permanent, Elon. You should've just let me deal with it."

He snorted. "And let you suffer the rest of your life, forever risking an infection? Risk losing you? I think not."

His words echoed those in his letter. You need me. Without me, you are lost. And though we've never met, I don't want to lose you, Carissa. Please don't let me lose you.

She stared at her perfectly intact finger. At the age of twelve, she'd had no idea how true those words were. No idea.

She glanced at Elon, her gaze snagging on his torn shirt, where Quint had cut him. Yet his skin appeared perfectly untouched. She placed her newly healed hand against the exposed part of his chest. "I thought Quint cut you."

"He did—or tried, rather."

She arched her eyebrows in a silent question.

Elon smiled, placing his broken hand atop her whole one. "You do realize I'm practically invincible, don't you? I can't be cut, poisoned, burned. I'm immortal. I'm stronger and faster than other men." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to her wet one, their breaths mingling. "But I have one weakness."

Tears blurred her vision. "Me. You can't be hurt unless you heal me."

He nodded. "Yes, Carissa. You."

"Why don't you hate me, then?"

A startled laugh burst from his lips, and he leaned back. "Hate you because you're my weakness? No, that's silly. The only reason you're my weakness is because I love you, because I allow myself to be hurt for your sake."

Something about the beauty of his words stole her breath. Elon frustrated, surprised, and confused her, and his methods of building a relationship didn't always make sense to her, but he loved her more deeply than she could even begin to comprehend.

Carissa curled her fingers around the front of his shirt and dragged him forward—though he didn't need much urging. "I love you." She stared into his eyes, hoping he'd understand the weight of her words, the depth in them she didn't know how to speak.

But perhaps there was a way aside from speaking that could make him understand.

Carissa pressed her lips to his, pulling him farther forward so he had to lean over the tub. And then he fell in with her.

***

Author's Note: I have some YouTube video editing to do before my classes today, so I'm afraid I don't have time for a sneak peek :P

And voting is now closed for The Fiction Awards! A huge thanks to everyone who voted; I'll post a scoreboard soon.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net