Flames of Cobalt and Crimson

The Bond

Azriel

The wooden door to the cabin swung open and there he was. His hazel eyes, so similar to mine, were bloodshot and red-rimmed, with dark smudges like fading bruises underneath. The light, loose linen shirt he wore looked new, but was rumpled and unlaced at the neck, untucked, and his dark pants hadn't fared much better. It looked like he had just awoken when I knocked, and he had obviously slept in them. His black, shoulder-length hair was unkempt and unbound. He honestly looked like shit.

I scanned him, slowly, searching the handsome, rugged lines of his face, the bleak, almost vacant depths of his eyes, and I finally felt it. There was something like a clicking inside me, a tiny shift at the core of who I was. There was no sound, but it shivered through me like a thunderclap from my scalp down to my lower back. A dim awareness bloomed in me where that thread had always sat, and I felt an echo of deep, debilitating apathy.

My poor Cassian.

The bond snapping into place inside me felt extraordinary. Like becoming complete, or like coming home. The only home I had ever cared about was Rhys's mother's house at Windhaven, and I marveled at this feeling of belonging, beyond words. And he just stared at me, waiting. He gave no indication that he had felt what just happened. He finally sighed, misinterpreting my silence for stubbornness, and took a half-step back, allowing me to come inside.

I stepped into the familiar cabin and looked around, dismayed. I didn't know exactly how long Cassian had been here, but I'd believed it had only been a few days. Yet the inside of the cabin looked like someone had been squatting here for a fortnight. Empty bottles cluttered almost all the available surfaces, and a few pairs of clothing and one set of flying leathers littered the floor, scattered around the main room, with a pair of pants slightly down the hall.

"Mother above, Cassian, is there even any alcohol left?" I tried for a lighthearted tone, but I could hear that it sounded a little off as the words left my mouth. I hadn't known it was even possible to mess up the cabin this much. The magic of the place should have taken care of everything for him.

He mumbled something grumpy-sounding but incoherent and crossed back to the couch, sprawling out. The furniture was slightly disarrayed, everything shifted just a little off-kilter as though he had bumped into it or held onto it as he moved around. I wondered why he was sleeping on the couch when he had the whole cabin to himself.

"I'll make you some breakfast, assuming there is any food left in the house," I announced, and headed for the small kitchen. My heart thrilled a little at the idea of making food for him, but the act of eating it didn't mean anything when he was unaware of the bond between us. This would just be a normal meal to hopefully sober him up, and maybe help get him talking.

As I feared, there was very little food left in the house, but there was a pile of dishes that was somehow both on the counter and in the wash basin, combining into a precarious tower. I sighed. It would seem that the domestic magic of the cabin was fed up with Cassian wrecking the place. Before I could decide what to do first, I heard snoring start up on the couch behind me. Well, I mused, I guess there's no rush on breakfast.

I removed the loops from my middle fingers that held my sleeves - and my siphons - in place, and folded them back onto my forearms. Deciding the best plan of attack that would not cause the leaning tower of dishes to collapse, I selected one and began washing.

I'd managed to find a few eggs in the cellar that Cassian hadn't yet devoured, along with some vegetables, so I prepared an omelette and brewed a pot of strong tea. I served up the meal on one of the freshly washed plates and set a place at the table.