Chapter 58 The Pull
Damien
Sleep refuses me. I’ve turned the pillow twice, shifted positions more times than I care to admit, and still, the ache in my chest hums like a slow drum. The bond hasn’t quieted since I left her room. It’s a steady pulse beneath my ribs, faint but insistent, pulling me toward her. It isn’t pain exactly, but it’s close. A dull burn that makes every breath feel wrong, every heartbeat slightly off rhythm. Like my body knows I’m supposed to be somewhere else.
You could stop fighting it, the dragon murmurs, his voice a low curl of smoke in my mind.
“I’m not going to her.”
Why not?
“Because it’s late,” I mutter.
She doesn’t sleep well without us near.
I drag a hand over my face. “You sound certain.”
I am. You feel that?
The bond tugs again, sharper this time, then settles into a low thrum that could almost be called longing. I exhale. “You said she’d come.”
She will, the dragon agrees, then adds slyly, That doesn’t mean we can’t go to her.
“That’s called stalking.”
It’s called protecting.
“It’s called creepy.”
He laughs softly, the sound more like a rumble through my bones. You worry too much about human definitions.
“I’m still half human.”
Barely.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The fireplace has dimmed to faint embers, but the shadows still dance across the walls. My mind refuses to quiet. Every thought circles back to her—the way her breath caught when I told her the truth, the way she tried to hide her fear with humour. The way she looked at me before I left, like she wasn’t sure if she should say thank you or stay angry.
“She’s stubborn,” I murmur.
You like that about her.
“She’s reckless.”
So are you.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re infuriating.”
And you’re restless.
He’s right. My thoughts keep looping—the witch, the apple, the curse. Everything connects and nothing does.
“We can’t stay still,” I say quietly. “We need answers.”
About the curse?
“About all of it. The decree. The Frostborn. The witch. If we can find the Glacial Sanctum, maybe we’ll know how to stop her.”
Dangerous, he warns.
“I know.”
Then again, he muses, danger has never stopped you before.
I ignore that. “If Bella wants to understand what’s happening to her, maybe we can go together. Ask her if she wants to travel north. If she wants to see the truth for herself.”
You think she’ll agree?
“I think she wants to stop running from.”
The dragon goes quiet for a moment, and in that stillness the bond pulses again—steady, rhythmic, like a second heartbeat pressed against mine.
You sound like you care.
I let out a low, humourless laugh. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Care is not a problem. It’s balance.
“Balance gets people killed.”
So does denial.
I glance toward the window. The snow outside glows faintly blue in the moonlight. Somewhere in that frozen distance, the witch is out there, waiting for another chance to strike. The thought makes my skin prickle.
The dragon’s voice softens, almost thoughtful. She makes you less of what you were.
“Less?”
Less burden. Less shadow.
I don’t answer, but he feels my silence. I shift, turning onto my side. The mattress is too large, the sheets too warm. The castle feels emptier than it should. “She’s strong,” I murmur. “But she shouldn’t have to be.”
The dragon huffs, the sound deep and resonant. She would disagree.
“I know.” I close my eyes, trying to will sleep into existence, but the ache only deepens. “This bond—it’s too new, too raw. I can feel every flicker of her magic.”
That’s the point. It’s how we protect her.
“It’s how we lose ourselves.”
You’ve already started.
I let the silence stretch. The truth of it sinks deeper than I want to admit.
The bond pulses again, sharper, pulling tight under my ribs. I sit up halfway, frowning. “Do you feel that?”
Yes.
“It’s stronger.”
Because she’s closer.
“She’s asleep.”
No, he says, tone certain. She’s not.
I wait. The ache shifts, softening, then tugging again, faint but sure. The air seems to thicken, colder with every breath.
I swing my legs off the bed, staring at the door. “She wouldn’t—”
She would.
“Are you sure?”
"Always."
And then I hear the unmistakable click of the latch and I freeze. My heartbeat stumbles once, twice. The bond hums low and steady, vibrating through my chest.
The dragon’s amusement hums faintly in my head. Told you she would come.
I don’t answer. The air cools as I watch my door crack open just slightly, and I quickly lie back down. I keep my eyes closed, breathing slow, pretending to sleep. The bond sings quietly between us, steady and warm despite the chill. I listen to the pad of her feet across my floor, the thunder of her heartbeat, and I feel the chill that her power brings. Her footsteps stop beside the bed and the air stills. I can feel her there—the soft tug of her presence, the uneven rhythm of her breath, the faint tremor of hesitation before movement.
The dragon’s contented purr fills my chest. She’s watching you, he murmurs.
I know.
She’s deciding.
On what?
Whether to stay… or touch.
I swallow hard, forcing my eyes to remain closed. The mattress dips slightly as she leans closer, and a stray lock of her hair brushes against my arm. The air around us crackles faintly with her power. The cold doesn’t bite...it shivers. And then she exhales, soft and uncertain, the faintest wisp of frost curling into the air between us. The bond steadies, no longer burning. It just…settles. She’s close enough now that her magic wraps around me like a second skin, cool, delicate and alive. I stay perfectly still, every muscle coiled, every breath measured. Because if I move—if I open my eyes—I might forget why this is a bad idea.
The dragon stirs again, voice low, pleased. She’s here.
I noticed.
He huffs a soft, contented laugh. Then don’t ruin it.
I don’t. I just breathe her in and wait. Because whatever happens next… I already know sleep won’t find me tonight.