Chapter 4
The candlelight in my laboratory flickered and blurred before my eyes this morning.
My grip on the test tube trembled violently, cold sweat beading on my forehead. Dizziness crashed over me like a tidal wave, nearly sending me crashing to the floor.
"This isn't ordinary fatigue..." I gritted through clenched teeth, struggling to steady myself.
The glass tube slipped between my fingers, threatening to shatter.
I lunged to catch it with my other hand, but the weakness only intensified, as if something was draining my very life force.
My trembling hands reached for a recovery potion from the shelf, downing it in one desperate gulp.
The effect was negligible.
Worse still, through the blood bond, I could feel Rowan experiencing the same agonizing pain. That soul-crushing weakness felt like my spirit being torn in half.
"Blood bond backlash... mentioned in the ancient texts," I gasped, gripping the table's edge. "If we continue this separation, the pain will only worsen."
My rational mind screamed in rebellion: "But I can't... I won't compromise because of biological needs!"
Hours passed in agony.
I could barely support myself as I made my way to the living room.
Rowan sat opposite me, his face as pale as mine, both of us looking utterly drained.
He drew a shuddering breath, and I could feel his internal struggle through our bond.
"Is there a solution?" I asked weakly, though something in his expression already told me I wouldn't like the answer.
I watched his fists clench until his knuckles turned white. Through the bond, I felt his anguish reach its peak.
"It requires..." his voice trembled, "deepening the connection between us. Complete physical... union."
My body went rigid.
I stared at Rowan.
"This is purely biological necessity, right? It won't change anything between us," I said.
Rowan nodded. "Of course. This is purely for survival. Just treatment."
"Just treatment." I repeated the words, tasting their bitter irony on my tongue.
Deep into the night, moonlight streamed through the master bedroom's curtains as we stood awkwardly, tension saturating the air.
"How should we... begin?" My voice quivered despite my efforts to remain composed, my hands clenched into fists.
"I'll try to be... gentle," Rowan replied, equally tense.
I nodded, closing my eyes: "Remember, this is only treatment."
"I know... just treatment," he whispered, but when his hand touched my skin, the blood bond's reaction surged like electricity through my entire being.
I tried desperately to maintain emotional distance throughout what followed, but the blood bond's physiological responses made it impossible to completely control my feelings.
Every touch, every sensation was amplified through our connection, creating an intimacy I hadn't expected or wanted.
When passion subsided and the physical weakness finally eased, I gasped for breath, my heart more conflicted than ever before. The relief from pain was undeniable, but the emotional cost felt devastating.
In the early hours, I found myself held close in Rowan's arms as he slept. The room was suffused with a gentle intimacy that felt like a cruel mockery of our arrangement.
Then, a name slipped from his lips in a low whisper:
"Moira... my love..."
My body instantly turned to stone.
The warmth in my chest froze into arctic coldness. Any foolish hope I might have harbored shattered like glass.
"I'm not Moira," I said.
Rowan jolted awake, panic exploding in his eyes as he realized his mistake.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean... it wasn't intentional!" He scrambled to explain, but his words felt pathetically hollow.
I extracted myself from his embrace, pulling the covers around my body. My expression felt terrifyingly calm, even to myself.
"I understand," I said without emotion. "This proves our judgment was correct—this is purely biological necessity."
"Isla, I..." He reached out in anguish.
"No explanation needed." I cut him off. "We both know the truth."
In that moment, any illusion of tenderness shattered completely. I was exactly what I'd always known myself to be—a replacement, a necessity, nothing more.
The next morning's dining room basked in bright sunlight, but I felt cold inside as we sat at opposite ends of the table, carefully avoiding eye contact.
"To prevent another backlash, we might need to... regularly..." Rowan cleared his throat awkwardly.
"I understand." I cut him off coldly. "We can establish a schedule, purely for health considerations."
Rowan asked, "Are you certain this won't make you uncomfortable?"
I gazed out the window, keeping my voice devoid of emotion: "As long as we both understand this involves no feelings, I can accept it."
He nodded, though through the bond I sensed his inner turmoil. It didn't matter. I'd learned to separate my heart from my circumstances long ago.
That evening, in my underground laboratory, I pored over ancient herbal formulas. My finger stopped on a particular recipe.
"Methods to prevent pregnancy..." I whispered the formula's name. "I need to find this solution. I cannot allow things to become more complicated."
However, as I carefully read the side effects, my breath caught. This herb might enhance my already awakened moon goddess bloodline power, but could also trigger unpredictable consequences.
The risk was significant, but so was the alternative. I couldn't—wouldn't—bear the child of a man who called another woman's name in his sleep.
I closed the formula book and looked up at the moonlight streaming through my laboratory's small window. My reflection in the glass showed a woman I barely recognized—someone harder, colder, more determined than before.
Whatever awaited ahead, I would face it on my own terms. I'd been forced into this blood bond, compelled into intimacy, but my mind remained my own.
I refused to be anyone's prey—not the hunters', and certainly not Rowan's emotional substitute for the woman he truly loved.