Chapter 4 A slight understanding

Tristan’s POV

She froze halfway to the door when our shoulders brushed.

Her gaze snapped to mine—wide, startled, like she’d seen something crawl out of a grave she thought long buried.

My eyes burned, bright enough to make her flinch.

“You…” her voice broke. “You came here?”

Sweat slid down her temple. Her breath hitched, harsh and uneven.

I gripped her arms. She shuddered beneath my hands. “Escaping?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared, unaware of what she was doing to me—how her closeness stripped away the thin layer of control I had left. The curse stirred beneath my skin, whispering its hunger.

“Escaping… no… no…”

“Celine.” Her name left my mouth softer than I intended. It didn’t sound like me.

I should’ve called the gammas. Should’ve bound her before instinct took over. But I didn’t.

“You tried to escape,” I said. “You wanted to leave.”

She struggled, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Please…”

“You dared to leave?” My grip tightened without thought. “You really have that kind of courage?”

“I—it was just a walk.”

“By this time of night?”

“You’re hurting me.” Her voice cracked, soft but sharp enough to cut through me.

The sound hit something raw. The fear in her eyes was the same I’d once seen in my own reflection—right before the curse first broke me.

It felt like my fingers were digging into my own skin.

I let go before I knew I had.

She stumbled back, lost balance, and fell.

“Celine!” Her name tore from me as I lunged forward.

My heartbeat spiked. The curse stirred, hot and restless, pressing against the edges of my sanity. It wanted out—wanted the part of me that still remembered mercy to burn away.

I’d seen what ferality did to the cursed before. It didn’t just take your body. It took your mind and left something behind—something that only remembered hunger.

I crouched beside her, my hand finding her shoulder. That frown I wore slipped before I could stop it.

I couldn’t stand to see her fall.

“Tristan…” she whispered, her voice weak but enough to wrap around me.

Maybe it was because of how she said my name. Or because her scent came stronger when she breathed near me.

“Okay?” My voice sounded strange. Human, almost like hers.

I helped her sit up. She didn’t try to stand. Just watched me, eyes steady, searching.

“I could never be okay,” she said.

I nodded once, not sure what else to say. Her gaze didn’t waver. She wasn’t afraid anymore—or maybe she was, but refused to show it.

“Tristan… what becomes of me?”

The same words she’d asked before the Scarlet Ascension. Back then, I didn’t have an answer. I still didn’t.

“I found out you’re my mate.”

She blinked. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m human. You’re…”

Her hands rose, trembling, until her palms rested against my chest. She pressed them there—not in defiance, but in quiet disbelief, as if feeling for proof of what I was.

“Why the bond between two different kinds?”

“It just happened.”

“Just happened?”

She didn’t believe that.

“All mate bonds happen without warning,” I said, the words dry in my mouth.

“But what you call a bond,” she breathed, “feels far from chance.”

“You think it’s a lie?”

“No… I just don’t understand.”

Her fingers traced up my neck, slow and unsure. A jolt ran through me. I tried not to breathe it in, but I did. When she drew back, I caught her hand and placed it back on me.

Her face twitched, startled.

“The instinct,” I said. “That’s all it is.”

“That’s all?” she echoed, voice soft but heavy with doubt.

Her hand slid to my jaw. I didn’t realize how close I’d pulled her until the warmth of her chest brushed mine. That faint pressure erased everything else—the curse, the pain, the world.

I breathed her in.

“And to think that instinct came at a time I was supposed to be a sacrifice to end your curse?”

Her words barely reached me. “I’ve never understood this instinct,” I murmured back.

Her fingers moved through my hair, slow, like she was memorizing me.

“My instinct might not be real,” I said. “But why all this?”

“Why do I feel I know you?” she asked.

The question hit somewhere deep. I searched her eyes, waiting for a memory to flicker, but nothing came. Only that strange, aching pull.

“It’s the bond,” I said finally.

She looked unconvinced, and maybe she was right not to be.

We were both too new to this bond, too uncertain of what it demanded.

“The bond gives people that sense of familiarity,” I added.

“Yes…” she whispered, though it sounded like she didn’t believe that either.

I leaned closer, the air between us thin and heavy.

Our lips were a breath apart—

“Tristan!”

Zara’s voice shattered the moment.

She stood in the hallway, candle trembling in her hand, eyes glistening with tears.

“You called her your mate,” she said, her voice hollow.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Celine’s voice came small, almost lost. “Who is she?”

My throat tightened.

“Who is she to you?”

“She’s my lover.”

Celine’s expression flickered. “You already have a lover.”

“She was,” I said too quickly. “But you’re my mate.”

“I never accepted that.”

Her words landed like a blade.

Her hands slipped off me, and it felt like she pulled something vital from my chest as she walked away.

Zara’s candlelight trembled across her tears. She looked at me like I’d torn the last thread holding her together.

She wasn’t wrong.

I’d broken her. And maybe in doing so, I’d cracked something I couldn’t fix in myself.

Because beneath the guilt and the noise of the curse, there was still that darker pulse—steady, patient, waiting for me to slip.

If ferality took me again, I wouldn’t just lose Celine.

I’d lose the part of me that knew what love even meant.

And whatever came next… it wouldn’t stop at her.