The Fire We Feed

The forest stretched on, endless and indifferent, its canopy thick enough to blot out the morning sun. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, clinging to their clothes like a second skin. Moss blanketed the trees, their knotted roots twisting through the soil in tangled, claw-like patterns. 

Above them, the thick canopy swayed gently, branches interlocking like skeletal fingers. Mist drifted lazily around their feet, clinging to the underbrush, as if reluctant to let them pass. Each step stirred the forest's silence, and even that felt like a risk—as if something ancient lay beneath the earth, waiting for the right moment to rise.

Fog curled low to the ground, snaking between trunks and swallowing the trail ahead. Taryn trailed just a step ahead of Lucien, the cursed chain clinking softly between them, a constant reminder of their forced proximity.

She'd meant to walk ahead, to put some distance between them—emotionally, if not physically. But the chain, as always, had other plans. Every time she tried to gain ground, Lucien would slow, deliberately tugging on the links just enough to irritate her.

"Do you have to drag your feet?" Taryn snapped, sidestepping a low branch and giving the chain a sharp yank.

Lucien grinned lazily as he ducked under the branch. "You're going too fast, warrior. We've got all day."

Taryn clenched her jaw, biting back the urge to retort. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger, itching for something to stab. Anything to release the frustration simmering under her skin. 

She inhaled sharply through her nose, exhaling slow and controlled, as if the weight of each breath might hold her temper in check. "We wouldn't need all day if you kept up."

"Some of us like to enjoy the scenery," Lucien replied smoothly, shooting her a sideways glance. "Besides, I thought you enjoyed being in the lead. Control suits you."

Her glare was sharp, but he only smiled in response, his amusement flickering like embers. He wasn't just slowing her down for the fun of it—he was testing her, seeing how long it would take before she snapped. And gods help her, she was dangerously close to snapping. 

It shouldn't have bothered her so much—this chain, this irritating vampire with his smug grins—but it gnawed at her in a way she couldn't fully explain. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed so at ease with the situation, as if being tethered to someone else was just another game to him. Or maybe, it was because some small, dangerous part of her was starting to wonder if it was easier moving with him than against him.

The cursed chain rattled softly between them as they maneuvered through the forest, ducking beneath tangled branches and weaving between roots. Despite her frustration, Taryn couldn't help but notice how seamlessly their movements began to align.

When she ducked beneath a low branch, Lucien followed without needing a reminder. When a patch of brambles blocked their path, he shifted effortlessly beside her, creating just enough space for both of them to slip through.

It wasn't perfect—there were still awkward moments when the chain snagged or pulled tight, yanking them painfully toward one another—but it was better.

And that, somehow, was even more irritating.

"See?" Lucien murmured, his voice low and amused. "We're practically a dream team."

Taryn gave him a withering look, but he only grinned wider.

"You're enjoying this way too much," she muttered.

Lucien's grin widened. "What can I say? You bring out the best in me."

"Careful," Taryn warned, her eyes narrowing. "I might just bring out the worst."

"We're still alive, aren't we?" he added, sidestepping a moss-covered boulder with irritating ease. "That's got to count for something."

"For now," Taryn muttered, adjusting the strap of her pack. "If you don't trip me with that chain again."

Lucien gave the chain an idle tug, making her stumble slightly. "Oops."

Taryn shot him a glare, but there was no heat in it. "You're insufferable." But despite herself, she couldn't entirely dismiss the flicker of relief that came with the realization—they were starting to move as one.

Lucien offered subtle help when the terrain grew difficult, catching her elbow when she slipped on loose rocks or nudging her forward when she hesitated at a steep incline. He did it all so casually, as if it cost him nothing, but Taryn knew better. He hid concern behind teasing remarks and playful grins, but she saw the flickers of something deeper—something that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

The forest grew unnervingly still, the usual sounds of birds and insects conspicuously absent. Then a dry rustle broke the silence, followed by a low, menacing growl that seemed to rise from the underbrush itself. A blur of movement—too fast, too fluid—slithered between the shadows. And then the beast emerged: leathery and gaunt, its eyes glowing like embers under its furrowed brow —another grathhound. The beast snarled, low and menacing, but compared to the dangers they'd already faced, it was more nuisance than threat.

Lucien's sword slid from its sheath with a hiss, and Taryn followed suit, her dagger gleaming in the dim light. They lunged together, but the chain had other plans. The links caught on a root, yanking painfully at their wrist. The sharp, insistent pain shot up both their arms like a warning. The chain didn't just tether them; it punished them for moving even a little out of sync, as if reminding them that survival wasn't optional—it was teamwork or nothing.

The sudden jolt threw them both off balance, their rhythm shattered. Taryn stumbled, catching herself just in time to avoid falling into Lucien, who swore under his breath as he yanked the chain to regain his footing. The grathhound snarled, sensing weakness and ready to pounce.

Taryn bit back a curse, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Again."

Lucien met her eyes, and for a brief, wordless moment, they held each other's gaze. There was no humor in his expression now, no teasing remark on his lips—just the same grim determination she felt tightening in her chest. It was the kind of look that said we survive, or we don't.

Taryn gave a short nod, and Lucien returned it, both of them bracing themselves.

They adjusted their stances in near unison this time, gathering themselves with a shared breath. Every muscle between them coiled, tense but ready, as if they'd silently agreed: no more mistakes. They didn't have the luxury.

Taryn shifted her weight, testing the balance in the chain, and this time it hummed between them—tense but not pulling.

"Now," she whispered just a the grathhound pounced, and they moved as one.

Taryn feinted left, drawing the creature's attention with a quick, deceptive flick of her blade. Lucien mirrored her, circling smoothly to the right, his sword a deadly blur as it sliced down in a clean, decisive arc. Steel met flesh, and the grathhound yelped, staggering from the blow.

Before the beast could recover, Taryn darted forward, her dagger plunging deep into its throat. The beast crumpled with a final, pitiful snarl, its body twitching before falling still. Taryn exhaled slowly, her heartbeat thundering in her chest as the silence rushed back in to fill the space the fight had left behind.

This was supposed to feel like a victory—another threat taken down, another enemy reduced to nothing. But it didn't. The thrill of the fight—the familiar burn of adrenaline—felt twisted, warped by the ease with which she and Lucien had moved together in the end. It shouldn't have felt natural. And yet it did.

For a moment, she didn't move, her muscles taut with leftover adrenaline. Then Lucien nudged her shoulder with the hilt of his sword—a small, almost companionable gesture that made her blink in surprise.

"Not bad." He said. Taryn wiped her blade on the grass, shooting Lucien a glare. 

Fighting with him was smoother than she wanted to admit, like slipping into a familiar dance she hadn't realized she knew the steps to. It made her uneasy. The last thing she needed was to rely on him.

Lucien smirked, flicking the blood from his sword with a practiced motion. "Admit it—you're starting to enjoy this."

Taryn rolled her eyes, sheathing her dagger. "Killing things I like. You, on the other hand…"

But even as she said it, she knew it was only half a lie.

Lucien chuckled, clearly unbothered by the insult. "I'll take that as a compliment."

For a moment, neither of them moved. The forest around them remained still—too still—as if it, too, was waiting for them to break the silence. Their breathing—still heavy from the fight—seemed to fall into rhythm, perfectly in sync without either of them trying.

Taryn adjusted the strap of her pack, a tightness building in her chest. The sooner they got moving, the sooner she could stop thinking about how natural this all felt.

"Come on," she muttered, adjusting the strap of her pack. "We've wasted enough time."

Lucien followed without complaint, though his grin remained, lingering at the edge of her vision like a shadow she couldn't quite shake. The cursed chain rattled softly between them, not as loud or jarring as it had been before. 

"You know," he said lightly, "if we keep this up, you might just fall for me."

With a flare of suppressed anger, Taryn chose to ignore that. 

Their movements—once awkward and forced—now slipped into place too easily, like a song they'd been humming all along without realizing it.

And that, perhaps, was the worst part. 

Not just the fact they'd found it, but how natural it felt to stay in step.