Crimson Bound (Blood Oath #7)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

T ossing another book carelessly into the box on the end of my bed, I watch as it lands on top of the growing pile. My stomach churns as I walk back to the shelves lining the wall and pause, staring at a picture frame of Mom and me in between stacks of my favorite classics.

It’s been a week since her funeral.

Losing my mom feels as if a storm has engulfed everything in darkness, leaving me drowning in a sea of emotions I’m not sure what to do with.

I’ve been going through the daily motions, trying to distract myself, and now I’m standing in what's been my room for barely a year, packing up my life again. I was living in residence at Carleton until Mom got sick. Her husband, Maverick, welcomed me without question and made a point to express that this was my home for as long as I needed. But now that my mom is gone, there’s no reason for me to stay with Maverick and his sons, despite part of me wanting to. It’s something I’ve been dangerously aware of for too long; I fully know how messed up some of my feelings are.

The worst part? It’s as if I’m walking a tightrope between comfort and awkwardness around them. On one hand, I can appreciate their striking looks, mainly for the distraction they’ve been from everything going on. Maverick, Luke, and Rhys exude confidence, and the fact they were with me when my mom died may be the reason I feel connected to them. But on the other hand, they’re still practically strangers.

Tipping my head back, I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm swirling in my stomach, threatening to release in the form of tears. I don’t know how there are any left; I haven’t stopped crying for days.

Closing my eyes, I wait until the thumping in my chest slows to a normal pace and I can go back to packing my things.

I’m about to start packing more books into boxes when my phone vibrates. I grab it, swiping the wetness from my cheeks and blinking until the message from my best friend, Azra, comes into focus enough to read through the tears still gathering.

How are you doing?

Sniffling, I type out the only response I can manage right now.

I’m okay.

Liar. What are you up to?

Just boxing up my bookshelves.

Need help?

No, thanks. You’re doing more than enough by letting me crash with you until I find my own place.

You’re welcome here as long as you want, babe.

Thanks, Az. I’ll talk to you in a bit.

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I turn my attention to the collection of books, picture frames, and decor filling the shelves. As I move toward them, the air around me shifts and an intangible awareness creeps up my spine, like a subtle, electric current. Silent as a whisper, Maverick moves in my peripheral, leaving no physical trace of his arrival. Yet, every fiber of my being responds, attuned to the pull of his proximity. The back of my neck tingles seconds before I swing around to face him, my heart thumping faster as my eyes connect with his deceptively soft hazel ones. He takes up most of the doorway, and he’s dressed in a dark suit, clearly just having got home from the office, which only makes me feel like more of a mess in sweatpants and a sports bra with my brown waves tossed haphazardly into a messy bun. His mere presence exudes authority and commands attention. With a determined stride, he approaches me, stopping so close I get a whiff of his cologne as I tip my head back to hold his gaze. He stands at least a foot taller than me, and it feels like a lot more when he’s right in front of me like this.

Don’t check him out , I chant to myself, fighting the urge. His black hair is buzzed short on the sides and styled neatly but longer on top, matching the dark stubble lining his angular jaw and complimenting his olive skin tone.

So much for not checking him out…

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, his voice deep as his eyes travel the length of me, making the tops of my ears burn. At this moment, I feel completely naked. He sees right through me, and as much as I want to hate it, there are definitely parts of me that don’t.

I force what I hope appears as a nonchalant shrug, swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat. “I’m packing my things.”

“Why?” He leans over my bed, grabbing an erotic poetry collection. My face flushes when he flips it open. I have to lean on my tiptoes to snatch it from him, and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Why what?” I question, shaking my head as I shove the book into the closest box before looking at him again.

He licks his lips, and I watch the movement way too closely. “Why are you packing, Eden?”

I ignore how good my name sounds on his lips and say, “I’m going to stay with Azra until I can get my own place.”

“No, you’re not. You have a room here and have been through a lot. There’s no need to add the stress of moving.” His tone is smooth, casual, and I stare at him in silence for several beats.

Maverick has never been particularly cold toward me, but I can’t help the surprise I’m sure is reflected on my face at his suggestion.

Okay, suggestion is probably too mild a word to use, considering he makes it sound as if I don’t have a choice—yet another reason I absolutely cannot stay.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I say firmly. “No offense, but I think it’d be better if I leave.I don’t want to disrupt your lives more than I have.”

I don’t want to stay in the house of the man I dreamed about over and over despite the fact that he was married to my dying mother.

Of course, I’m not about to tell him that.

“Offense taken. You’re not going anywhere, Eden. You have a roof over your head, and I’ll take care of anything else you need.”

“I don’t need anything,” I say automatically, tucking a bit of hair that escaped my bun away from my face. Where Maverick’s features are sharp lines, mine are softer, rounder.

His lips fall into a frown. “Eden?—”

“Don’t.” I shake my head, a lump forming in my throat. “You were there for my mom until the end, and that meant the world to me…” I trail off, not entirely sure where I was going to take that sentence anyway.

He steps closer, right into my personal space without hesitation, and steals the air from my lungs. “You were there for her as well. And—” He lowers his voice, his eyes flicking between mine. “You and I…We were there for each other. Don’t think that meant nothing. Some days, the music you blasted on the drive home from the hospital or the word puzzles you made me play in the waiting room were the only things that made me smile the entire day.”

My pulse thrums beneath my skin, and I couldn’t look away from him at this moment if I tried. Unspoken words fill the air between us, making it impossible to breathe. Because I remember those moments. I replayed them for hours when I went to bed at night.

When Maverick and I had no one else to turn to, we found solace in each other. It never became anything more than the memories he’s reminiscing about now, but there was always a twisted part of me that longed for it. For months, I ignored the attraction, shoved it down, and blamed it on the instability in my life. But it never went away. Fuck, it’s still there. And moments like this, where he’s close enough that his breath skates across my cheek, I can’t think straight.

Which is exactly why I force out, “I can’t stay here.”

Maverick steps back, exhaling a heavy sigh as he slowly pulls his tie away from his collar. “I’m not going to argue with you.”

“Good,” I say, “so you’ll let me go.”

He shakes his head. “Not happening.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Maverick.”

“Eden,” he levels. “Your mom would want you to stay here where you don’t have to worry about anything besides your studies.”

My eyes narrow, but the argument dies on my lips. He’s right. I hate it, but it’s true. “Fine,” I finally say, mustering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad we settled that.” His lips twitch when his gaze drops to the bright pink fuzzy socks I’m wearing. But he doesn’t say anything before he turns to walk out of the room, and I can’t help but watch as he goes. Just as my eyes land on his ass, he glances back at me, and my gaze shoots up as he adds, “Dinner is almost ready.”

It isn’t until he walks out the door that I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, letting air back into my lungs.

What the fuck just happened?

Picking up my phone, I text Azra again.

Change of plans. I guess I’m staying here.

My phone starts ringing, and I exhale a humorless chuckle. I knew Azra would demand answers immediately.

“What do you mean you’re staying there?” she asks as soon as I pick up.

I sigh, sitting amidst the boxes piled on my bed. “Maverick told me?—”

“He told you?” she cuts in, and I can tell she thinks it’s as ludicrous as I do.

“Yep,” I say, popping the ‘p’ and rehashing the encounter.

She listens patiently until I finish talking and then she asks, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No, but it buys me time. And honestly, Az, I don’t want to bombard your space. This way, I have some time to figure things out for myself. Maybe get a job and move into my own place.” I shrug, as if she can see it.

“But you barely know those guys…” Worry is evident in her voice, and my heart squeezes.

“Don’t worry about me. If anything changes, I’ll be knocking on your door,” I say in a light tone, hoping to ease her concern.

“You better.”

I exhale another sigh, which I seem to be doing a lot lately. “I better go down for dinner and then unpack my stuff.”

She laughs. “Text me later and let me know how everything goes.”

Once we hang up, I quickly change, then walk to the mirror in the corner of my room to give myself a once-over. I spent a lot of my teen years resenting my appearance. The width of my hips and how my thighs press together. Not to mention the squishiness of my stomach and arms. It’s taken me years to find a semblance of peace with my body, and looking in the mirror still makes me want to cry on occasion.

That said, watching my mom wither away in a hospital bed did put things into perspective. But I still do have days where I struggle with how I see myself. Which is why I do this—stand in front of the mirror and admire the woman looking back at me.

The soft fabric of my white cropped T-shirt brushes against my skin, while the smooth, flowy material of the black linen, wide-leg pants provides a sense of comfort—they’re almost as cozy as my sweatpants.

My fingers graze over the fabric, confirming my choice for my first dinner with my…roommates?

Fuck, I don’t even know what to call them now.

I cringe inwardly at the thought.

I walk downstairs, each step resonating with a subtle creak beneath my feet. The air carries a faint scent of polished wood and a hint of lavender from a nearby vase. As I move toward the dining room, the hum of voices grows louder.

Turning the corner, I can't help but hold my breath, taking in the scene before me. Maverick stands there, having shed his suit jacket, the sleeves of his white button-up shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing his powerful forearms. His appearance, at forty-four years old, showcases his dedication to the gym, and even under his shirt, the defined contours of his physique are evident.

“Sit,” Maverick says, and I obey on autopilot, dropping into the chair beside his son, Luke, who’s a year older than I am at twenty-two.

The room is filled with an assortment of scents—the faint aroma of a delectable home-cooked dinner, mingled with the subtle musk of cologne.

“How are you doing?” Luke asks in a hushed voice. We haven’t spent much time with one another since he got home from backpacking Europe recently, but he’s without a doubt the friendliest of the three men I’m now surrounded by.

I turn my attention to him. “Um, I’m okay. Thanks.” My eyes flick across his olive-toned face, and I find a sliver of comfort in the warmth of his hazel eyes. His jaw is sharp, strong like his father’s, and his curly black hair is the only dark thing about him. Everything else is light and bubbly.

While his brother, Rhys, is a stark contrast, emanating an aura of darkness both in his appearance and personality. He’s a few years older than Luke, and I’ve learned to avoid him as much as possible.

Every time I tried to talk to him after moving in here, he was an asshole. We seemed to come to some unspoken agreement to ignore one another, and that has suited me just fine up to now. His jet black hair falls in stylishly messy waves, partially covering his forehead, and appears as if he’s shoved his hand through it too many times.

“Eden is going to stay with us,” Maverick announces, taking his seat at the head of the table.

Rhys says nothing, but his piercing green eyes narrow as his grip on his knife tightens, and he saws into his steak with more force than necessary, drawing my gaze to the tattooed muscles in his arms. He’s acquired a few since I moved in—an occupational hazard as a tattoo artist, I suppose.

Luke smiles. “Cool.”

I take that opportunity to glance around the table, and find Rhys shooting daggers at me with his glare, while his dad has a hint of a smile on his lips. And when my eyes connect with Luke’s, he winks. I press my lips together at the warmth pooling between my thighs as certain parts of me become hyper-aware of the men I’m surrounded by.

Nope.

No, no, no.

I can’t feel those things— not about them .

Taking a few tiny bites of food here and there, I keep my gaze on my plate as the conversation carries on, thankfully instead about some work event Maverick has coming up, because my thoughts are occupied by the need growing at my core.

I need to step away before I start sweating…or squirming in my seat.

“I’m…not feeling great. I, uh, think I’m just going to call it a night and head to bed early.” I force myself to look at Maverick. “Thank you for dinner.” I stand and collect my plate, carrying it to the kitchen as heat floods through me like a tsunami, then hurry upstairs to my room and close the door.

Shuffling the boxes off my bed, I quickly grab my phone and text Azra.

I am so fucked.