Bound By Moonlight to My Mates (by Sofange Daye) novel Chapter 95

Aclara

We traveled the next day in silence. There was nothing left to say. The bond is building between us, whether I like it or not, and I have only one of two options. I can accept it, and endure the heartache that most certainly will come with it. Or… I can run.

By the time we reach the town, dusk has fallen again. The rain hasn’t stopped; it’s a steady, cold drizzle that soaks through even my divine patience.

Caleb walks a few paces behind me, hood drawn low. He’s pale beneath the dim street lights, but he doesn’t complain. He never does. I can feel the echo of his pain through the bond, faint and stubbornly concealed.

He thinks I can’t tell. He’s wrong.

The town itself is small, with stone buildings with ivy–clad walls, crooked signs swaying in the wind. It smells of wet earth and firewood, and the kind of quiet desperation that mortals mistake for peace. It is like a place that has been lost to time.

We pass an old church with boarded windows. Its spire once bore the symbol of the Moon Goddess, but now it is chiseled away, leaving a scar in the stone. I trace it with my eyes as we pass.

“She’s gone,” Caleb murmurs beside me

“She’s watching,” I correct softly. “Just not kindly.”

He glances at me, expression unreadable. “And you?”

“I stopped watching a long time ago.”

We find an inn at the edge of the square, a sagging timber building with smoke curling from its chimney. Warm light spills from the windows, and the scent of stew makes my stomach tighten.

Caleb pushes open the door and gestures for me to enter first. “After you, Moonlight.”

I give him a look. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, Moonlight? It suits you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

He smirks. “So are you.”

I don’t bother answering.

Inside, the inn is small but alive, fire roaring, voices murmuring. No one pays us much attention. That’s good. I don’t need more eyes remembering me.

The innkeeper, a round woman with silver hair, greets us with suspicion until Caleb smiles. Then she

practically melts. “You’ll be wanting a room, I suppose?”

“One,” he says before I can object.

I shoot him a glare. “Two.”

She sighs, not even trying to hide the smirk on her lips. “Only one left. The storms brought in travelers from the south.”

Caleb doesn’t look remotely sorry. “We’ll take it.”

I open my mouth, but the innkeeper’s already counting the money he laid on the counter.

So I let him win this small battle. He’ll regret it later.

The room is small, with one bed, a cracked window, and a single lamp flickering on the table. The scent of damp wood and lavender soap clings to the air.

Caleb tosses his pack to the floor and collapses onto the bed with a sigh. “Gods, that feels good.”

I stay by the door, dripping water onto the floorboards. “You should rest.”

“You say that like you’re not about to spend the night standing guard.”

“Someone has to.”

He rolls onto his side, eyes half–lidded. “You don’t sleep, do you?”

“Not like mortals do.”

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Centuries without rest.”

“Lonely.” The word escapes before I can stop it.

He sits up, frowning. “You say that like it’s a choice.”

“It was.”

He studies me for a long time, then stands and crosses the small space between us. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “You don’t have to be alone tonight.”

My breath catches. “Caleb.”

He lifts his hand, brushing a wet strand of hair from my face. His fingers linger against my cheek, light as a question. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“Lie.”

The word cuts straight through me. I meet his gaze, and for a moment, everything else falls away. There’s just this: the human warmth of him and the impossible pull between us.

He leans closer, slow enough that I could step back if I wanted to. I don’t.

His voice drops. “You keep pretending you don’t care. But I see the way you look at me when not watching.”

“You see too much.”

“Then stop hiding.”

you think I’m

The air hums with unspoken things. I can feel the bond between us stirring again, hungry and bright.

“I can’t,” I whisper. “Every time I care, I lose everything.”

“Maybe this time, you’ll find it.”

His lips brush mine, soft, tentative. A promise and a warning. I let it linger only a heartbeat before I step back, breaking the moment.

“Don’t,” I say quietly. “You don’t understand what loving me costs.”

He searches my face. “Then teach me.”

Before I can answer, pain flares through the bond. His hand flies to his chest. The mark, my mark, glows beneath his shirt, pulsing faintly.

“Caleb?”

He grimaces. “It’s fine. Just a twinge.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He tries to grin, but it falters. “You’re one to talk.”

I cross the room, pressing my palm over the mark. His heartbeat thrums against my skin, wild and uneven. My magic answers automatically, rising like breath, silver light pooling in my hand.

He catches my wrist before I can release it. “Don’t. It’ll drain you.”

“I can handle it.”

“I don’t want you to handle it,” he says fiercely. “I want you to live.”

The words steal the air from my lungs. I’ve heard a thousand declarations across millennia. All promises, prayers, and confessions sound the same. But none have ever sounded like this.

“I don’t know how,” I admit.

“Then we’ll learn together.”

He lets go of my wrist but doesn’t step back. His hand slides down, lacing our fingers instead. The contact sends a rush of warmth up my arm, banishing the cold that’s lived in my bones for centuries.

We stand like that for a long time, not speaking. Just the fragile illusion that we might have a chance at something real.

Outside, thunder rolls again. The lamp flickers, and I realize how tired I am. My magic hums low, drained.

“You should sleep.” he murmurs.

“I can’t.”

“Then just lie here. Pretend.”

He lies back on the bed, leaving space beside him. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at him. This infuriating, impossible man who shouldn’t exist and yet somehow feels like home. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I sit beside him. The bed dips under my weight.

He turns his head toward me, eyes soft. “See? Not so terrible.”

“I’ll regret this.”

“Probably.”

His hand finds mine again. “But not tonight.”

I watch him until his breathing evens, his body relaxing into sleep. His hand still holds mine, even unconscious. I could pull away, but I don’t.

Because for the first time in too many lifetimes, I let myself fall asleep.