Chapter 47: Unbroken Bonds
The house had turned quiet with familiarity.
Not safe — never truly safe — but no longer a place either of them flinched in. The creaking floorboards no longer sounded like threats. The cracked windows, the brittle wallpaper, the broken bits of furniture — they simply existed now, like scar tissue on something that had once been a home.
Selene never asked why they stayed. She never asked anything unnecessary. But each morning, Aria woke to the scent of steam curling through the hall, the faint hiss of the kettle on the stovetop. That soft whisper of heat against cold air had become a kind of ritual. Her body would stir before her mind caught up, her bare feet finding the splintered hardwood — chilled, but familiar. When she padded silently to the kitchen, Selene was always already awake — her coat draped loosely over her shoulders like a casual warning, her blade propped against the porch railing.
Selene never turned when Aria stepped outside. She just knew.
"You're barefoot," she said without looking.
Aria leaned against the porch post, fingers tight around the chipped ceramic mug. "You always notice."
Selene's eyes tracked the sky. The dawn was soft — washed greys and diluted gold. "Because you're shivering."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Aria pressed the mug to her lips. "It's not the cold."
That earned her a glance — sharp and brief — but it lingered on her face a little longer than it needed to. Selene's gaze dropped to her neck, then lower, then snapped back up with practiced restraint.
She lifted her own mug. "Then it's me."
Aria exhaled through her nose — a quiet laugh that didn't quite make it to her throat. "You think highly of yourself."
Selene didn't argue. "Your pulse says otherwise."
"Do you listen for it?" Aria raised an eyebrow.
"I don't have to."
Aria turned slightly, letting her side brush against Selene's coat. The cold that clung to her was always startling — not like freezer - ice or winter air, but something more ancient. Living cold. Claiming cold. Still, Aria leaned in.
"Maybe I'm getting used to it."
Selene's lips twitched, a hint of amusement slipping through her calm. "That's the most dangerous thing you've said all week."
Aria bumped her shoulder gently. "You forget — I like danger."
"No," Selene said, "you like me. There's a difference."
The words hung between them like fog — heavy, inescapable, inevitable.
Aria didn't reply. She just sipped her tea and didn't pull away.
Later, inside, the fire crackled low, shadows climbing the walls like the house was exhaling them. Aria sat cross - legged on the floor, fingers knotted in the fabric of her hoodie. She'd memorized the shapes in the floorboards long ago. Selene was beside her, coat folded over the couch, her blade newly cleaned, catching flickers of firelight.
Aria broke the silence first. "You're less tense."
Selene gave her a glance. "I'm still armed."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
They sat in the half - glow, firelight etching soft heat into their silhouettes. Aria's skin still remembered Selene's chill from earlier — not entirely faded. A memory her body refused to let go of.
"You don't flinch anymore," Aria said, quiet.
"I still listen," Selene replied.
"Not for danger," Aria murmured. "For me."
Selene didn't answer.
Aria watched her in profile — how the shadows loved her, how even in this quiet she looked like something carved from snow and silence. But she was looser now. Her shoulders weren't coiled. And when her gaze drifted to Aria, it didn't sharpen like it used to.
"You feel calmer," Aria said.
"That's just relief," Selene replied.
"No." Aria leaned in, voice soft, searching. "It's something else."
Selene didn't speak, but her hand moved — brushing a speck of ash from Aria's shirt. The touch was brief. Intentional.
"You're not touching me," Aria said, "but you won't stop teasing me either."
Selene looked at her — not with a smirk, not with amusement. Her gaze was cool and steady, cutting straight through. "Because if I touched you — really touched you — you'd forget how to breathe."
Aria laughed, short and shaky. "You think you have that much power?"
"I know I do."
Selene's hand didn't pull back. Her knuckles grazed Aria's collarbone — featherlight, but unmistakably real. Aria sucked in a breath.
"You want me," Selene said, not teasing, just truth.
Aria swallowed. "I hate you."
"No." Selene's eyes flicked to her mouth. "You hate that I'm right."
The silence between them crackled — not empty, but charged. Taut.
"Touch me," Aria whispered, voice raw.
Selene froze.
Her hand hovered — close enough to feel the warmth beneath Aria's skin. "Ask me."
Aria hesitated. Pride clawed at her ribs like something feral, but the ache inside had settled deep. Her body already knew the answer.
"I want you," she said, quiet, but certain.
Selene moved then — not fast, not rough, but deliberately. Her hand slid along Aria's jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. Cold bloomed beneath her fingers, but Aria didn't flinch.
Forehead to forehead, their breath mingled — heat meeting frost.
"Say it again."
Aria's lips parted. "I want you."
Selene didn't kiss her.
She leaned closer, pressing them together until there was no space left between them — just breath, and tension, and the electric stillness of restraint.
Time passed like that. Neither counted it.
Later that night, upstairs, Aria tossed in bed.
It wasn't a nightmare — not exactly — but it left her body tense, trembling. Selene, in her dream, was everywhere. Her hands, her mouth, her voice murmuring things Aria shouldn't want to hear, shouldn't need. But she did. She wanted. God, she wanted. Waking up didn't help — she wasn't sure she had woken up. Her skin ached. Her mouth was dry. All she wanted was Selene's lips on hers again.
The sheets were cool. The air colder. Every brush of fabric over her thighs made her twitch. Her body thrummed like a struck wire.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Not stealthy. Just deliberate.
Aria sat up. The blanket slid off.
When she cracked open the door, Selene stood there — coat back on, blade at her side, expression unreadable.
"You weren't coming back," Aria said.
"I thought you needed space," Selene replied.
"I don't."
Selene took her in slowly — mussed hair, oversized tee clinging to bare legs, feet bare on frozen wood. "You look cold."
"You make me cold."
Selene stepped closer, slow and precise. "Then warm up."
Aria didn't hesitate. She grabbed Selene's lapel and tugged her inside, shutting the door behind them.
Selene didn't resist. Her arms wrapped around Aria like a slow snowfall — cold at first, then bearable, then addictive. Aria clung to her, burying her face in her shoulder. Her body felt electric. Hungry.
"One kiss," Aria breathed. "Just one."
Selene lowered her head. "That's all?"
Aria nodded.
Selene brushed her lips against hers — barely a promise.
It was cold. Then it was fire. Her mouth tasted like midnight and steel and something forbidden. Aria pressed closer, breath caught in her chest. Her fingers slid into Selene's hair. Their bodies fit together like friction — soft and sharp, heat and frost.
When they broke, Selene's breath hung in the air, visible between them. Her lips hovered just an inch away.
Aria's heart thundered. "Why do you do this to me?"
Selene pulled her into bed without a word. Their limbs tangled easily. Her blade rested at arm's reach, but her arms held Aria with a different kind of protection.
"You're part of me," Selene whispered against her temple. "Even if you don't know what that means yet."
Aria blinked hard, her eyes burning. "I'm not going anywhere."
Selene didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
The house held its silence around them. Still broken. Still cold.
But not tonight.
Not with Aria here.
Not with Selene's breath ghosting softly along her neck.