LYRA
Iwake to the sensation of ice magic wrapped around me like a protective cocoon.
For a disoriented moment, I can’t remember where I am—only that I’m warm despite the cold, safe despite the danger, held against something solid and strong. Then awareness floods back: the facility, the Broken, Magnus taking wounds meant for me, the desperate healing that should have been impossible.
The bond-bridge.
My eyes snap open. I’m still in Magnus’s arms, curled in his lap with my head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, strong and alive, and relief hits me so hard I have to close my eyes again against the sting of tears.
He’s alive. The toxin didn’t kill him. The vision was wrong.
Or I changed it.
“You’re awake,” Magnus says softly, one hand coming up to brush hair from my face. “How do you feel?”
Like I’ve been wrung out and hung to dry. Like I gave away too much of myself and might never get it back. Like something fundamental shifted between us and there’s no going back to what we were before.
“Tired,” I manage, my voice rough. “But okay. You?”
“Better than I have any right to be.” His hand settles on my back, warm and steady. “Thanks to you.”
I push myself upright carefully, immediately missing his warmth but needing to see him properly, assess the damage. His shirt is torn and bloody from when he shifted out of leopard form, but when I pull the fabric aside to check the wounds, I find them mostly healed—angry red lines where there should be gaping furrows, tissue knitted but not yet smooth.
“The bond-bridge accelerated your natural healing,” I explain, fingers tracing just above the marks. My magic responds automatically, wanting to finish what it started. “But you’ll need more treatment. Proper rest. These need?—”
His hand covers mine, stopping my automatic reach for healing. “Later. Right now, we need to talk about what happened.”
I pull my hand back, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “We should keep moving. Find the prisoners. Every moment we delay?—”
“Lyra.” His voice is gentle but implacable. “You said bond-bridges only work between mated pairs. You said it shouldn’t have been possible.”
“I was wrong. Or the research was incomplete. Or?—”
“Or we’re mates.” He says it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Our magic recognized each other. My leopard knows you. When you healed me, I felt you—not just your power but you. Your fear for me. Your determination. Your...”
He pauses, and I feel my face heat despite the cold.
“Your love,” he finishes softly.
The words hang between us, impossible to deny or take back. I did love him in that moment—love him still, if I’m honest. Somewhere between his carved ice leopard and his almost-smiles and the way he looks at me like I’m something precious, I fell completely.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, forcing myself to sound clinical. “Feelings don’t change the situation. We’re here to stop Crane, to rescue the prisoners. Personal complications?—”
“Personal complications?” Magnus’s laugh is short and sharp. “Is that what you’re calling this?”
“What would you call it?”
“Inevitable.” He shifts, turning me to face him fully. “From the moment I saw you, my leopard has known. Every instinct I have screams that you’re mine. The bond-bridge just confirmed what I already felt.”
“Mountain Cats require certainty,” I counter, grabbing at the logic I know. “Time. Absolute knowledge of compatibility. We’ve known each other for days.”
“And in those days, you’ve matched me stride for stride. Kept pace on trails designed to break warriors. Read tracks like a hunter, healed with skill I’ve never seen, fought beside me without hesitation.” His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re extraordinary, Lyra. And my leopard doesn’t need months to know what it recognizes immediately.”
“But I’m not—” I stop, unsure how to finish. Not strong enough? Not Mountain Cat? Not the kind of mate his clan would accept?
“Not what?” His thumbs brush across my cheekbones, the gesture achingly tender. “Not brave? You walked into this nightmare knowing what might happen. Not capable? You just saved my life with magic that shouldn’t exist. Not mine? Because you are. Whether you accept it or not, you’re mine.”
The possessive certainty in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it makes something deep in my chest uncoil, a tension I didn’t know I was holding.
