And as she begins speaking the ancient words of the life-bond ritual, as she positions herself over me in the ceremonial configuration, I hold onto one thought: If I’m going to die, at least it’s in her arms.
19
LYRA
Magnus is dying in my arms.
His heart is failing, struggling against the combined assault of toxin and berserker technique. Through our bond, I feel him slipping away, his consciousness fragmenting as his body shuts down system by system. This is the moment from my visions—the blood, the failing healing, the silver eyes growing dim.
But I also saw what comes after. Saw the transformation, the evolution, the path that leads through death to something greater. And I refuse to accept that the visions end with his death rather than beyond it.
“Clear the space,” I order, my voice carrying authority I didn’t know I possessed. “Everyone back except Keira and Elder Frost. We need witnesses but also privacy.”
The warriors obey immediately, creating a circle around us. Keira and Elder Frost take positions at opposite points, their presence grounding the ritual space in Mountain Cat tradition. This has to be done properly, has to follow the ancient forms, or it won’t work.
Elder Frost produces ceremonial components—candles made of ice that burn with cold flame, sacred furs blessed by generations of alphas, the ritual blade used for blood-binding. He arranges them with practiced precision while I focus on keeping Magnus alive long enough to attempt this.
“The life-bond ritual,” Elder Frost says gravely, “is the most sacred and dangerous ceremony in Mountain Cat tradition. It requires both parties to offer their life force completely, to merge not just magically but spiritually, to become one being in two bodies.” He looks at me directly. “Many who attempt it die in the process. Both parties, not just the injured one. Are you certain?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No doubt. Magnus would die for me without question—I can do no less for him.
“Then we begin.” Elder Frost’s voice drops to ritual cadence. “Lyra Starling, Storm Eagle and storm-touched healer, do you claim Magnus Ironwood as your mate before witnesses and the mountain itself?”
“I do.” My hands are steady as I help Magnus out of his remaining clothing, baring us both for the ritual. His skin is ice-cold, frost forming where his berserker state degraded his temperature control.
“Magnus Ironwood, Mountain Cat warrior and bearer of the gift of wings, do you accept Lyra Starling as your mate before witnesses and the mountain itself?”
Magnus’s voice is barely a whisper, but he looks at me with fierce determination. “I do.”
“Then speak the binding words,” Elder Frost instructs. “And let the mountain witness your choice.”
I take the ritual blade, making a shallow cut across my palm. Blood wells up, bright red against my pale skin. I offer the blade to Magnus, but his hands are shaking too badly to hold it. Keira steps forward, making the cut for him with steady precision.
I press our bleeding palms together, feeling our blood mingle, and speak the ancient words: “My life for yours. My strength for your strength. My magic for your magic. My heart for your heart. From this moment until the mountain crumbles, we are one.”
Magnus repeats them, each word an effort, his voice fading. “My life for yours. My strength for your strength. My magic for your magic. My heart for your heart. From this moment until the mountain crumbles, we are one.”
Our blood-bond glows where our palms meet, sealing the first part of the ritual. But it’s not enough—his body is still failing, still dying despite our spoken promises.
“The physical union,” Elder Frost continues. “Given freely, without reservation, the ultimate sharing of life force between mates. This is where transformation occurs, where two become one in truth rather than words.”
I position myself over Magnus, straddling his hips, feeling his body beneath mine. He’s so cold, his skin like ice, and through our bond I feel his consciousness flickering. We don’t have much time.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss him. “Magnus, I need you to stay with me. Focus on us, on this connection. Let everything else go except us.”
His hands come up to grip my hips weakly. “Lyra... if this doesn’t work...”
“It will work.” I reach between us, guiding him to my entrance despite his weakened state. “Because we’re meant for this. Meant for each other. And fate doesn’t get to decide otherwise.”
I sink down slowly, taking him inside my body despite the difficult angle, despite his cold skin and my own fear. The moment we’re fully joined, the life-bond activates with explosive force.
Power surges through us—not like the bond-bridge, which was temporary and conditional. This is permanent, absolute, the complete merger of two souls into one shared existence. Through the connection, I pour my life force into him, channeling everything I am through our joined bodies.
But it’s not just me giving. The ritual requires equal exchange, both parties offering everything simultaneously. I feel Magnus’s ice magic rising despite his weakness, his leopard recognizing what’s happening and giving everything it has left. His life force flows into me even as mine flows into him, creating a circuit of power that grows stronger with each heartbeat.
Our magic merges completely—storm and ice becoming something new, something that exists between and beyond both original forms. The cold flame candles flare brighter, casting our shadows huge against the walls. The sacred furs beneath us glow with residual power from centuries of ceremonies.
“More,” Elder Frost says, his voice distant through the rush of magic. “The transformation requires more. Full surrender, complete vulnerability, absolute trust. Hold nothing back.”
