“Don’t,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Not yet.”
She squinted at him, but she didn’t move. It was the closest thing to trust he could hope for in a situation like this.
The witch stepped between them, drawing a silver dagger from her robes. Grayson tensed as she pricked her own palm and let a single drop of blood fall onto the blade. She turned to him next, and he hesitated for only a second before offering his hand. The prick was sharp but fleeting, and his blood mingled with hers on the blade.
Cora recoiled when the witch approached her, shaking her head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“It’s the only way,” the witch explained. “You’ll die if you leave this place unbound. The magic won’t let you go. The spell was cast on you while you were unconscious. It’s designed to prevent anyone from escaping without a binding. If you try to leave without it, your body will shut down. You’ll die.”
Cora’s breathing quickened, and her eyes darted between the witch and Grayson. “And if I agree to this? What happens then?”
“The binding will ensure your survival and grant you very basic access to your magic,” the witch explained. “But it won’t restore your full abilities. Not until payment clears in full. Once it does, Voss will send the potion that unlocks your powers again—though they’ll still be tied to the bond. In other words, your magic will be linked to him.” She gestured toward Grayson.
“So, not only am I stuck with you, but my powers will be too? This just keeps getting better.”
Cora’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked to Grayson again as if weighing her options. Finally, with a grumbled curse, she extended her hand.
The witch worked quickly, carving a faint sigil into the air between them with the blood-tipped dagger. The symbol flared orange, and its shape burned into Grayson’s memory before it vanished. A faint drumming pulsed through his chest, and he swore he felt the connection snap into place—something ancient and binding that made his wolf settle for the first time in hours.
“It is done,” the witch announced, stepping back. She met Grayson’s eyes for a fleeting moment with something like a warning in her gaze before she disappeared into the crowd.
Cora swayed, and Grayson reached out instinctively to steady her. She flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. “What the hell just happened?” she whispered.
“I just saved your life,” he replied evenly. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“Saved it?” She laughed sharply, though there was no humor in it. “You just tied us together in some creepy blood magic ritual. What part of that sounds like saving?”
Grayson didn’t answer. He didn’t have one.
The crowd was beginning to disperse now that the spectacle was over, and the buyers moved on to the next witch on display. Grayson seized the moment, tugging Cora toward the exit.
“We need to leave.”
“No kidding,” she shot back, though her steps faltered as she glanced around. “What’s your plan? Because I don’t see one.”
Grayson’s grip on her arm tightened as they slipped into the shadows. “The plan is to get out alive. After that, we’ll figure it out.”
The bond existed now, a quiet truth woven between them, even if he didn’t understand it. Whatever it meant, whatever it demanded, there was no undoing it now. Grayson glanced at Cora, her head held high despite everything and silently vowed to himself that no one would lay a hand on her again, no matter the cost.
Chapter 3 - Cora
Cora wrenched her arm out of Grayson’s grip for the fourth time, spinning on her heel with enough force to nearly topple herself in the process. “Stop dragging me like I’m some lost puppy. I can walk on my own.”
Grayson didn’t slow. “Then walk.”
“Maybe I would if you’d stop hauling me around like a sack of flour!” she snapped, falling into step beside him. The ache in her wrists had dulled to a low throb, but every step sent reminders of the blood and rope burns lacing her skin.
Grayson’s stride was as unbothered as if she hadn’t spoken. His long legs ate up the distance with maddening ease. The guy was built like a freight train—tall and broad-shouldered, with muscles that moved fluidly under the dark leather jacket stretched across his back. His ash-brown hair was cropped short, just long enough to curl slightly at the edges, and the faint scruff on his jaw framed sharp cheekbones and a strong, square jaw. His features were striking, the kind that might’ve been handsome if not for the fact that he’d just purchased her. He looked like someone who didn’t just carry the weight of the world—he expected it to fight back.
Cora hated that she had to jog every few steps to keep up with him. The urge to plant herself and scream was overwhelming, but she doubted it would do much. He’d probably just toss her over his shoulder and keep moving.
“Where are you even taking me?” she demanded, skidding slightly on loose gravel as he turned down an alley.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Yeah, that’s helpful. Thanks for clearing that up.”
He stopped abruptly, forcing her to jerk to a halt before slamming into his back. When he turned, his eyes—stormy blue-gray and much too beautiful—bore into hers with unnerving steadiness. “Do you want to go back to the auction?”
