“My sister, Caelan.” She shows me the message. “Asking for more details about the project. Wants to know when I’m coming home.”
“What do you want to tell her?”
She sets the phone down and pulls the blanket tighter. “The truth would be a nice change of pace. That I’m investigating a curse that’s been destroying our pack for three centuries, and Thornridge is planning something terrible. That I’m trapped here until we get this all straightened out.”
“Do you want to leave?”
The question comes out before I can stop it, sounding desperate and needy in ways I didn’t intend.
She meets my eyes for the first time since entering the study. “I don’t know what I want anymore. Everything I thought I knew is wrong. Everything I believed about myself and my pack was built on lies. How am I supposed to know what I want when I don’t even know who I am?”
“You’re Sera Thornwick.” I lean forward, needing her to hear this. “Llewelyn archivist. The woman who fought trained operatives even after they cut her off from her wolf. Someonebrave enough to chase answers even when the truth terrified her. That hasn’t changed just because you learned about the curse.”
“Hasn’t it?” She looks down at her hands. “Everything that makes me Llewelyn is the curse. The reserve, the independence, and the emotional control. Take that away, and what’s left?”
“You. Just you. Without magical chains wrapped around your heart telling you what to feel and how to act.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she picks up her phone again and starts typing.
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“The truth. Sort of.” She shows me the draft message after a moment.
I’m working with Grayhide’s historian on a historical research project under an inter-regional agreement. We’re investigating potential supernatural threats that affect multiple territories. Will return when the investigation is complete. Everything is fine.
“That’s technically accurate.”
“It’s also misleading as hell about what’s actually happening.” She deletes the last sentence and rewrites it.
Everything is complicated, but I’m safe. Will explain more when I can.
I watch her thumb hover over the send button. “Your sister’s going to have questions.”
“She always has questions. Caelan doesn’t accept vague answers.” Sera hits send before she can second-guess herself. “But at least this way, I’m not outright lying to her.”
“Just lying by omission.”
“Welcome to pack politics. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.” She tosses her phone on the desk and adds, “I’ve been reading your books all night. It’s easier to understand since I know the theory now. Breaking this curse will require enormous magical power and someone from inside the bloodline who’s developed abilities despite the suppression.”
“You’ve been thorough.”
“I’m an archivist. Being thorough is literally my job.” She moves closer to the desk, and I catch her scent—winter mornings and her pheromones, which make my wolf sit up and whine. “What I don’t understand is why the mate bond triggered my abilities when nothing else did. Why you?”
I shrug and answer, “I don’t know. Maybe the bond itself provides power that cracks the curse’s hold. Magic isn’t exactly my area of expertise. I document patterns and analyze historical precedents. The mechanics of supernatural bonds are outside my wheelhouse.”
“But you understand enough to know we need to work together on this.” She reaches across the desk for one of the documents I’ve been reviewing. “That whatever happens next, we’re in it together, whether we planned it or not.”
“Yes.”
Her hand brushes mine as she picks up the paper. Just a brief contact, skin on skin for maybe half a second.
And that’s all it takes for the mate bond to explode between us.
Not the gentle pull I’ve felt since rescuing her. Not the faint awareness that’s been building steadily over the past few days. This is something different. Something primal and overwhelming.
Heat rushes through my body. Every nerve ending fires at once. My wolf rushes forward with such force that I actually feel it beneath my sternum.
Sera gasps. Her pupils dilate until only a thin ring of pale blue remains. The paper in her hand falls back to the desk, forgotten.
