“You have a lot of faith in people you don’t even know.”
“I have faith in you.” His knot finally starts to soften, releasing me. “The rest is just details.”
He pulls out carefully, and I feel his release start to leak out of me. I slide off the desk and find my clothes scattered across the floor. My underwear is completely destroyed, torn beyond repair. Great. I pull on my jeans without them and search for my shoes while Reeyan tucks himself back into his pants.
“Sera—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off without looking at him. “Don’t try to make this okay. Don’t tell me everything will work out. Just give me space to process this without you trying to manage my feelings.”
“Alright.” He doesn’t follow me when I head for the door. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For all of it. For the position you’re in, for asking you to marry me, and for the mate bond existing in the first place.”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Some stupid part of me wants to turn around and tell him it’s not his fault. That I don’t actually hate him, just the situation. That, despite everything, part of me doesn’t completely hate the idea of marrying him.
But I’m not ready for those admissions. I’m not ready to acknowledge that maybe, under all the anger and fear, I want this more than I should.
So I walk out without another word, closing the door behind me and leaving him standing alone in his destroyed study.
Chapter 20 - Reeyan
Two days pass before I realize I’ve been living in the same clothes.
The silence in my house is oppressive without Sera here to fill it. She left for Wyn and Raegan’s place the morning after our fight. Left while I was in the shower and took her things from the guest room without saying goodbye. Raegan texted me later to confirm Sera had arrived safely and asked me to give her space to come to terms with everything.
So, I’ve been alone for two days. No sound of her moving around. No arguing about historical interpretations over breakfast. No presence that makes everything feel less empty than it has for years.
I throw myself into research because thinking about how badly things went is unbearable. The desk where we had sex still has papers scattered across it—I’ve been working on the floor instead, surrounded by books and documents that might explain how to actually break a three-hundred-year-old curse instead of the woman attempting it.
The more I read, the more uncomfortable truths emerge.
The curse feeds on emotional disconnection and isolation. Moira Ashwood designed it that way. The more Llewelyn women pulled away from bonds and relationships, the stronger the magic became. Three centuries of reinforcing that pattern means the binding is deeply entrenched in their bloodline.
Which means breaking it requires the opposite. A public demonstration of love and trust. A witnessed ceremony where Sera has to stand in front of everyone and declare she chooses connection over isolation.
Nearly impossible for someone raised with Llewelyn conditioning. Doubly impossible for someone who has every reason to be furious with me.
I’m sketching out potential ritual components when footsteps on my porch make me look up. The knock that follows is familiar—Wyn’s particular pattern of three quick raps.
“Come in.” I don’t bother standing. Probably looks like hell anyway after two days of not sleeping.
Wyn enters and surveys the disaster that used to be my study. Books everywhere, papers covering the floor, and empty coffee mugs forming small colonies on every flat surface. He doesn’t comment on it. Just closes the door behind him and leans against it with the kind of posture that says this conversation won’t be pleasant.
“Thornridge is moving.” No preamble. Just the news delivered flat and direct. “Greater numbers than we’ve seen before. Our scouts report they’re positioning forces near Llewelyn’s eastern border.”
I set down my pen. “How many?”
“At least fifty, possibly more. Could be coordinating with other cells we haven’t detected yet.” He pulls out his phone and shows me the scout reports. “They’re not hiding their presence anymore. Want us to know they’re there.”
“Psychological warfare. Make Llewelyn panic and react poorly.” I study the positions marked on his map. “When?”
“Soon. A couple of weeks at most.” Wyn pockets the phone. “You were right. They know about the curse, Reeyan. Our intelligence intercepts show they’ve been discussing it in their operations channels. Either they have their own expert, or they must have sources inside one of the packs.”
“What are they saying about it?” But I already know the answer. I can see it on Wyn’s face.
“That they know Sera is the key. You were right about that, too. If they can eliminate her before the curse breaks, Llewelyn stays vulnerable indefinitely. They’ve identified that she’s in our territory and are discussing extraction or assassination as part of their pre-attack strategy.”
The words make my blood run cold, and I suck in a breath. “When?”
“Could be any time. They know she’s away from Llewelyn territory, separated from her pack.” He pulls up another message on his phone. “Raegan’s put up protective wards around the property, but those only do so much against determined operatives with suppressors.”
