“Reeyan Hale, this is Maude Thornwick—Sera’s mother. Jorran Thornwick, her father. And Caelan Thornwick, her sister.”
Maude looks like an older version of Sera, with the same silver-blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Her face holds the familiar Llewelyn reserve, but something harder lurks underneath. Disapproval, maybe. Or anger that her daughter chose this path.
Jorran stands tall and silent beside his wife. A man of few words, based on how he nods once in acknowledgment without speaking. But I don’t expect much else from a man within a matriarchal society.
Caelan is younger—nineteen or twenty—with darker hair than her sister but the same fire in her eyes. She steps forward first and offers her hand.
“You’re the historian who saved Sera from Thornridge.”
I shake her hand. “I am.”
“Thank you for that.” She glances at her parents. “Even if the rest of my family isn’t ready to admit it yet, we are grateful.”
Maude’s voice comes cold and clipped. “We would be more grateful if saving her hadn’t led to this.”
“Mother—” Caelan starts, but Maude cuts her off.
“Don’t. I’ve said my piece to Sera already. She knows how I feel about this choice.” Maude turns away. “Let’s get this over with.”
Jorran follows his wife without a word. Caelan lingers, looking apologetic.
“She’s scared. The idea that we’ve been cursed our whole lives and didn’t know it—that’s terrifying for someone who’s built their entire identity around control and independence.”
“I understand.” And I do, even if Maude’s hostility stings more than it should. “What about you? How are you handling it?”
Caelan’s face gives way to something thoughtful. “I want to know if what Sera says is true. Suppose there’s more to feeling than what we’ve been taught. If the curse breaks and I can finally understand what everyone else experiences…” she trails off. “That would be worth the risk.”
“It will break,” I declare with complete confidence. “Sera’s strong enough.”
“I know she is. Just make sure you’re strong enough to stand beside her without trying to control everything.”
The warning is clear. Sera’s sister will be watching. Making sure I keep my word about respecting her choices.
“I won’t let her down again.”
“Good. Because if you do, you’ll answer to me.” Caelan walks away to join the other Llewelyn wolves, leaving me standing there with the weight of her threat and her trust balanced in equal measure.
The ceremony space fills slowly. Grayhide pack members arrive and take positions around the outer perimeter. Ambersky representatives join via the video feed Dorian set up. Even a few wolves from other territories show up to witness—news travels fast when you’re attempting to break a three-hundred-year-old curse.
Evangeline finishes her preparations and signals that we’re ready to begin. I take my position in the center of the ritual space and try to ignore the hostile Thornridge scents growing stronger at the borders.
They’re coming. Just a matter of when.
Lydia steps forward to address the gathering. “We are here to witness the mating of Sera Thornwick and Reeyan Hale. Before we proceed, I must ask my niece if this is truly her choice. Sera, do you enter this bond willingly?”
Movement near the northern entrance draws my attention. Sera walks toward the ceremony space with Raegan at her side. She’s wearing a simple white dress that flows around her legs, and her silver-blonde hair loose over her shoulders in little ringlets. The sight of her steals my breath.
She’s beautiful. Terrifying.Mine.
Sera stops beside me and faces her aunt. “I do this willingly. Not just for myself, but for every woman in our pack who deserves to feel without magical chains wrapped around their hearts.”
The words ripple through the Llewelyn delegation. Confusion crosses several faces. Others look skeptical. Lydia’s expression remains carefully neutral.
“Explain what you mean by magical chains. While I have told a few within the inner circle, many are unaware of why we’re here today. This is your news to tell.”
Sera takes my hand, and the mate bond flares between us. Strength flows through the connection, her courage bolstering my own resolve.
“Three hundred years ago, our ancestors commissioned what they believed was protective magic. But a witch named Moira Ashwood wove revenge into that protection. She cursed Llewelyn women with emotional suppression. Made us unable to form deep bonds or trust easily. What we’ve been taught is that cultural strength is actually magical imprisonment.”
