The thought crystallizes with terrifying clarity. Siphons aren't meant to exist without a bond. We're like electrical outlets with no power source.
Fear claws at my throat, but beneath it lies something else. Something I've been fighting since the moment I first caught their scents in their house. It feels like destiny.
"Yes," I whisper, the word barely audible over the roaring in my ears. "I accept the bond."
The effect is immediate and overwhelming. The tendrils of energy thicken, solidifying into cords that wrap around my essence. I gasp as their consciousness floods into mine, no longer held at bay by my resistance. Their emotions wash over me in waves—protectiveness, desire, joy, relief, and beneath it all, a bone-deep certainty that this is right. That I am theirs and they are mine.
The Latin words continue to flow from my lips, but I'm no longer consciously forming them. It's as if something else is speaking through me, something older and wiser than my conscious mind. The ritual has taken on a life of its own, and I'm no longer in the driver's seat.
It's a strange side effect of magic.Powerfulmagic. The kind most witches can only expect to experience once, maybe a handful of times in their life, if they're lucky.
"The bond is forming," Villeneuve says, the urgency in his voice cutting through the fog in my mind. "Now it must be sealed. Wolves, mark your mate."
Mark? In the chaos of the ritual, I had almost forgotten?—
Killian's mouth descends on the junction of my neck and shoulder, his breath hot against my skin. I feel the scrape of teeth, then a sharp, exquisite pain as he bites down. My skin breaks just enough to leave a mark. A claim.
The sensation sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, pleasure mingling with the pain. It should be pure terror, reminding me of the moment that werewolf's claws nearly tore me apart, but it feels so… different.
Before I can process it, Sean leans in from my right side, his lips finding a spot just above my collarbone. His bite is playful but no less possessive, sending another wave of heat through my body.
Rowan is next, his approach more measured. He presses his lips to the side of my throat, near where Killian bit but at a slightly different angle, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin. The pressure makes my knees buckle further, a moan escaping me.
Finally, Micah rises from his kneeling position, his hands sliding up from my hips to my waist to steady me. His bite lands near Rowan's. Four marks, four claims, four bonds.
As each bite lands, I feel the corresponding cord of energy tighten, binding us more securely together. The emptiness left by the broken coven bond begins to fill with something new. It's warmer, more vibrant, more alive. Their energy flows into me, not in the controlled, measured way Kyle's coven had allowed, but in a rush of wild, unrestrained power.
Offering me everything. All of them.
It's overwhelming. Like drinking from a fire hose after years of being rationed droplets of water. My body hums with it, every nerve ending lighting up like a switchboard. The pain finally recedes, replaced by a sensation of fullness, of completion.
Through our newly formed bond, I can feel their reactions to my acceptance. Triumph, wonder, pride. They're experiencing the same connection, the same merging of consciousness. We're becoming something new together—not five separate individuals, but a bonded unit, a pack with me at its center.
The realization is both terrifying and exhilarating. I've spent so long guarding my independence, fighting against the control Kyle exerted through our bond. But this feels different. There's no sense of dominance or manipulation, just a mutual giving and receiving. They offer their strength freely, expecting nothing in return except my presence in their lives.
"The bond is nearly complete," Villeneuve says, his voice rough with what sounds like genuine relief. "Finish the incantation, Ms. Cook."
I struggle to focus on the words, my consciousness split between five different perspectives. I can feel what these alphas feel, see what they see. All of them are fixated on me.
I'm seeing myself through their eyes, and what I see stuns me. They find me beautiful—scars and all. Not despite them, but with them. They see my imperfections as evidence of my strength, my survival. There's no disgust, no pity, only admiration and desire.
The final words of the incantation leave my lips, and the energy in the room reaches a crescendo. The candle flames shoottoward the ceiling, the ritual components glow with blinding light, and the air itself seems to solidify around us. For one suspended moment, everything stops—sound, movement, even time itself.
Then the energy rushes inward, converging on our joined bodies. It hits hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. The bond snaps into place with an almost audible click, like the final piece of a puzzle slotting home.
And I can still feel them. Not just their emotions or thoughts, but their wolves. Four distinct presences, powerful and curious, pressing against the boundaries of their human forms. They're closer to the surface than ever, drawn by the ritual, by the claiming of their mate.
They're beautiful.
Terrifying, yes, but beautiful in their power, their wildness. And they're all focused on me with an intensity that should frighten me but somehow doesn't. Because I can feel their devotion, their absolute commitment to protecting me, cherishing me, keeping me safe.
This is what it means to be pack. To be bound not just by magic or convenience, but by choice.
As the energy settles, I become aware of something else.
A fifth presence in our bond.
It's a strange tether I can't quite identify. I don't even know where it's coming from. It feels like it's coming from inside me, yet separate from my own consciousness. A dormant force awakening, stirring in response to the new bond.
