Books and scrolls litter the attic floor around me in concentric circles like some kind of wacky research nest that would give my college mentor a panic attack if he saw how disorganized this is.
But there's a system to my chaos.
Sort of.
Older texts on bonding rituals to my left, modern interpretations to my right, and arcane ingredients listsdirectlyin front.
The closest thing I've found to a siphon-shifter bonding ritual is tucked into the margins of a grimoire that predates the Civil War, written in handwriting so cramped I've had to use a magnifying glass to decipher it while scribbling on a notepad. The witch who wrote it—Killian's ancestor—didn't leave detailed instructions so much as cryptic notes that require interpretation.
"Energy melding requires blood from both parties at the new moon's zenith," I mutter, tracing the faded text with my fingertip. "Binding circle of crystals... lunar oil for stability... silver thread to represent the tether..."
Looks like Sadie's instincts for what we'd need for the ritual were pretty spot on.
I sit back on my heels, exhaling slowly. This is definitely possible, especially with the supplies Sadie is sourcing, but I can't shake the nagging anxiety that keeps crawling up my spine.
What if the ritual fails?
What if I end up even more magically depleted and stranded in supernatural limbo? No longer connected to Kyle's coven but not properly bonded to the wolves either?
Orwhat if it works perfectly, and Iammagically and irrevocably bound for the foreseeable future to four alpha wolf shifters I'm falling for despite swearing off that kind of shit forever?
"Focus," I grit out, pulling another grimoire from the pile. This one is newer, bound in deep burgundy leather with silver clasps. A personal journal rather than a formal magical text.
I flip it open and find myself looking at a picture tucked between the pages. It's woman with dark hair piled atop her head in elegant coils, her face serious but with a hint of mischief in her eyes. She's standing next to a tall, broad-shouldered man who gazes at her with blatant adoration. At the bottom of the photograph, someone has written a note in elegant script.
Eliza and Henry Underwood
1924
Killian's great-grandparents.
The witch who married a wolf.
I run my finger over the photograph, studying her face. She doesn't look afraid or uncertain. She looks... confident. Like a woman who knows exactly what she wants and has claimed it without apology or giving a single shit ever.
Must be nice.
I start reading her journal entries about the bonding ritual she used with Henry, noting the similarities to what I've pieced together. She describes the energy exchange in detail. How it felt to connect her magic to his shifter essence, the rush of power that flowed between them, the sense of stability that settled into her bones afterward.
But there's a line toward the end of the entry that makes my heart stutter.
The ritual solidified what my heart already knew. That I was his, and he was mine, and together we were something entirely new.
Great. Even Killian's ancestors were romantic saps.
I close the journal, setting it aside more carefully than the other texts. Something about holding this woman's private thoughts makes me feel like an intruder, even though she's long dead and her family has granted me access to her writings.
My phone buzzes from somewhere in the pile of books, and I fish it out, already knowing what I'll see. Sure enough, another message from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
Kyle misses his arm more than he misses you and your ugly face. But we're coming for what's ours anyway.
Charming.
Rebecca has been sending these little love notes at least twice a day. I delete it, just like all the others, but I'm about to have to turn my phone off and slide it across the floor face-down so I'll stop checking it compulsively.
I need to draft the incantation. Something that will specifically target the coven bond while facilitating the new connection with the wolves. If I fuck up, someone could end up with a sparkly brand-new toad form. Or a wolf could lose the ability to shift.
