“Lunarion,” she whispered, her breath catching, “please. Don’t take him yet.”
The words weren’t part of the spell. They were a plea. A prayer. She didn’t know who she was praying to anymore. The shifter God, the human God, it didn’t matter.
Her vision blurred. The light beneath her hands flickered, struggling to hold. She felt the energy beginning to drain her, pulling strength from her bones, her breath.
Still, she didn’t stop.
The bond pulsed again, hard enough to make her wince. She felt it then, his presence, faint but steady, flickering just beneath the surface. A heartbeat, a thought, a sound.
It filled her mind in a rush, a wild, half-formed echo of what he was. His power, his fury, his pain.
For a heartbeat, it felt like she could see through his eyes. The world was black fire and salt air, the taste of iron on his tongue, the endless pull of the sea.
And underneath it, a single, steady drumbeat of emotion. Not fear. Not rage.
Hers.
The realization hit her like a shock. The bond wasn’t just humming, it was calling. Reaching. The tether between them glowed so brightly now she could almost see it, a thin thread of silver light running from her chest to his.
Her control faltered. The magic surged, unpredictable, spilling out of her like water through a broken dam. The airgrew heavy, the mist thickening, the faint smell of ozone curling through the small room.
Layla gasped, breaking the circle with one trembling hand. The light dimmed instantly, the warmth draining from her skin. She staggered back on her heels, breath ragged.
The silence returned.
Dominic didn’t move.
Her stomach dropped. For a long, terrible moment, she thought she’d made it worse. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her fingers still buzzing with static.
“Dominic?”
Her voice cracked on his name.
No answer.
She reached out again, brushing her fingers over his hand. It was warmer now, only slightly, but enough. His skin no longer felt like ice. His heartbeat had steadied, faint but present.
Relief hit her so hard she almost sobbed.
She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, half laughing, half crying. “Okay,” she whispered, her breath fogging in the cold, “okay. It worked. You’re all right. You’re—”
She broke off when his fingers twitched beneath hers.
Her breath caught.
She leaned in, whispering, “Dominic?”
His chest rose once, shallow and uncertain, then again, stronger.
Layla’s heart stuttered. She reached to touch his cheek again, to make sure he was truly breathing, trulythere—
And his eyes flickered open.
She exhaled a trembling laugh, half relief, half disbelief, and pressed her hands against her chest, where it ached from holding her breath for so long. “You scared me,” she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
But the sound of her voice seemed to draw him fully awake. The faint slackness in his expression vanished. His gaze sharpened, cold and assessing, sweeping over her face, her hands, the cord still clutched in her fingers.
She started, letting her hand fall, trying to distract him by leaning forward, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
