“I’m not finished,” Rue snaps. “In rare circumstances, shifters may be gifted by the gods with the potential for a second bond: allowing them to link themselves to a fated mate should they choose. They will experience a pull toward that person, and if bound, their life sources will become so entwined, that the death of one means the death of both.”
I grimace, and the muscles of my face feel oddly stretched. “What’s the point of this story time?” I demand. “I’ve heard the legends about fated mates. They’re nothing more than lies for children to moon over. I need a practical fix, not a fairy tale, Rue.”
“You listen, but you don’t hear,” she hisses. “Nothing is more powerful than a chosen bond. The gods provide opportunity, but a shifter shapes their own destiny. Any elected bond—with the risks carefully weighed and accepted—overrides what nature sometimes provides.”
My heart pounds wildly against my ribs, and a drop of sweat rolls down my spine to pool against my lower back. I need air, but I need answers more.
“I don’t understand,” I admit.
“A shifter who chooses to bind themselves to anotherwouldn’t have to trick a portal or any other synthetic device. They would pass through unchecked.”
I shoot to my feet and blink half a dozen times. “Because they are bound—only not in the way the portal thinks!”
Rue nods. “When a shifter binds themselves to another, Riven, their soul no longer sings solely for their beast. Their very life force bends, rerouted through the heart of another.” Her eyes flicker with lucidity, and the air in the hut goes impossibly still.
“It’s that song—that frequency—that the portal listens for. If it hears silence where the beast’s voice should be, it will assume the bond is no more, not that it’s been overridden by one more powerful. It won’t know the difference between love freely chosen and a bond cruelly torn.”
Through the haze in my mind, I consider what this means, then my stomach sinks. “There’s no way they have a fated mate bond,” I tell her. “The basilisk would know if they did. Are you sure there’s no device we can use?”
“Fate weaves her tapestry through a foggy glass.” Rue stares into the fire. Her eyes are far away, and my fingers curl. I’m losing her to the smoke.
“Don’t be cryptic,” I beg. “Rue, this is important.”
“The fog never clears,” she whispers. “How can it, when will and choice were born to muddy the future fate designed?”
“What?” I grip her arms, wincing as my fingers wrap all the way around and overlap. “What does that mean, Rue?”
“It means, we all have choices,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. “The future is only set in stone if one lacks the courage and strength to change it.”
“So what?” I ask. “Is there a risk? Should they try to bond and hope for the best?”
“Fate is powerful, but not as powerful as choice. I’ve told you all I can.” She pulls free of my grasp and points at the door. “Leave me, Riven, and don’t come back.”
I stumble away from the treehouse and walk the mountain until the cold wipes the herbs from my brain. Only when my thoughts are crisp and I’ve lost sensation in my toes do I reach inside my cloak and fumble for the polished stone that will take me home.
The wind howls through the gnarled trees, but it’s the silence that follows each gust that chills me the most. Rue gave me one answer and half a dozen new questions. Whether I’ve found a solution or a death sentence, only time will tell.
I close my fingers around the stone—and the world fractures into light.
THIRTY
Monster Realm Survival Tip #61:
The realm feeds. Decide what part of you it gets.
LUCA
I search every inch of the shuck’s house while he’s gone.
I don’t know what I expect to find: a smoking gun, a trapdoor to hell, or maybe a collection of dirty magazines in a dusty shoebox. But there’s nothing suspicious or interesting.
Instead of being relieved that he isn’t hiding an army under his bed, my restlessness gets worse.
My basilisk rattles in my chest. It’s angry. With the situation or me, I don’t fucking know, but the outcome is the same: I can’t sit still or I’ll lose my mind.
“If I can’t clean, you can’t ransack,” Celine says, leaning against the doorframe to Riven’s room. Her hair is loose, hanging in soft red waves around her face.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, my voice raspy.
