“We complete the bond. Tonight, before the sun comes up. Once we’re mated, you’ll have the full protection of our combined strength. The pack will close ranks around us. And Rafe will think twice before attacking the bonded mate of someone who’s spent a decade putting his kind in the ground.”
I watch her face, bracing for the eruption I know is coming.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Maybe. Probably. But I’m also right.”
“I’m not binding myself to you for the rest of my life because some feral wolves crashed my escape attempt.” She practically spits the words at me. “That’s not protection. That’s a prison sentence.”
“It’s survival, Skylar. Pure and simple.”
“It’s control.” Her voice rises, cracking on the last syllable. “You want to lock me down. Trap me so I can’t run,can’t leave, can’t do anything without you hovering over my shoulder like some kind of deranged guardian angel.”
“I want you alive! I want to make sure you don’t end up like my parents. Like Mira. Torn apart in the middle of the night while I stand there after the fact and wonder what I could have done differently.”
The edge in my voice catches us both off guard. Skylar stares at me, and for just a moment, there’s something other than anger when she looks at me.
But then she shakes her head and says, “This is insane. All of it.”
“Probably. But it’s also our best option.” I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone. I’m calling Nic. He can authorize an emergency ceremony, and Amelia can perform it before dawn.”
“Bryan, stop—”
“You can hate me for the rest of your life. You can make me pay for every wrong I’ve ever done, every hurt I’ve ever caused. I’ll take all of it without complaint.” She doesn’t move, so I reach into the side pocket of her duffel bag, where I can see the outline of her phone pressing against the fabric. She doesn’t stop me. “But you have to be alive to do it. That’s non-negotiable.”
The phone unlocks with her face—she must have looked at it instinctively when I pulled it out—and I’m already dialing as I speak.
Nic picks up on the second ring.
***
The ceremony takes place in a meadow near the pack house, lit by a single torch. Elder Amelia stands before us in ahastily donned ceremonial robe with her gray hair unbound and her lined face still creased with sleep.
Nic watches from a few feet away with Luna at his side, both looking something between worry and weary acceptance. Thomas flanks the Alpha’s other side with his arms crossed over his chest. Ruby and James arrived moments ago, and Ruby keeps shooting concerned glances at Skylar that go unanswered.
Skylar hasn’t spoken since we got here. She’s just standing beside me in rigid silence with her jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles working beneath her skin. She hasn’t looked at me once.
“We gather in this hour before dawn to witness a sacred binding,” Elder Amelia intones. “Bryan Dinac and Skylar Reyes, chosen by the ancient magic of the lottery, brought together by forces older than memory.”
Skylar goes tense beside me, and her body vibrates with the effort of not bolting into the trees.
The ceremony is shorter than a traditional binding, stripped down to essential elements for the sake of necessity. Amelia speaks the old words, the ones that have joined mates together since before Silvercreek had a name. She invokes the moon and the forest and the spirits of those who came before. She asks the witnesses to acknowledge what they’re about to see.
Then she turns to us.
“Bryan Dinac, do you accept this woman as your bonded mate? Do you swear to protect her, provide for her, and honor the connection between your souls until death separates you?”
“I do,” I reply with a curt nod and no smile.
Amelia’s attention moves to the woman beside me. “Skylar Reyes, do you accept this man as your bonded mate?Do you swear to stand beside him, support him, and honor the connection between your souls until death separates you?”
The silence stretches. One heartbeat. Two. Three.
I can feel the witnesses holding their breath, and Nic’s gaze boring into the side of my head. I can feel Skylar’s internal war as clearly as if it were my own.
“I do.” The words sound like they’re being dragged over broken glass, but she says them.
Amelia produces a small ceremonial knife, its blade worn thin from generations of use. She takes my hand first and slices the edge across my palm. Blood wells up, dark against my skin. Then she does the same to Skylar, who doesn’t flinch even though I can smell the spike of pain through the bond that’s already beginning to form.
