Ones who have failed this place as thoroughly as I have.
I step closer.
“The earth needs no other witness,” I tell her, voice low. “And I am Dagan, Lord of Earth. My word is law in the Marches. I want no eyes on you but mine.” I hold out my free hand. “No one else deserves a single fraction of this.”
Her lips part.
Color blooms high in her cheeks.
Slowly, she puts her other hand in mine.
Her fingers are warm.
“Our bond will tie more than us, Alina,” I say. “Through me, it will root into these lands. Through you, it will reach your world and the cracks tearing through it. I would have you understand what I ask.”
“I do,” she whispers. “At least, as much as I can right now.”
Chapter 6
Dagan
The Rite of Bonding, The Barrow
She said yes.
I draw in a steadying breath.
The roots underfoot pulse once.
I hear them.
Now.
I obey.
I sink to one knee in the purple grass at her feet, head bowed for a single breath.
Then I look up.
“At this heart-root,” I say, voice ringing in the stone, “beneath the singular Glowworm Moon, before the elder that binds the Marches, I ask you now, Alina Fawcett of Earth?—”
Fuck, her name feels right in my mouth.
Dangerously right.
“—accept my claim. My bond. My body.” I hold her gaze, letting her see everything I usually bury deep. The scars. The fury. The fear. The aching, relentless want. “I ask you to be mine, Oona.”
Her eyes widen.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
The land goes utterly still.
Then I feel it.
A subtle tremor—not of stone, but of thread.
The zareth, the bond-line, brightening between us like a buried vein catching light.
