“I promise.”
I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. Alex’s heartbeat filled the room, fast and strong. I closed my eyes and let the sound hold me.
42
— • —
Finneas
We were in bed about two weeks after the scare when she asked about the bite.
She’d been tracing the back of my neck, her fingers light on the skin there, running over the spot where a mating mark would go. I don’t think she knew what she was touching. Or maybe she did and she was working up to the question, because Andrea never asked anything without thinking about it first.
“What does the bond actually do?” she said. “The full version. You’ve told me pieces but I want to know all of it.”
I shifted so I was facing her. Her belly was between us, round enough now that we’d learned to navigate around it, and the low light caught her green eyes.
“The bite goes here.” I touched the back of her neck, right at the nape. She shivered. “Both of us. You bite me, I bite you. At the same time.”
“That sounds... primal.”
“It is.”
“What happens after?”
“The bond locks in. Permanent. You feel what I feel, I feel what you feel. Not thoughts, not words. Emotions. If you’re happy, I feel warmth. If you’re scared, I feel the fear. If you’re angry...” I paused. “I’ll probably feel that one a lot.”
She smacked my arm. “Continue.”
“It doesn’t fade. It doesn’t break. Once it’s done, it’s for life. Some mated pairs say it’s like having another heartbeat in your chest. You’re never fully alone.”
She was quiet, her fingers still on the back of my neck. “So if I was sad, you’d know.”
“Instantly.”
“If I was in danger.”
“I’d feel it before you told me.”
“And you’d feel all of this.” She gestured at herself, at the belly. “The back pain, the heartburn, the three am bathroom trips.”
“I’d feel that you’re uncomfortable. Not the specifics.”
“Small mercies.” She was quiet again, turning it over the way she turned everything over, carefully, from every angle. “I want to do it. But after Alex. I want to be fully myself when it happens. Not the exhausted, swollen version who can’t see her own feet.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“I haven’t seen my feet in three weeks.”
“Still beautiful.”
“Shut up.” But she was smiling, pressing back against me, and Alex kicked against my palm.
“He’s voting yes,” I said.
“He’s kicking because he’s out of room. Don’t project your agenda onto our unborn child.”
I laughed against her hair and held her tighter and felt the weight of what she’d just agreed to settle into my chest. The mating bond. She said yes. Not yet, but yes. After everything I’d done, after all the damage, she was choosing to tie her soul to mine permanently, and the trust in that choice was bigger than anything I deserved.
