Remi:
More complex than that. It’s a soul-deep tether. For a necromancer, it would likely be a creature attuned to death or spirit energy.
Ezra:
Or it could be a liability. Another point of weakness to exploit.
Ezra’s comment hit a little too close to home. My shoulders tensed. That was exactly what I was afraid of. As much as the guy seemed to hate me, I worried about a lot of the same things he did. Mainly, my power going crazy and hurting people I cared about.
Remi:
It could be an essential anchor point. And less volatile than being bound to a mate alone.
Angel set another tray down in front of me—fruits, veggies, dip, and bread—the sheer volume of food momentarily overwhelming. My stomach flipped. Another bond. Anotherthread tying my fate to something, or someone, else. It was the story of my life now, a series of choices where every ripple could either save me or pull me under.
Victor:
It’s about time you formalized the bond with that tiny fae stalker. The rest of us have been smelling the intent on him for weeks.
I stared at the screen. They all knew. Of course, they knew. The shifters could smell it, and Victor, with his preternatural senses, had clearly seen the writing on the wall, or in the air around me.
Angel’s hand settled on the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing slow circles.
“Sneaky bastards,” I grumbled.
Angel snorted. “We’ve all learned to walk carefully around humans.”
“But you’re human, too.” I sighed. “And I really mean that.”
“I know. We all know. You’re the one new to the scary side of magic. We’ve been doing this for decades.”
I might have liked to think that working in homicide gave me more credibility, but this supernatural thing certainly made me flounder. I’d gone from knowing buckets of things it would take others ages to decipher, to nothing. But I was nothing if not determined.
My focus turned to Nox, who was busy letting Peanut Butter give him a bath. “Hey, want to do this bond thing officially?” I asked, even if I wasn’t certain how much Nox thought like a person. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything because I got you out of that jar, okay?”
Nox poofed across the room in a whisper of displaced air, landing at my side on silent paws. Peanut Butter paused, lookingbriefly annoyed, then got up and nuzzled himself beneath Ivan’s blanket. Nox looked up at me, his purple eyes glowing with a knowing light, and chirped. Then he butted his head against my knee.
As he did, the world fell away, and the tapestry of his existence blossomed before my sight. It was a breathtaking, heartbreaking, collection of threads—silver for mischief, gold for ancient magic, and deep violet for secrets. How I knew what all those meant, I couldn’t have explained, only that I felt them. But woven through it all were threads of frayed, faded gray, the scars of his imprisonment. And there, at the very core of his being, was a terrible snarl. A knot of damaged, near-snapped threads, so tight and distorted it was a miracle he functioned at all.
Wrapped around that damaged core, holding the fragile pieces together by sheer, desperate will, was a single, bright navy thread.
Mine.
The realization was humbling. Nat had said Nox was on the brink. I’d thought I’d just given him a ride. I hadn’t realized my own wild magic had thrown him a lifeline, a clumsy, desperate stitch that had kept him from completely unraveling. It was holding, but it was a mess, a tourniquet wound too tight, and not a healing.
“Oh, little guy,” I breathed, my throat tight. “You’ve been holding on so tight. I’m sorry I’ve been a clueless dumbass. Can I fix it?”
I reached out, not with my hands, but with the gentle, focused intent Nat had taught me. My consciousness brushed against that snarled knot, feeling the strain, the fragility. With infinite care, I guided the navy thread to loosen and loop as a reinforcement, smoothing out the kinks and adding strength.
I coaxed the frayed silver threads of his spirit to relax and intertwine, mending the breaks with filaments of my ownsteadfast will. It was like patiently untangling a priceless, ancient necklace, each movement deliberate and reverent.
There was a way to tie off my connection to him and release our bond without harming him, but he nudged me with his nose, brushing my fingers, indicating his preferred direction. A true bond.
“You’re sure?” I asked, still focused on his weave while Angel wrapped around me, giving me focus and grounding me in his warmth. The definition of Nox’s threads gave me a sobering clarity. I knew, without studying or reading any book, which lines could be severed to send him from this life and which ones tied him to others. It was a heady sort of power that I didn’t deserve and worried about anyone else having control.
But Nox licked my hand, then nuzzled it, his gaze flipping to the section that needed to be fixed, and I continued to retie the threads. The fibers relaxed, weaving together into a strong, resilient patchwork. The navy of my essence and the silver of his no longer fought; they complemented, creating a pattern that was uniquely, beautifully ours.
As the final thread settled into place, a profound sense of rightness washed through me. The world snapped back into focus, sharper and more vibrant than before. I could feel the warm solidity of Angel at my back, the scent of coffee and food, and the soft rhythm of Ivan’s breathing from across the room with a preternatural clarity.
