Anna.
Of course.
“That was nice of her,” Sean said faintly because he could think of nothing else to say. From his peripheral vision, he noted David’s slow nod.
“She’s disgustingly thoughtful, in case you haven’t noticed.”
The man said it like it was a bad thing. Irredeemable. But a thin strand of affection wove its way through their connection, belying his words.
Great. They couldn’t even lie to each other anymore.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sean said with a long exhale.
David pointed at the book. “Read it. It’s riveting, I promise. Life-changing.”
Life-changing.
Sean’s thoughts touched on the Sending.
You can’t tell David.
Isobel’s warning that night had seemed silly. When would he be talking to David about anything?
But now? Did David even know the Sending existed? Would anyone have bothered to tell him? Had David learned why they called Sean Savior, or did he assume it was simply the bloodline?
Isobel’s fear of that prophecy was the reason she’d bound them. If it truly predicted David might become his ancestor, that the two of them might one day become enemies, Sean needed to tell him. It affected them both.
He strangled the sigh that wanted to emerge.
Not tonight. This thing between them was too new to test with harsh truths and thoughts of betrayal. If he had to share his soul, he wanted the prodigal piece untroubled, not clawing to get free.
Sean didn’t believe in fate anyway.
At the door, David paused. They shared a look, uncertain but not uncomfortable. An understanding.
Then he was gone, and Sean was alone with the sky and the cold and the flickering Luster all about him.
He flipped open the book.
The cracked glass of his remaining hope finally shattered. The shards disseminated through his bloodstream, cutting and shredding with every beat of his heart.
The words described a pervasive force that erased two people and created something new. The strongest parts of each personality remained, while the weaker parts faded to make room. The spell started as a flimsy cord between them, but it would grow stronger. They’d be connected regardless of the space between them. Sensory information would process so they both felt it—pain first, then tactile stimulation, posture, balance, auditory, visual.
Beyond that, a time would come when their thoughts aligned, when their memories could be recalled by either party, when an emotion experienced by one would affect the other. They’d breathe together, their hearts would beat together, and eventually those on the outside would no longer be able to tell them apart.
Every experience, thought, and opinion would be shared, and in the end, so would death—though that last part had never been proven. The stories of those bound had been lost over the centuries, and the author remained uncertain whether the couplets had died together or because the one left behind couldn’t bear to be shred in half and ended it themself.
No antidote existed, no way to rip the souls apart without permanent damage.
When he finished, well past midnight and shiveringfrom cold, Sean threw the book to the bench beside him. The headache pulsed in his temples.
David was asleep. How he knew this, he couldn’t say, but Sean was certain.
He was also certain he didn’t care.
Tossing his cloak to the sofa inside, he strode down Autumn and David’s hallway. With three sharp knocks, he let himself inside David’s room.
David threw his arm out to block his eyes. “Fuck, Archer.”
