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From the depths of my memory, I dredge up the spell of binding that I’ve practiced for a year. An answering call stokes the embers in my belly. Heat rushes over me, building inside of me, pushing me toward another release. “Ready?” I ask in a breathless gasp.
“Ready,” they echo. Each holds a sharpened blade, already sanctified for our binding ceremony.
I speak the words in a lilting chant, soft at first but with building resonance. With each verse, circles of light wrap around us until there are three cords weaving among us.
I finish invoking the spell that would root their essence into my skin. It becomes a knotted vine in the middle of my back and the hollow of my chest.
Bonded. Now for the markings.
I relax while they choose where to mark my flesh. Logan, the asshole that he was, sinks his teeth into my rump. Owain marks my thigh, Thorn bites the other. Mordred claims the back of my neck. Doyle wants my wrists.
“Mine,” each of them growls as they made their mark.
The pain is like a brand searing my very soul. My body arches, reveling in the pain and pleasure. I moan their names, reveling in each bite that binds us together as one. Permanently.
I gasp, panting, as I come down from the rush of magical power. The clearing has changed, the air thick with the scents of lust, arousal, and completion.
“You couldn’t be earlyfor your own ascension?” My mother hisses at me in a low whisper.
“I’m still on time, mother. Let’s just be happy about that.”
She tucks an errant hair behind my ear. “I know. I just want this to go well for you. You don’t have to do this so soon. You can still wait until next year. Or five years.”
“You know, this is the only way I can have my chosen mates.”
“I know,” she says with a sigh. “You’re much braver than I would’ve been. Choosing to mate with monsters. I’m proud of you.”
I roll my eyes. My mother sees power and magic when she sees my bondmates. Another source of strength to leverage.
I see love and friendship. Partnership. Companionship.
A true family.
Too soon, the mage council arrives. I stand by my mother as she welcomes the cloaked guests in the foyer. Their elegant tones and charming words create a discordant sound in my ear.
Magic. Even among allies, these men have no shame casting a spell or two. Compulsion spells, I’m guessing. As a natural witch, none of their petty charms affect me.
I lead the arrivals to the study, where the contracts will be drawn. It is a large space, rivaling that of a scholarly library, with dark woods and leather, suitable to be a well of knowledge. My father wove intricate shield spells throughout the foundation of the house, but especially this room. A mage can never be too careful considering some rites could open portals across time and space, and who knows what eldritch creature will slip through weak defenses?
Speaking of eldritch creatures, a young mage swaggers into the room. Soren Youngblood. A warlock of warlocks whose bloodline can be traced to the witch of Endor. His long white hair flows down his back, a stark contrast to his deep olive complexion. He is handsome in a generic way. His aristocratic features make him look masculine and strong, and in another universe, perhaps he would be attractive. Hot, even.
However, he’s a bully through and through. I would rather bond myself to a cadaverous bog creature than him. He’s the type to find importance in magical blood quantum and treats non-humans as lesser.
“Happy birthday, ‘Nyx.”
Soren’s gaze is like an unwelcome touch on my skin. I suppress a shiver. The only thing keeping the insults inside my mouth is knowing he is not taking part in my ceremony. “It sure is. If you wish to continue making it happy, please feel free to leave.”
“And miss your ascension and all that you have to offer? Never.” He leans in close enough to whisper. “Perhaps I’ll win the right of claiming?”
The right of claiming?He is full of himself. The only way he gets that is if he overpowers the chosen stud, who I would fight alongside in order to keep Soren away from me.
It is on the tip of my tongue to tell him off, but my mother interjects. “Soren Youngblood, my, you’ve grown up. I remember when you were yet a baby.”
Annoyance flickers over his face, so quickly a normal person may miss it. But neither my mother nor I are normal people. “So nice to see you once more, Mrs. Rindara. Will you be staying for the ceremony?”
“Of course.” She places her hand on the small of my back. “Come, dear, there are a few people you need to introduce yourself to.”
And just like that, my mother graciously pivots me away from a creep and toward three distinguished-looking people.
