“Can we delay?" Eryken asked. “Give him time?” But Casteel was beyond hearing him.
The healer checked Nero's pulse with clinical efficiency, then met Casteel’s gaze. "His body fights, but weakly. Perhaps a bell before the choice is made for you."
“I have made my choice,” Casteel said. He had. Even if…even if Nero didn't need him anymore.
The healer nodded solemnly, then began removing items from a leather satchel Casteel hadn't noticed her carrying. A curved silver blade, no longer than his palm. Vials of dark liquid that seemed to absorb the lamplight. Bundles of dried herbs that filled the room with an ancient, earthy scent.
"The ritual must be performed completely," she instructed, her weathered hands arranging the items with practiced precision. "Any interruption could prove fatal to both of you." Her storm-gray eyes found Eryken's. "Your men will need to stand guard. What we do here tonight cannot be witnessed by those who would use such knowledge against us."
Eryken hesitated, his mind clearly warring with concern for his former lieutenant. "How long will it take?"
"Until dawn, perhaps longer." The healer was already mixing herbs in a small bronze bowl, her movements precise despite the urgency. "The wolf-soul does not surrender easily, even when willingly given."
"We don't have until dawn," Lucan protested from his position by the window. "The patrols—"
"Will have to be dealt with if they come," Eryken said firmly, his decision made. "Makim, you'll assist the healer. Lucan, establish a perimeter. We'll have to handle any Silver Guard that venture too close."
As the others moved to their positions, Casteel knelt beside the bed, his hand finding Nero's. Through their bond, he felt his mate's life force flickering, growing weaker with each passing moment.
The healer lit a small brazier, filling the room with smoke that made Casteel's eyes water. "The old magic requires old words, and ultimate prices, willingly paid," she murmured, beginning to chant in a language he didn't recognize.
She took the silver blade in one hand, gesturing for Casteel to extend his arm. "Your blood first, to call the wolf-soul to the surface. Then his, to create the bridge between your life forces."
Casteel rolled up his sleeve without hesitation, offering his forearm to the healer's blade. The cut was shallow but precise, blood welling immediately to run down his skin into the bronze bowl below.
The moment his blood touched the herbs, something shifted in the room's atmosphere. The air grew thick, electric with power that made his skin crawl. Through their bond, he felt Nero stir, consciousness flickering as the ancient magic began to work.
The healer made a second cut on Nero's unresponsive arm, letting his blood mingle with Casteel's in the bronze bowl. Themixture began to glow with an eerie silver light that pulsed in rhythm with their shared heartbeat.
"Now the true work begins," the healer whispered, her hands moving in complex patterns above the bowl. "The wolf must be drawn forth willingly, completely. Hold nothing back, or both of you will be lost."
Casteel felt the silver wolf stir within him, responding to the ancient call. But as it rose toward the surface, agony unlike anything he'd ever experienced tore through his body. It felt as though his very soul was being flayed, each strand of wolf-magic ripped away with deliberate precision.
He bit back a scream, his body convulsing as the healer's chanting grew more intense. Through their bond, he felt Nero's consciousness sharpen, his mate somehow sensing what was happening despite his unresponsive state.
The pain intensified, white-hot fire racing through his veins as the wolf-soul fought against its own sacrifice. Casteel's vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges as his body struggled to contain the magical trauma.
"Let it go," the healer commanded, her voice seeming to come from very far away. "Release your hold or lose him forever."
With a final, agonized cry that he couldn't suppress, Casteel felt the silver wolf tear free from his essence. The last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him was a brilliant flash of silver light flowing from his body into Nero's still form, carrying with it everything that had made him special, everything that had made him more than human.
Everything that had made him hope that Nero would love him.
Chapter Fifteen
It was the secondtime Nero woke with Casteel lying by his side, but somehow, he didn’t think this was merely sleep.
Nero blinked in the dim light, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The last thing he remembered was lying in the wagon, each jolt sending fresh agony through his chest as they fled the city. No, they'd arrived at the inn. Hadn't they? Now he found himself in a small room, the air thick with the scent of herbs and something older, wilder—confusing.
Most alarming was Casteel's still form beside him on the narrow bed. His mate's face was ashen, lips tinged with an unnatural bluish pallor. Nero could sense him, but the connection felt...different. Changed in some fundamental way he couldn't articulate.
Stranger still was the sensation in his own body. The searing pain in his chest had diminished to a mild discomfort, and beneath that, a restless energy coursed through his veins. It reminded him of how Casteel had described the feeling just before transformation—a wild power straining for release.
Nero carefully pushed himself up, expecting the movement to trigger fresh agony. Instead, his body responded with surprising strength. The bandages around his chest were clean, no sign of the blood that had soaked through repeatedly during their escape.
"Casteel?" he whispered, touching his mate's face with trembling fingers. The skin felt cool, but not deathly so. "Wake up."
Through their bond, he sent a pulse of concern, of need. Casteel's consciousness flickered in response, but weakly, like a candle flame nearly guttered out.
