"Maren." His voice is steady, anchoring. "Look at me."
I force my eyes open. He's kneeling beside the bed, his face level with mine, and his hand cups my jaw.
"The transformation is happening faster than normal," he says. "The ley lines, the ceremony—it amplified everything. But I'm here. Feel the bond. I'm with you through every second of this."
The bond flares bright between us, and I cling to it like a lifeline. His love pours through the connection, steady and certain and unshakeable.
Another wave of pain crashes through me. My spine arcs, and I bite back a scream.
"Don't hold it back," Jonah says. "Let it out. No one's judging you."
So I scream. The sound tears from my throat, raw and primal, and somewhere beneath the pain I feel the bear respond.She's rising, pushing toward the surface, demanding space in this body we're going to share.
Jonah climbs onto the bed beside me, pulling me against his chest. One hand strokes my hair, the other holds my hand—our palms still sticky with drying blood, the mate bond blazing between us.
"Tell me what you feel," he says.
"Everything." The word comes out broken. "It hurts everywhere. But also—" I gasp as another wave hits. "Need. I need?—"
"I know." His voice drops lower, rougher. "The mate bond. It's demanding completion."
He's right. Through the pain, there's something else building. A hunger that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with the man holding me. The bond pulls taut between us, and my body responds even as it's changing, heat pooling low in my belly.
"Is this normal?" I manage.
"For mate bonds, yes." His hand slides from my hair down my spine, and even through the pain, the touch sends electricity through me. "The ritual isn't complete until we are. Mind, body, and soul."
His lips find the pulse point below my ear, and I arch into him. The transformation pain and the need tangle together until I can't separate them. My skin is hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive and screaming.
"Jonah." His name is a plea.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my throat. "Let me help."
His hands move with purpose, stripping away my borrowed clothes. The fabric feels wrong against my changing skin anyway, and when it's gone, the cool air is a relief. But then Jonah's warmth replaces it, his body pressing against mine, and that's better. That's right.
The mate bond flares brighter. I can feel what he's feeling—desire and love and fierce protectiveness all tangled together. His need matches mine, amplified by the magic binding us.
He kisses me, deep and claiming, and I open for him. His taste floods my senses, familiar and new at the same time. Everything is sharper now, more intense. I can smell his arousal, hear the way his heartbeat quickens, feel the tremor in his hands as they map my changing body.
"Your cells are restructuring," he says, his voice strained. "This will help. Skin contact, connection—it channels the ley line energy, makes the transformation easier."
I don't care about the mechanics. I just know I need him closer.
My hands fumble with his clothes, clumsy with pain and need. He helps, shrugging out of his shirt, and then his skin is against mine, hot and solid and perfect. The mate bond sings between us, and some of the pain eases.
"Better?" he asks.
"More," I demand.
His laugh is rough. "Greedy."
"Your fault." I pull him down for another kiss. "You made me like this."
"No regrets." His hands slide lower, and I gasp against his mouth. "Tell me if it's too much."
It's not too much. It's not enough. The transformation is still happening, cells rewriting, but now it's woven through with pleasure. Every touch sends sparks along my nerves. Every kiss pulls the mate bond tighter.
When he finally enters me, the world fractures. Not breaks—transforms. The mate bond detonates between us, golden light searing through every nerve ending. I arch into him, gasping his name as he fills me completely, and the sensation is almost toomuch. Almost. My nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring myself as he begins to move.
