A lycan’s bond with their vampire is forged in magic older than civilization itself.
It can’t be severed, can’t be undone.
But it…diminishes.
Something inside me fully loosens, a tension I have carried for centuries, suddenly going slack. The constant hum of Crave’s presence in the back of my mind, the awareness of his locationand emotional state that I’ve carried like a second heartbeat, is still there.
Just quieter.
Softer.
Background noise instead of the primary signal.
And rushing in to fill that space, drowning out everything else, isher.
I go dead still, locked on her while the wolf under my skin makes up its mind before I can.
Mine.
The word lands hard and certain, deep enough to entrench itself inside me. There’s no hesitation or doubt, just instinct staking its claim.
And the worst part is… I believe it too.
I feel her terror, the confusion of waking up different, changed, hungry beyond reason, and unable to satisfy it, no matter how much she feeds. I feel her bloodlust, a new vampire’s uncontrollable need that drives every rational thought into screaming, feral hunger. I feel her exhaustion, the way her body is running on instinct alone, barely keeping her upright.
And beneath it all, I feel the pull.
Theneedto go to her.
To shield her.
To stand between her and every threat in this world and dare anything to try getting through me. Every oath I’ve ever sworn to Crave, every duty I’ve carried for my bloodline, every purpose I’ve built my life around—it’s all still there.
But it’s not…primaryanymore.
She is.
The fated mate bond doesn’t ask permission.
It just…is.
And it’s rewriting everything I thought I understood about duty, loyalty, and what it means to be a lycan.
I’m vaguely aware of Scorch moving beside me, his heat signature flaring as he prepares to defend against a hostile vampire. I’m distantly conscious of Dread’s fear aura creeping forward, ready to lock her down if she attacks.
But all I can focus on isher.
And the way myentire worldhas just tilted.
“Stand down,” I hear myself say, my voice coming out rougher than usual, layered with the lycan growl I usually keep buried. “Don’t fucking hurt her.”
Scorch’s head whips toward me. “What? Rogue, she’s feral. Look at her… she’s about to—”
“I said… stand down!” The command rips out of me with enough force that even Scorch takes a step back, his dragon instincts recognizing an alpha protecting his mate.
Because that’s what this is.
That’s what she is.
