“No.”
“The circle?—”
“Can choke.”
“It will collapse.”
“Good.”
Corin shouts from the perimeter, but the circle’s shriek swallows his words. The runes spin out of alignment. The barrier fractures into jagged panes of red light. The immortal strands in my core recoil from the severance and slam back toward their anchors with brutal force. Pain crushes me flat, vast and absolute. My arms close around Sable by instinct, shielding her head against my chest even as light splits me open.
The first strand snaps back into place, and I roar against the night.
The second follows, burning a path through me so violently my back arches from the ground. Sable holds tighter, sobbing against my throat, her fingers dug into my hair and shoulder as though sheer stubbornness can keep my soul from leaving. Perhaps, gods help us all, it can.
The circle explodes downward. All its gathered force plunges into the earth beneath us, cracking the frozen yard in a perfect ring. Dirt bursts up around the perimeter. Corin throws himself aside as red light races through the ground and vanishes beneath the roots of the trees. The barrier drops, and the runes gutter out one by one, hissing like snakes in rain.
Sable and I collapse together onto the blackened grass, tangled in smoke, frost, and the ruin of my good intentions. Her breath is hot against my neck. Mine comes broken, caught somewhere between a growl and a prayer. Corin’s breathing remains steady nearby, deliberate and measured, the sound of a man forcing panic into usefulness because someone has to remain civilized among the ruins.
The night smells of scorched earth, winter, and Sable’s tears.
I lie on my back, half-curled around her while my body seals itself with agonizing slowness. The infernal cracks across my chest narrow from the inside, each one knitting shut with a heat that makes my muscles jump. The immortal strands are back in place, damaged and angry, but intact.
Sable lifts her head, her face streaked with soot and tears. A shallow burn marks one cheek where the barrier kissed her, and the sight fills me with such immediate rage that the ground beneath my hand begins to smolder.
She slaps my chest with a trembling hand. “You idiot.”
“Sable—”
“No. You do not get my name yet.”
I close my mouth.
Her breath catches, but she presses on, eyes bright and furious. “I told you we choose together.”
“I was choosing to spare you.”
“You were choosing for me.”
The words land clean, brutal, and true.
Corin kneels beside us with one knee in the scorched grass, his iron rod laid across his thighs. He does not touch either of us. His gaze remains fixed on the bond, assessing it as if it is a bridge after an earthquake.
“Keep breathing,” he says quietly. “Both of you.”
Sable snaps, “I am breathing.”
“Wonderful. Continue as a hobby.”
Her glare should peel paint. Corin accepts it like a tax.
I force air into my lungs. Each inhale tastes like blood and ash. “The bond?”
“Violently offended,” Corin says, “though it appears to be stabilizing.”
Sable looks down at me, her hands still on my chest over the places where the cracks are closing. “Do you feel that?”
I do.
