Page 115 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Grier’s hand lands on my shoulder, steadying me. He sees it, the place I’ve gone.

“There was a blast at the tethering ceremony.” Grier’s voice is calm and measured. Giving me time to collect myself. “At the Willowmeres’ tethering, the magic responded like nothing we’ve ever seen. It should have been flowers, maybe a small tree. Instead…the reaction was catastrophic. Trees erupted fully grown. The blast threw everyone back.”

I force myself back, back to her, back to now.

He glances at me, but I still can’t speak.

“We were on the north side of the altar,” he continues. “Closest to the epicenter. The force threw us. By the time we found you, you had broken ribs and a deep gash on your right side. You’d lost a lot of blood.”

Gemma’s eyes widen. Her hand moves instinctively toward her ribs, then stops when the motion pulls at her stitches.

“There’s never been a tethering reaction that strong,” Grier adds quietly. “Not in any recorded history I’ve seen anyway. The bond between Lord and Lady Willowmere must have been…extraordinary…”

He trails off. He’s right; it was extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime, the kind of connection most people only dream of.

“How long have I been out…” Gemma asks.

“Three days.” Grier glances at me again. “After we found you, the ground opened beneath us. It swallowed the three of us, and we don’t know how, but it deposited us far north, in the snow. We carried you until we found this cabin.”

Her gaze drifts around the cabin. Taking in the worn furniture, the dying fire, and the elderly couple still asleep in the bed in the corner.

“The couple who live here, Olin and Marel, they’ve been caring for you,” Grier says quietly. “They stitched your wound. Made poultices for your ribs. They’ve been unwavering.”

A look flickers across Gemma’s face at the names.

“How are you feeling?” I brush the hair from her face. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Water.” The word comes out cracked and dry.

Grier is already moving. He grabs the cup Marel left by the fire and brings it to me, so I don’t have to shift Gemma from my arms. I take it with a grateful nod and bring it to her lips, tilting it slowly.

She drinks small sips at first, then deeper. Some dribbles down her chin, and I catch it with my thumb.

“Slowly,” I murmur. “Not too fast.”

She finishes half the cup. Grier takes it back without a word. We’ve fallen into this rhythm over the past three days, anticipating each other, moving together. There’s no competition, no tension, just two men caring for the woman who matters most.

“Better?”

She nods weakly. Then her eyes meet mine. And it nearly ruins me.

Seeing those eyes after three days of watching them stay closed makes my throat tighten. I have to blink back the burning behind my eyes.

“Where’s Finn?” Her brow furrows.

The question catches me off guard. Of all the things to ask, not about herself, not about how badly she’s hurt, she asks about Finn.

Something twists in my chest. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just…confusion. They’re close, I know that. But there’s real urgency in her voice. There’s something about Finn and Gemma that I’m not seeing. It sits heavy, but I push it aside because now isn’t the time.

“We don’t know.” I keep my voice gentle. “He and Rosie were on the south side of the altar, farther from the blast. We were closest, that’s why we were thrown so far.”

“He’s probably fine,” Grier adds. His voice is softer than I expect, almost tender. “The south side took less damage. At least from what we saw before the ground swallowed us.”

He reaches out and brushes her wrist, brief but deliberate.

“He’s strong, Gemma. He’ll be okay.”

A look I don’t understand passes between them. Grier holds her gaze with a quiet certainty, like he understands her fear in a way I don’t. Gemma’s shoulders loosen at his words in a way they didn’t at mine, and the sting of that is sharper than I’m prepared for.