Page 39 of Unveiled

A chill swept down Connor’s spine. “And what is it owed?”

Morrigan studied him, really studied him, and for a moment the shop felt far too small, far too quiet. “It is owed acknowledgment,” Morrigan murmured. “Integration. Trust. A willingness to stand together rather than apart.”

“But we just met,” Connor snapped. “How the hell are we meant to—”

The tug hit again. Sharper this time. Low in his ribs, like sliding a hook into him and pulling enough to warn, not enough to harm. He jerked a fraction, heard the hitch in his breath, betraying the mirrored sensation.

Morrigan sighed. “There. You feel it already. That is the bond growing impatient.”

Adrian pressed a hand to his sternum, his breath unsteady. “I don’t want this.”

“Wanting isn’t part of the equation,” Morrigan said softly. “The bond chose. The Triarc witnessed. The Council is watching. The only question left is whether you meet it on your feet or on your knees.”

Connor stepped forward, a spark of something fierce flaring through the tension. “We don’t kneel,” he growled. “Not to the Council. Not to destiny. Not to any bloody binding that thinks it can tell us what—”

The tug yanked hard enough that both men staggered as though something inside them snapped taut at the exact same moment. Adrian’s breath left him in a shaky gasp. Connor swore, low and vicious.

Morrigan nodded. “Exactly that. The more you resist, the louder it gets.”

Adrian’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Connor. What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said quietly. “But we’ll figure it out.”

The bond pulsed once both warm and in warning, as if approving, or perhaps demanding more.

Morrigan straightened, his expression turning grave. “If you keep resisting, the binding will escalate until it gets what it wants.” He paused. “And trust me. You do not want to learn the hard way what that looks like.”

The room went still. The bond between them throbbed slowly as if in agreement. And for the first time, Connor understood.

This wasn’t a mark.

It was a countdown.

Chapter Twelve

Connor

The air inside Morrigan’s shop felt too thin, too still, as though the walls were holding their breath around the three of them.

Connor stared at Adrian. Not at the mark, but at him. Something old and instinctive unfurled in his chest. Protectiveness. Fury. And beneath all of it, a bone-deep certainty he couldn’t yet name.

Adrian adjusted his coat. He’d paled, but his eyes, green and bright, never left Connor’s.

“This can’t be our problem,” Adrian said, his voice low. “The Council isn’t after me alone, surely? They moved an entire village. They’re testing the Veil. They’re sending these Nightwrought things through cracks that shouldn’t exist. We can’t handle that alone.”

Connor nodded slowly. “Aye. We’ll need both the clans.”

Morrigan arched a brow. “Unity? Between wolves and wanderers? Between Brannigan pride and Gauthier fire? Now there’s a novelty.”

“We need to get them ready,” Adrian said. “Prepared. Informed.” His voice tightened. “I’m not letting the Council anywhere near my people.”

Connor’s reply came without hesitation. “Or mine.” Nothing is going to harm anyone in my valley. Or you. I’ll die first.

The bond pulsed again between them, quieter this time, as if acknowledging the truth they’d spoken aloud.

Morrigan clasped his hands behind his back. “Then gather them. Bring both clans together. Tell them what must be told. Train them for what must be faced.”

Connor shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this.” Damn the man.