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Gunter cleared his throat and went on. “Another drop for united hearts. May your desires and passions belong to each other always.”

Again, Roark’s blood fell onto my tongue the same as he took mine. The spice and heat intensified, flowing from my mouth down my throat. I stepped closer to him, some force, some need, urging me to feel him, breathe him in. Roark seemed to feel something much the same. One of his palms drifted from my hands to my waist, to his fingertips touching every divot on my spine.

“For the final draw”—Gunter took my other hand—“the drop for entwined souls. May your love, your life, and your death be bound together into the long halls of Salur.”

My fingers trembled when I placed my palm to Roark’s lips. When it was my turn, the moment I licked the drop of blood off his skin, a shudder racked my body. I braced against his chest, desperate to touch him. A feeling so fierce, so consuming, enveloped me until it seemed there would be no relief if I did not crack open his chest and nestle inside his ribs.

Somewhere inside me was a heat unlike any I’d felt, not harsh like an unforgiving sun, but gentle, intoxicating. A tug and a stitch, a pull and a jab, it felt as though threads replaced my veins and a loom worked them nearer, tighter, against Roark’s body.

Perhaps he felt much the same, for in the next moment, Roark’s hand abandoned my hips and spine and gripped the back of my neck, holding my brow to his. He drew in a long breath, his jaw tense, as though the same need devoured him.

Soft laughter filled the room. Gunter placed a hand on my shoulder and one on Roark’s, urging us to part, and I was not certain I could recall a time when I yearned to kill a man so fiercely.

He grinned. “I must secure the weave of your souls, then you can have your way with him. Right now they are completely bared to each other, and it can be intense.”

I would not call the fire engulfing me intense. It was staggering.

With another long draw through his nose, Gunter pressed one palm against the place over my heart and his other over Roark’s. He closed his eyes. “As I weave them together, it helps keep them clear in my craft if you speak your own vows.”

Roark’s eyes burned like embers. He wasted no time before he had one palm against my cheek. You brighten the night, you brighten my soul, and you have from my first glance. I swear I will try each day to do the same for you.

The sting of tears blurred my sight. I covered his palm on my face. “You are my hunter, my protector, my lover. I swear to you, all that I have in my heart will be yours.”

Another pull yanked me forward, like a hook beneath my breastbone. The sensation was fierce enough that I let out a rough cough. Gunter did not open his eyes, merely placed the palm that had been on my chest on Roark’s, then did the same to me.

“Keep going,” he said, his voice so low I almost missed the command. “I am all at once realizing a split soul takes more intricate weaving.”

Roark touched his thumb to my lip. To love you is my honor, my privilege.

I did not need to look at his palms. His words stunned me, a shock to the heart. I was lost in them, never noticing the shift of the room, the way warm air turned frosted.

“I swear to choose you, Melder. Your soul remains bright over the rest.”

All gods. Skul Drek held my burning face in his cold palms.

Between us the threads of gold split and spread, like a dozen ribbons binding every part of me to every shadow of him. The gold sank deeper into my shoulders, my throat, my chest, my middle. From the darkness, I could make out Gunter’s glowing shape, moving and adjusting the bonds. Almost the same way I melded bone.

I stepped against Skul Drek, nestling into his darkness. I placed a palm beneath his cowl, touching the icy mist of his face. Here, in the mirror, he was not the same as he’d been in the bedchamber. He was a phantom, but he was mine.

“I promise that with what we face, there is no one I wish to stand beside more than you,” I said. “For you alone, I would give my soul. It was always yours.”

Filaments binding me to Skul Drek burned between us. A thousand ropes of golden steel, unbreakable, unmovable. I was his, he was mine. Always.

When the mists of the mirror began to fade, I rose onto my toes and pressed my lips to the cold shadows of his face until warmth replaced the cool air and Roark’s tongue brushed with mine, again and again.

Light returned, the gleam of the bond fastening us together faded, but the power remained. A draw unlike any I’d felt before cleaved me to Roark Ashwood. It was not forced, and I knew it.

Strange, but should I choose it, I knew I would be free to walk away. The thought simply made me want to retch.

Roark’s fingers dug into my hair, tousling my braid. He kissed me fiercely for another breath, then pulled away, breathing deeply.

My hands rested against the stubble of his face, my brow pressed to his, and I could not stomach the idea of not touching him.

Until a throat cleared, and I realized that we had unknowingly smashed half of Gunter’s body between our chests. With a touch of reluctance, I pulled back, but kept one hand laced with Roark’s.

“Many thanks.” Gunter faced the others, arms open. “I present our newest sjeleven bond. And with such a bond, our newest member of the clan, Lyra.”

Emi bounced on her toes, then rushed over to where we stood. Her arms were slim, but she managed to hook one around each of our necks, squeezing me and Roark against her.