Page 68 of Mating Her Dragon

"…I will choose my way back to you. I will always choose my way back to you."

He didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't have to. Carrick was already moving them forward, into the part neither of them could rehearse.

"As it is spoken in the ancient texts, and given to us by Shavon, the First Elder, I now must say, open your side of the Bond," Carrick said quietly. "Both of you. Freely, or not at all."

Garrett felt his door the way he'd felt it for months now. It was closed, guarded, patient, waiting on the other side of whatever wall he'd built to keep from asking too much too soon. Sydney's door sat opposite it, close enough now that he sometimes forgot it wasn't already open. The braid, their Mating Bond, ran between the two doors, thick with all four presences woven through it– Garrett, Sydney, Han, Kara.

He did not reach for hers. He opened his own.

In the same breath, hers opened too.

“Yes,” Kara said, from somewhere inside Sydney. Her voice was warm and certain, heard by all in attendance.

“Yes,” Han said right after her, with no hesitation at all, his voice heard by everyone in attendance.

With all four confirmations, the Mating Bond opened, all the way, at last.

It didn't explode. It didn't overwhelm Garrett the way he'd half-braced for. It simply opened, as if standing patiently at the door for months, waiting only to be let in.

Garrett felt Sydney. Not her thoughts laid bare like pages in a book– that would have been a theft, and neither of them wanted that kind of Mating Bond. What he felt was Sydney’s presence, whole and unguarded for the first time. He was filled with love, certainty, and the terror she'd already decided not to listen to. Then, somewhere behind it all, he heard Kara humming a warm and pleasant tune.

Sydney's breath caught out loud. He felt, through the Mating Bond and across the six inches of air between them, the exact moment she felt him back. He knew when she felt Han, the old scars, centuries of duty Garrett had worn like armor, and underneath every bit of it an amount of love he'd apparently been disguising as tactical planning for longer than either of them had noticed.

She laughed, wet and startled, through actual tears. "That's a lot," she said, smiling a smile of true happiness and love.

"What is?"

"You."

He would have laughed too, if his chest hadn't been too full to manage it. For one long, perfect moment, standing on the bluff with his hands full of her, nothing bad happened anywhere in any Realm.

Garrett let himself have it. Let Sydney have it. They deserved it, and so much more.

The blood exchange came next. Carrick guided them through the ancient ritual, the one Shavon herself had insisted belonged to every Special One's Mating Ceremony since the very first. Garrett barely felt the small cut on his palm, but he felt everything else about it. The warmth of the promise underneath it, sealing physical to Magical, the last piece locking into place, was all right there in his heart and soul.

"By blood freely given," Carrick said, voice carrying now, "by the Mating Bond freely opened, by the vow freely spoken– I pronounce you, Garrett, and you, Sydney, officially Mated in..."

Not almost. Not awaiting completion. Not technically… They were Mated. All that was left was the Mating mark, the outward representation of the Universe's Blessing. Shavon had said that, for the Special One and her Mate, that came when they consummated the Mating.

Garrett felt those words, officially Mated, land in his chest like something built to hold weight for the rest of his life. Sydney kissed him before Carrick had entirely finished the sentence.

"I wasn't done," Carrick said, sounding aggrieved.

"You were close enough," Sydney said against Garrett's mouth.

Everyone laughed. Bonnie cried loudly and denied it immediately and completely. Maggie didn't bother denying anything. Ginnie was smiling so brightly it looked like it might hurt. Somewhere in the noise, a champagne cork went off like a small, delighted gunshot.

They gave themselves a few minutes of nothing but that. Cake. Champagne nobody needed. Laughter that didn't have a single thing to do with prophecy or Bonds or roads to Hell.

Garrett stood at the edge of the bluff with Sydney tucked against his side. The Pacific was gold and endless in front of them. And he thought, with a clarity that felt like the first true breath he'd taken in a hundred years: This was what surviving had been for.

Not the battle. Not revenge. Not even Leviathan, finally, someday, defeated.

This. Her. Sydney. The ridiculous Airstream parked behind them. The people laughing around a fire pit who had chosen, every one of them, to be with them. A future he hadn't let himself imagine wanting until she'd handed it to him anyway.

Then the road within awoke.

Not during the vows. Not before Carrick had pronounced them. After, while champagne was still in Sydney's hand and cake was still on Maggie's plate.