Chapter 27
Savla
Ididn’t expect the night to hit like a hammer. One moment, I was sitting in my workshop trying to carve something—anything—that wasn’t her face.
The next, a shock of heat pulsed through my chest so violently my knife slipped. The carving hit the floor and I doubled over, one hand pressed hard against my sternum, breath ripped from my lungs.
“What—?” I gasped.
A second pulse followed and then a third. It wasn’t painful exactly. But it was deep. Pulling. Direct. Like someone lighting a candle in my ribcage.
Something sparked awake without permission and my pulse stuttered.
“No,” I whispered. “No—no, damn it—stop.”
But it didn’t stop—it only intensified. Warm, bright and unmistakably hers.
Something was happening. Something that ached for her. Someone—her—had reached for me and my soul was answering.
“Shit,” I muttered, stumbling to my feet.
The workshop blurred for a moment as if the air thinned and my knees nearly buckled.
I caught myself on the workbench, gripping the edge so hard the wood creaked.
This wasn’t like the accidental bond surges and it wasn’t anything like the dream.
This was different from everything I’d ever felt before.
This was deliberate. It was a focused attempt to reach me. Someone had called my name through magick. Her. It had to be her.
“Hanna,” I breathed, shaking.
The bond thrummed in response, and my stomach dropped. I backed away from the bench, shaking my head.
“No, no—don’t do this. Don’t start this.”
The air shifted around me, and light flickered at the corner of the room—faint movements of rhythmic silver.
It was a pulse. Like our heartbeat. My heartbeat. I pressed my hand against my chest, teeth clenched.
“Stop,” I growled at myself. “Stop reacting. It’s nothing. It’s—it’s not the bond.”
I was lying to myself—telling myself a lie even I could barely swallow. But I clung to it with both hands.
And that was when the pulse hit again—so much stronger this time. I staggered back into the wall, my eyes squeezing shut, praying that it would go away.
For a terrifying moment, I saw her. Not clearly or physically, but the shape of her magick and her presence. It was warm, bright and calling to me.
It was as if her hands were lifting my chin, gently directing my gaze toward her. She was whispering my name. And just like that, fate was sinking its claws into me.
My breath broke. A sound escaped me I hadn’t made in years—half pain, half longing.
“I can’t do this,” I said aloud, voice low and ragged. “I can’t—”
But the resonance didn’t listen. It just kept humming. As though it recognized me. It was greeting me. Like it was answering something she had awakened. I pressed my forehead against the wall, fists clenched.
“Why now?” My voice cracked. “Why today?”
Because I’d spent the morning trying to forget her. Because my brothers saw right through me. Because I told myself she wasn’t mine—couldn’t be mine. But now her magic was saying otherwise. And Gods, I felt it. Every inch of it.
My breaths came faster. I needed air or distance or anything. An anchor to keep me from falling over the edge of whatever was happening.
I stumbled out of the workshop and onto the rooftop, gripping the railing as the night wind hit me like a slap. But the resonance followed me and there was a faint green glow under my skin.
Her magick.
My heart hammered, my palms heated and I had no shield against this.
“Hanna,” I whispered again, helpless. Her name tasted like surrender.
I hated it, but I craved it at the same time. Longed for it. The bond pulsed harder, and something inside me gave way—snapped open like a gate I’d welded shut.
Memories flashed through me—her laughter, soft and surprised. Her hand brushing mine in the glitter spill. Her breath against my shoulder when she slept beside me. And then as if she was answering my call, her whisper came to me next. It was a low sound in my ear.
“I’m here.”
My knees nearly buckled again, but I caught myself with a shaky hand on the railing.
“I am not my father,” I whispered through clenched teeth.
But right now, with the bond pulling so hard I felt dizzy, I wasn’t sure I believed it. I wasn’t sure I believed anything except this. If she reached for me, I would reach back. I was already reaching back.
I sank onto the rooftop bench, gripping my hair. My breaths were too shallow, my chest was too full and my fear was too loud.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I can’t survive loving her.”
My voice broke on the last word. But the bond pulsed again—gentler now. Soothing me, as if it disagreed.
“I can’t lose her,” I rasped. “I can’t—I won’t—” but my voice died in my throat. Because it was all a lie. The truth was a blade that cut through the bullshit.
I’d already fallen.
The moment she smiled at me in the workshop. The moment she touched my hand in the glitter mess. The moment she slept beside me, trusting me with her dreams.
And now? Now it was too late. Her magick had spoken, and my soul had answered. The resonance faded to a soft hum, quiet and waiting, settling as if it hadn’t rocked my entire world on its axis. My breathing finally leveled out—but just barely.
I stared up at the stars, my throat thick with something that felt a little too close to tears for my comfort. Then I whispered what I shouldn’t—something I’d denied for so long. The thing I’d fought so hard against and feared this entire time
“Hanna… if you’re calling for me…” My voice trembled. “…I’m already yours.”
The wind carried the words away—but the bond heard. It warmed, steady and sure. Like a hand being held out to me in the dark. Like fate smiling at me. Like her.
I spent the next two days avoiding everyone, but I was mostly avoiding Hanna and the coven. I was also trying to avoid thinking, breathing, and existing in any way that made the bond harder to ignore.
It didn’t help.
Every time the bond pulsed faintly in my chest, I wanted to punch a hole through a tree. Or run. Or both.
I threw myself into work—carving, mixing pigments, hauling lumber up to the workshop so I could do even more—anything to keep my mind too exhausted to feel. But it just wasn’t working.
I made a mistake as soon as I walked into the training room. I thought I was alone, so I slammed a weighted practice mace into a wooden post so hard the entire rack rattled. I did it again. And again. And again—until my hands were shaking and my chest felt too tight.
“Little brother,” Krusk’s voice landed behind me like a dropped boulder. I stiffened.
Great.
I lowered the mace slowly before turning around. Krusk stood with his arms crossed, expression carved from stone. His dark eyes were pinned to me like I was prey that needed corralling.
Enka stood beside him—arms and mouth full of snacks, shirt stained with something neon, looking way too entertained. Both of them stared at me like I was an animal that had escaped its pen.
“I’m fine,” I said immediately.
Enka snorted so loudly he nearly choked on his dried fruit. I was certain that the hoard of snacks had been sent by Gabbi.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week and might fight the sun if it looks at you wrong,” he told me.
“I said I’m fine.”
Krusk grunted. “That’s a lie.”
I exhaled through my nose. “What do you two want?”
“For you to stop being extremely dramatic,” Enka said with a shrug.
Krusk elbowed him. “Respectfully dramatic.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I told them, sounding the words out with the last bits of my patience.
“That’s too bad,” Krusk said. “We do.”
I hated that tone, because it meant there was an intervention coming. That tone meant that feelings were going to be discussed, and it was the last thing I wanted to talk about.
“I’m leaving,” I muttered.
“You’re not,” Enka countered.
I tried to walk past him, but he stepped directly into my path—all focus and nerve. And for some reason, despite being older than him and knowing that I could take him in a one-on-one fight if I really wanted to, I stopped. He was looking at me with those sharp, perceptive eyes of his.
“You’re unraveling,” he said simply.
I swallowed hard, looking away. Krusk stepped closer, voice low.
“We’ve seen it before, Savla.”
My chest tightened painfully, knowing what was coming.
“We watched Father fall apart piece by piece,” Krusk continued. “We know the signs.”
“That’s not what this is,” I snapped, too quick, too defensive.
Krusk raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you look like him when Mom died.”
The words struck like a hammer and I flinched hard, accepting the blow.
Enka glared at Krusk. “That was too far.”
Krusk winced. “Yeah. I’m sorry. That was… sorry.”
I didn’t move and didn’t speak. There was nothing that I could say in response to that. Enka’s voice softened—which was worse than yelling.
“But he’s not wrong,” he said quietly. “You’re carrying something alone. And you’re not meant to.”
I looked away, jaw tight. “It’s easier that way.”
“No,” Krusk said firmly. “It’s not.”
Enka nudged me with his elbow. “Is this about Hanna?”
My heart stuttered and I didn’t answer fast enough. Enka’s eyes widened.
“It is—”
Krusk clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Quiet,” he ordered, and our little brother listened, giving a slow nod before Krusk released his mouth.
I turned away, my fists curling, digging the sharpened claws on my left hand into my skin.
The ones on the right were still blunted.
A glaring reminder of her. Of her soft skin that I was careful not to touch.
Of her hands that accidentally brushed against mine way too often.
So often that it seemed as if they were meant to be connected all the time. .. “It’s nothing.”
“That’s another lie,” Krusk said in a soft, understanding voice. But he didn’t understand. He couldn’t.
Enka wriggled free from his grip that was still clamped on his shoulder. “We literally feel the bond spikes from the other side of the damn building, Sav. You’re not subtle.”
I stared at him, horrified. “You what?”
Enka shrugged. “I feel it in my blood. Around us. Your bond is—uh—very loud.”
Krusk nodded in agreement. “Obnoxiously loud. I think it’s that loud because there’s a part of you that’s denying it. Pushing it away. And we’ve never encountered that before. I figure that’s why it’s so... obvious to everyone else in the clan.”
“Oh Gods,” Enka added thoughtfully, “like when you say her name in your sleep—”
I nearly died on the spot. “You heard that?”
Krusk placed a massive hand back on Enka’s shoulder. “Enka. Stop talking, please.”
“I can’t,” Enka whispered. “This is too good.”
I pressed both hands to my face. “I’m going to throw myself into Kragor Lake. We own land there now. They won’t mind.”
“Sinking won’t fix this,” Krusk said. “The only reason we heard anything was because we were listening. We’re worried about you, Sav.”
“It might help,” I muttered.
Enka laughed, then sobered. “Savla… what’s actually going on?”
I lowered my hands slowly, but the truth sat in my throat like a stone. Heavy and immovable.
“I can’t let myself feel this,” I finally said.
Neither of them spoke, waiting patiently.
“You don’t understand,” I continued, quieter. “The bond killed Father. It took everything from him and he died long before his body did.” My voice went rough. “It hollowed him out. It controlled him. When Mother died, the bond took him with her. I can’t—”
My chest ached, painful and too full. “I can’t live like that. I won’t.”
Krusk stepped closer, and for a moment, I thought he might hit me. Instead, he put a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Savla,” he said, voice deep and steady, “the bond didn’t kill Father.”
I looked up sharply. “You didn’t see him—”
“I did,” Krusk said firmly. “And I saw something else, too.” He met my eyes, unflinching. “He died because he stopped living after she did.” I froze, but Krusk continued, slow and deliberate. “He didn’t follow fate. He surrendered to grief.”
Enka nodded vigorously. “And you’re not him. You’re already fighting harder than he ever did. I might not have been old enough to remember, Sav, but I know what I feel for my mate.”
I swallowed hard, throat burning and Krusk squeezed my shoulder.
“Don’t punish yourself for loving someone.”
“I don’t—” My voice cracked. “I’m not—”
Enka snorted. “Brother, you carved her face into wood. You don’t get to pretend anymore.”
I groaned. “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”
“Oh, Ribbon showed me,” Enka said proudly. “He’s on your side, by the way. And he’s terrifying.”
Krusk leaned in, voice gentler than I deserved. “Let yourself want something good, Sav. You’ve earned it. You’ve done so much to help us with our matings. Let us help you now.”
My breath trembled, and for a moment—just one—I let myself imagine it. Her laughter filling my workshop, her hand brushing mine as she passed a chisel, her warmth beside me at night, soothing the worst dreams away. But then the fear came surging back
“I can’t risk her,” I whispered. “If anything happened to her… I’d become him.”
Krusk responded with one brutal, true sentence. “Then don’t let anything happen to her.”
My chest pulled tight, and Enka crossed his arms. “Yeah. Be with her, and also don’t let her die. That seems easy. There. Solved,” he said with a shrug. “That’s how I intend to be with Tasia and Gabbi.”
“Enka,” Krusk said with a sigh, “that’s not helpful.”
“It kind of is!” Enka protested.
I exhaled shakily.
“What do I do?” I asked quietly.
Enka grinned. “Step one. Stop denying the bond. It’s embarrassing for everyone.”
Krusk smacked the back of his head. Then he looked at me—steady and grounding.
“Step two,” he said, “talk to her.”
My stomach dropped. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Krusk said, his voice low and meaningful.
Enka grinned. “You will.”
I looked between them—the only people who knew me before the world broke me—and felt something shift, small, painful and hopeful. Maybe they were right. Maybe I didn’t have to drown in this alone.
Krusk patted my back once before enveloping me in a hug. And Enka looped an arm over my shoulder to join in with us. A trio of brothers who’d come from another plane to find happiness in this one.
I’d thought that they would find their mates, and I’d be happy on my own. I hadn’t understood then. I still barely understood the bond, but I knew that it wasn’t something that could be ignored anymore.
“Go wash your face,” Enka said. “Then maybe… go to her.”
I didn’t answer. But I didn’t say no, either. And that was enough for them.