Chapter 29 AMBROSE #2
"Contract sharing is about willingness," I begin, my voice steadier now that I've accepted this is happening. "The magic can't force anyone to bear a cost. They have to accept it voluntarily, open themselves to the price being distributed. That's why I've never done this before. I couldn't ask."
"You're not asking now," Jade reminds me. "We're insisting."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "Right. So the first step is connecting your power to the contract framework. You'll feel my magic reaching for you. Don't resist it. Let it in, let it read what you're willing to give."
I extend my contract magic outward, green threads reaching for each of my mates. The sensation is intimate in ways I didn't expect, my power touching theirs, learning the shape of what they have to offer.
Skye opens first, his Praestes nature naturally suited to connection and sharing.
His willingness opens like a door swinging wide, his pink aura welcoming my green without hesitation.
Through our bond, I sense his determination to bear whatever costs come, his absolute refusal to let me carry this alone anymore.
Stellan follows, his fire initially resistant before he consciously relaxes his defenses. The heat of his essence mingles with my contract magic, and he offers years he might have lived, abilities he might have developed, memories he might have treasured. Offering them freely, without reservation.
Jade's demon hunger actually reaches back toward my magic, pulling it in like sustenance.
His fierce protectiveness blazes through the connection, his willingness to consume any cost if it means keeping me whole.
His purple power wraps around my green, binding us together in ways that go beyond mate bonds.
Rumi's divine balance is the most natural fit.
His golden light harmonizes with my contract magic instantly, as if they were always meant to work together.
The black threads in his aura pulse once, then settle, and I realize his divine nature can actually distribute costs more efficiently than I ever could alone.
And Harlow, Death's Champion, offers something I didn't expect. His connection to the death realm, his existence between life and not-life, provides a buffer that can absorb costs without fully passing them to the living. He can't bear everything, but he can soften the blow for the rest of us.
"I feel you," Rumi breathes, his eyes wide with wonder. "I feel all of you, through Ambrose's magic. It's like the bonds but different. More specific."
"Contract magic is about exchange," I explain, my voice rough with emotion. "You're all connected to my contracts now. When I write new ones, you'll feel the costs being distributed. And we can redistribute existing contracts too, the ones that are currently draining only me."
"Then do it," Stellan says. "Redistribute the protection contracts on Phoenix Sanctuary. The ones that are aging you. Share them across all of us."
My hands shake as I reach for the contract threads anchored in my power.
The protection protocols I wrote during the first attack.
The wards that kept students safe during the second.
The monitoring contracts that warn us of approaching threats.
All of them connected to my life force, all of them slowly draining me toward an early death.
One by one, I unravel and reweave them.
It hurts. Not physically, but in some deeper way. These contracts have been part of me for weeks, their costs familiar, their weight something I've learned to carry. Letting go of that weight feels like losing something, even though what I'm losing is the burden of bearing it alone.
The protection ward redistributes first. Instead of me losing years, each of us loses months. The sensation of time draining away spreads across six people, becoming manageable instead of devastating. My mates accept their portions, grimacing at the unfamiliar sensation but not fighting it.
The monitoring contracts follow. Instead of me losing the ability to taste sweetness entirely, we each lose a small portion of some minor sense.
Jade's ability to sense fear dims slightly.
Stellan's temperature sensitivity decreases a fraction.
Skye's Praestes emotional reading becomes marginally less precise.
Rumi's divine hearing mutes by a whisper.
Harlow's death-sight loses a small range of futures.
And I regain the ability to taste sweet things, the sugar on my tongue a revelation after weeks of blandness.
The emergency contracts are last. Instead of me forgetting decades of my life, we each lose minor memories.
Jade forgets the name of his first crush.
Stellan loses the specific shade of blue in his childhood bedroom.
Skye can't quite recall the tune of a lullaby his mother sang.
Rumi's memory of his first flight becomes fuzzy at the edges.
Harlow forgets the face of a stranger he once saved.
And I remember my father's face again, the memory restored as the cost redistributes.
When it's done, I feel lighter. Younger. Not completely restored, the years I lost before this intervention are still gone, but better. The trembling in my hands has eased. The exhaustion that's been dragging at me for weeks has lifted slightly.
"Thank you," I whisper, and my voice breaks on the words.
Jade pulls me into an embrace before I can protest, more desperate than gentle. "That's what family does," he growls against my hair. "We share the burdens so no one has to carry them alone. Don't you dare try to do this by yourself again."
"I won't," I promise, and for the first time, I actually mean it.
Stellan's fire wraps around us both, warming without burning. Skye's power settles over the group like a blessing. Rumi's wings fold around us, golden light enveloping the group. And Harlow phases solid, adding his cold presence to the tangle of bodies.
Their love surrounds me along with their determination and their absolute refusal to let me sacrifice myself anymore.
My mother taught me that sacrifice was the only currency that mattered. That Crossroads Keepers gave until there was nothing left to give.
But maybe she was wrong. Maybe the real power isn't in how much you can sacrifice alone.
Maybe it's in finding people willing to share the cost.