Chapter 47
Renata
Days have passed since our failed seance and Archer’s return.
Each one has gone by in the blink of an eye. Sybil has wanted to spend time with Archer and has stopped arguing with him about his decision.
Neither of us have told the other witches what our plans are, but I swear Sybil knows.
Something changed between us after the failed seance. Perhaps she realized how deeply I care about Archer, or seeing me nearly dead has her worried about losing two people at once.
I hope it’s not the latter, but I’m grateful for the change of heart. If she’s not at the library or with her brother, she gravitates toward me. We don’t talk a lot—neither of us being the chattiest in the coven—but there’s a new understanding shared between us.
At the moment, Sybil and Archer are taking a midnight walk in the woods nearby. I remember Archer’s story about how she always wanted to fall in love with a vampire, so they’d go exploring. It’s a weird tradition if you ask me, but it’s something important to them. That’s all that matters.
I’m setting my room up for the Soul Tie ritual, following each direction to the T.
A mixture of salts form the circle around us—half of it is made up of black salt with the other half evenly split between red and pink salts.
Black for guidance as our spirits find each other, and for protection against negative energies.
Pink represents the love between us and healing our hearts as one.
Red for passion to commit to each other, and courage to accept our new bond.
A variety of candles in the same colors are already set up and waiting to be lit.
While I wait, I finish anointing the candles with a variety of oils: rose, clary sage, and cedarwood. Then I carve our initials into each candle.
Everything else—laying the salt out, anointing our own bodies in oil, tying the ribbons, and lighting the candles—all need to be done while Archer is here.
We agreed he should be back by three a.m. There’s still fifteen minutes until the clock strikes the hour, but my impatience grows the longer he’s away.
Running a hand down my lacy nightgown, I try not to get too excited thinking about everything that book hinted at happening after the bond is secured. The rush of emotions and adrenaline cause a very primal reaction.
I haven’t forgotten about Archer’s promise to take me—own me—in every way, and Gods, I hope tonight is the night it happens.
The door creaks open and I turn on my knees, taking in the handsome sight of him.
He’s in his typical attire of jeans, a t-shirt, boots, and his leather jacket.
His cheeks are pink from the nighttime air, and his hair is lightly windblown.
But it’s the way his eyes devour me that has my skin burning with need.
I can’t get enough of him, and he seeks out private moments as much as I do. Even if we aren’t having sex, being near him is enough to make me feel like I can breathe again.
“Hey, love,” he says as his eyes move over me. They snag on the lace trimming that curves around my breasts.
The outfit isn’t much different than what I wear on a typical night, but it’s sexier —shorter and tighter, made from a pretty, transparent lace.
“Hi,” I greet him and smoothly stand, falling into his embrace as he closes the distance between us.
He wraps an arm around my waist and holds my jaw with the other, taking me in for a fierce kiss. It’s needy, like two hours was too long of a time apart for his liking.
How could he ever think I’d choose this world over us? Over him?
“Let’s do this,” he says against my lips and leans back to look at me. He says it as a statement but the question is swimming in his eyes: Are you sure?
Nodding, I brush my lips against his cheek and step away. “Everything’s ready—just needed you.”
I always need you.
Without a word, his eyes are trained on me as he kicks off his boots and slips out of his jacket, throwing it on the nearby chair. I take in a deep breath as he reaches behind him and pulls his shirt off, leaving him in nothing except his dark jeans with his boxer-briefs peeking out.
“I love you,” he says with conviction and reaches for me. “That’s probably obvious by this point—” he gestures around us, “—but it’s important that you hear it.”
Staring at him for a long second, I soak in this moment, letting the warmth of his affection wash over me.
“I love you,” I whisper. I haven’t said those words to a partner before.
None of them have ever been around long enough for me to consider loving them, and now I’m glad I waited for him.
“That doesn’t feel like deep enough of a word, to be honest. It’s visceral, and spiritual, and more than that word has ever meant to me. ”
He hums in agreement and rests his forehead on mine. “My Chosen.”
With a soft smile, I step out of his hold and gesture him closer. “And you’re mine. In this life, and every other.”
“Oh,” he muses and moves toward the supplies, “the fates that bind us all.”
Looking up at him from where I’m now kneeling, I offer him a sly grin. It’s what I told him the night on Gale’s porch, the first time I let myself get closer to Archer. Not the faceless man in my dreams, but the very real man in front of me.
“I only care about you and me tonight,” I softly declare. “Fuck the fates.”
He chuckles and drops to his knees in front of me.
“I read through the ritual a couple times, but I’ll follow your lead,” he says.
With a nod of acknowledgement, I grab the salt mixture and pour it into a circle large enough to sit around both of us. Under the warm light of the fire and streaks of silver through the window, his eyes are on me the entire time.
My ever-present desire for him is already heightening to an intensity I’ve never felt before. His gaze is like a caress along my heated skin. When I sit with my legs crossed in front of him, he grabs my calves, unfolding them and pulling me between his outstretched legs.
A shuttered breath falls from my lips, and he rubs a hand up my thigh and squeezes. “I want you like this, right here,” he says.
I bob my head once. The grimoire doesn’t say anything about the couple’s position, as long as there’s room for the candles between us.
He tilts the book toward him and quickly skims the pages. “We have to take turns lighting the candles, and we will each light our own,” he says.
I hand him a box of matches and gesture for him to start.
One by one, we light the candles I placed inside the salt circle and arrange them around the perimeter.
When there are only the two with our initials left, I grab the red ribbon and wrap it around the candles about halfway up.
I go back and forth, creating a pattern that looks like an infinity symbol holding the two together.
Then I grab the longer piece of ribbon and wrap it around my waist before leaning forward and following the same motion around his body.
He stops me from continuing, taking the smooth fabric out of my hands and finishing with a heated look in his eyes.
He starts at our legs, binding them together to create a barrier around the candles, and finishes with my left hand tied to his right.
He snaps the ribbon against my thigh and hums. “I like this view. A lot.”
I give him a look that says focus, but the heated flush and my shallow breaths give away my growing arousal.
“One more thing,” I say and grab the oil mixture. With soft fingers, I follow the book’s directions and re-create the runes on his skin. The oil absorbs and leaves a faint glow in their wake.
Archer has more experience and interest with ancient runes, so he doesn’t take as long when he repeats the pattern on my chest and shoulders.
“Now we light the candles,” I say, exhilaration rushing through me. “If the ribbon catches fire but doesn’t burn through, it worked. If it breaks, then…”
“Hey,” he says and grabs my jaw. “It’s going to work.”
With more resolution, I sit up straight and light my candle.
The flame is a normal shape and size, flickering until it fully catches.
He does the same and we wait a few seconds, letting them settle before our magic imbues them.
The flame will grow larger and hotter, burning through the candle and ribbon quicker.
Holding his eye, I begin to chant the incantation.
“Animea, anitua, unanima aeternum.”
My candle grows in size and Archer repeats the words, causing the same reaction from his candle. Then we chant together.
“Animea, anitua, unanima aeternum.”
Our chests rise like we are being pulled toward each other.
We don’t stop saying the words.
The small fires grow with each repetition. I watch a drop of sweat drip down his forehead and say the words again.
And again.
And again.
I don’t break our eye contact until the flame triples in size and the ribbon lights on fire.
Archer stumbles over his words for a second but we get back in sync and watch.
The wax drips and the ribbon begins to slide down the sides of the candle. It’s fully covered in the flame, but it doesn’t look like it’s burning up. We stay there for at least half an hour, chanting the incantation and watching.
Suddenly, the ribbon wrapped around our bodies heats rapidly. It’s a brand across my entire body, and I can’t keep up with the words. A small shout claws out at the scalding touch—so hot now it feels like I’m melting into Archer.
His jaw is clenched and his eyes are fighting to stay on me.
That soft tug in our chests turns into a hard, rough yank. Our chests pull toward each other and the flames continue to grow. The wax is pooled on the tray with the red ribbon perfected tacked together in the shape of an infinity sign.
“Archer,” I try to say, but no noise comes out.
Panic seeps in when I can’t take a full breath, and my lungs constrict. Pain is etched on Archer’s face, but his concern for me stays at the forefront.
Then white smoke floats out of my mouth…
No—not smoke.
My spirit.
A long wispy line of white reaches out and meets his spirit halfway.