Chapter Eleven #3
Connor went still. “That’s…” His voice broke, swallowed and tried again. “That’s not a rash.”
Adrian shrugged. “It could be. Some kind of reaction.”
Morrigan’s fingers hovered over the mark. “It’s the beginning. It will itch until the sigil settles.”
Adrian’s laugh came out thin. “Great. So I’m allergic to destiny.”
Connor’s gaze stayed locked on the mark, horror and fury warring inside him. “This is insane.”
Adrian pulled his collar up and grabbed his coat, his hands shaking slightly. “Connor.”
He looked at Adrian, and the thread between them tightened, sudden and sharp, as if the binding had taken offence at the distance between them. Adrian gasped, a small involuntary sound, and Connor’s eyes widened. He’d felt it too.
Morrigan’s voice was gentle. “You can fight it. Most do. Especially at first. But the binding doesn’t care about your disbelief, Connor. It cares about your resistance.”
Connor’s jaw clenched. “I’m not…”
“You are,” Morrigan said softly. “And it will push back.”
Adrian swallowed. “What happens if we keep resisting?”
Morrigan exhaled slowly, the kind of breath a person takes before saying something they know won’t be well received. “Resistance doesn’t break a binding,” he said gently. “It distorts it.”
Adrian’s brows drew together. “Distorts?”
“Yes.” Morrigan’s gaze flicked between them, unreadable but solemn.
“Bindings are ancient things. They expect acceptance. Purpose. Alignment. When one or both of you push against it…” He made a small twisting motion with his fingers, as though bending a thread until it strained, “it tightens. Pulls. Corrects.”
“Corrects how?” Connor snapped.
Morrigan stated, “By forcing proximity. Forcing clarity. Forcing the connection you’re running from.”
Adrian’s brow furrowed. “Meaning what, exactly?”
Morrigan lifted a single brow. “Meaning it will continue to pull you together. Harder. At inconvenient times. Painful times. Dangerous times. The bond does not tolerate avoidance.”
Under his breath, Connor muttered a curse while pacing in a tight, frustrated line before turning back toward them. “So what? You’re saying this thing is going to drag us around like bloody marionettes every time one of us takes two steps in the wrong direction?”
Morrigan’s lips curved. “Only when those steps take you away from each other.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to be close to each other all the time. You will have your distance, but the bond will sense any attempt to sever it or to create too great a distance between you.”
Adrian shook his head in disbelief. “That’s…”
“Horseshit,” Connor finished.
Morrigan’s gaze softened, and that unnerved Connor more than any sharpness would have. “Valour bonds were forged for war,” he said quietly. “For protection. They were never meant to be gentle.”
Adrian let out a breath that seemed to tremble at the edges. “And if we still refuse? If we pretend the bond isn’t there?”
“Then it escalates.” Morrigan’s voice grew softer still. “It will demand what it is owed.”
A chill swept down Connor’s spine. “And what is it owed?”
Morrigan studied him, really studied him, and for a moment the shop felt far too small, far too quiet. “It is owed acknowledgment,” Morrigan murmured. “Integration. Trust. A willingness to stand together rather than apart.”
“But we just met,” Connor snapped. “How the hell are we meant to—”
The tug hit again. Sharper this time. Low in his ribs, like sliding a hook into him and pulling enough to warn, not enough to harm. He jerked a fraction, heard the hitch in his breath, betraying the mirrored sensation.
Morrigan sighed. “There. You feel it already. That is the bond growing impatient.”
Adrian pressed a hand to his sternum, his breath unsteady. “I don’t want this.”
“Wanting isn’t part of the equation,” Morrigan said softly. “The bond chose. The Triarc witnessed. The Council is watching. The only question left is whether you meet it on your feet or on your knees.”
Connor stepped forward, a spark of something fierce flaring through the tension. “We don’t kneel,” he growled. “Not to the Council. Not to destiny. Not to any bloody binding that thinks it can tell us what—”
The tug yanked hard enough that both men staggered as though something inside them snapped taut at the exact same moment. Adrian’s breath left him in a shaky gasp. Connor swore, low and vicious.
Morrigan nodded. “Exactly that. The more you resist, the louder it gets.”
Adrian’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Connor. What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” Connor said quietly. “But we’ll figure it out.”
The bond pulsed once both warm and in warning, as if approving, or perhaps demanding more.
Morrigan straightened, his expression turning grave. “If you keep resisting, the binding will escalate until it gets what it wants.” He paused. “And trust me. You do not want to learn the hard way what that looks like.”
The room went still. The bond between them throbbed slowly as if in agreement. And for the first time, Connor understood.
This wasn’t a mark.
It was a countdown.