Chapter Twenty-Six #2
My body heals in ways that feel both accelerated and achingly slow.
The burns from channeling too much power fade to nothing.
The blood stops pooling in places it shouldn’t be.
My Bloodfire settles into a steady simmer instead of the wild inferno it was during the battle, contained and controlled but ready to ignite at a moment’s notice.
And through it all, I feel Crave healing beside me.
His Apostate powers are slowly rebuilding what the Binding stole, making him into something new.
Not weaker than he was, not stronger, just different.
Changed in ways that mirror my own transformation, as if we’re becoming two halves of one impossible whole.
When I finally wake, not the half-conscious drifting I’ve been doing, the first thing I see is him.
He’s standing by the door, talking quietly with Rogue.
Both of them turn when my heart rate changes, when my breathing shifts from deep sleep to waking awareness.
Rogue’s golden eyes assess me with lycan precision, cataloging every change, every new threat or advantage I might represent.
Then he nods once and leaves without a word, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
I weakly smile, knowing Rogue is always there at Crave’s side.
His right-hand man. His packmate. The guardian who would bleed, kill, or burn the world down before letting anything take his Alpha.
As a lycan, Rogue is duty-bound to serve and protect Crave.
But Rogue’s loyalty to Crave isn’t about duty—their brotherhood was forged on a mutual friendship that even I can’t comprehend.
But I would like to know more.
Maybe one day they will tell me more about it.
Crave crosses the room in three strides, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking my hand before I’ve fully processed being awake. “How do you feel?”
I take inventory.
My body answers differently now. Strength settles, not sharp or volatile, but structural, as if every cell has been reinforced with something forged to last. Power moves beneath my skin in a low, even current, a controlled hum instead of the wildfire it once was—nothing claws for release, nothing threatens to burn me hollow. The magic knows where it belongs.
And he’s there.
Not as an ache.
Not as a strain at the edge of awareness.
Just… there. Solid, steady, anchored in the same space I occupy, his presence as natural and unquestionable as gravity. No fractures. No fading. No sense of him fighting to exist.
Whole.
Exactly where he’s supposed to be.
“Alive,” I manage, my voice rough from disuse. “How long was I out?”
“Four days.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “Oracle and Hades took shifts keeping you stable. Your body needed time to adjust to the transformation. To fully become what you are now.”
“And what am I now?” The question comes out steadier than I feel.
His silver eyes hold mine, and what I see there makes my breath catch. Not fear, not uncertainty, just absolute, unwavering certainty. “Mine. My Old Lady. My partner. The woman who chose to stand beside a monster and became something even more terrifying in the process.”
Old Lady.
The term carries weight in this world. It’s not just a title. It’s a claim. A statement of ownership, protection, and partnership all rolled into one. It means I’m not just someone he fucks. I’m family. I’m untouchable by club law.
I’m his in every way that matters.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, and something vulnerable bleeds through despite my best efforts to contain it.
“Because I come with a lot of baggage now. Power I’m still learning to control.
A connection to Lilith that won’t ever fully go away.
The attention of the Coven of Crows for the rest of eternity. ”
He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.
The words settle into me anyway, sinking deep, steady, and immovable.
There’s no hesitation in him, no flicker of doubt, no space where uncertainty could take root.
His certainty presses against mine, a constant, grounding force, as solid and undeniable as his presence this close.
Every part of him is aligned with the promise he’s making, body, will, and something far more profound than either.
There’s no question about it. No room for interpretation. He means every word, and he always has.
“The Heart Bind,” I whisper, because we haven’t talked about it. We haven’t addressed the fact that we’re permanently linked now, that his Apostate transformation means we can never sever this connection even if we wanted to. “Can we even be separated now?”
“No.” The word is simple, final, completely unrepentant. “The moment I became an Apostate, the Heart Bind became permanent. You’re stuck with me, Sloane. For however long we both exist.”
“Good.” The word leaves me soft but unyielding, and something in him answers it immediately.
His breath catches, just once, a fracture in that iron control, and his hand comes up as if pulled by instinct alone.
His thumb brushes my lower lip, not a caress so much as a pause, a silent question that hangs between us for half a heartbeat.
I don’t give him time to ask it aloud.
He closes the distance, and when his mouth meets mine, it’s slow only in the way a storm gathers, impossible to stop once it starts.
His grip tightens at my jaw, not rough, but certain, anchoring me as his lips claim mine with a depth that steals the air from my lungs.
This is possession sharpened into promise.
Heat coils through me, Bloodfire flaring in restless sparks beneath my skin as his mouth moves against mine with controlled intensity, as if every instinct in him is straining at a leash he refuses to drop.
I taste restraint there, devotion, and the echo of a thousand things he could take and chooses not to.
My hands curl into his club cut, fingers biting into leather as the kiss deepens, pressure building until my pulse hammers loud enough I’m sure he can sense it.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough for our foreheads to touch, breaths uneven, the space between us vibrating with everything left unsaid.
His eyes stay locked on mine, dark, blazing, and utterly undone. And I know, with a certainty that settles straight into my bones, that whatever we just sealed will not be broken.
“Have a shower, get yourself feeling refreshed, and then there’s something I need to show you,” he says, his voice rough.
“Something we need to do before the club sees you’re awake.
Before reality crashes back in and reminds us that we’re still targets, still dangerous, still walking the edge of acceptable behavior according to supernatural law. ”
“What is it?”
Instead of answering, he pulls me to my feet. My legs shake for a moment, unused to supporting weight again, but the weakness passes quickly. Whatever Oracle and Hades did, it rebuilt me stronger than before. I feel it in every movement, every breath, every step I take toward the bathroom door.
“I’ll be right out here waiting. Take as long as you need to make yourself feel better, okay?”
I nod and head into the attached bathroom, suddenly feeling like a shower is going to be the best feeling in the world right now, even in my weak state.
I strip down from my battle-worn clothes, turn on the faucet, and climb beneath the heated drops of pure heaven.
Closing my eyes, I don’t know how long I stand beneath the steam and water for, but I am beginning to wrinkle.
So I grab the body wash that smells like Crave, lather myself up, rinse it off, wash my hair with as little effort as possible, then finally hop out of the shower.
I didn’t hear him come in. I guess Vampire speed will do that, but at some point, he came in and placed some fresh clothes in here for me. So once dry, I pull on my fresh clothes, towel-dry my hair, then meet him in the bedroom, where he is waiting for me.
He glances up as I exit, the smile on his face tells me he’s happy to see me. “You feel better.” It’s not a question. He already knows because he can feel what I’m feeling.
“So much.”
“You ready to go?” he asks, standing and placing his hand out for me.
“You gonna tell me yet where we’re going?”
He simply grins at me, takes my hand in his, and then leads me through the clubhouse without saying a single word.
It’s getting on, just on dusk, and, as the sun descends against every window, the main room is empty except for a few brothers standing watch.
They nod at us as we pass, their eyes tracking me with a mix of respect and wariness that makes me stand taller despite the nerves threatening to surface.
Outside, the kill zone has been cleaned.
The bodies removed, the blood scrubbed away, the evidence of battle erased as if it never happened.
Even the cracks in the earth have been reforged to solid earth.
Grizz’s doing, I would imagine, given how he can manipulate solid rock.
But I can still see it through my Crimson Sight.
The ghost of violence lingering in the air, the echo of death staining the concrete in patterns only I can perceive.
Crave’s motorcycle sits where he left it, chrome gleaming under the security lights. He throws a leg over and looks back at me, one eyebrow raised in silent question.
I climb on behind him without hesitation, my arms wrapping around his waist, my body fitting against his as if we were designed this way.
The engine roars to life, and then we’re moving, tearing through the gates and into the night.