Chapter 40 · Two Throats, Two Bloods

The bond came back like a knife going in backwards.

Three weeks since I stood at the Granite Altar in the rain and said the words that turn a mate into a stranger. Six weeks gone that night. Nine weeks now. Not one soul in the territory knew it but me — and, turns out, the woman holding the book.

Right now Torin Blackridge was on his knees in the packhouse mud with Kaelen's blade riding his throat, and the hollow under my ribs lit up like a struck match.

Not lit. Roared.

I felt it in my teeth, in my spine, in the roots of my back molars. Nothing in that yard moved. I grabbed the fence rail with both hands anyway, because my pulse had gone loud enough to shake me.

Nine weeks. Nothing you could see, and nothing that could answer back.

Across the yard, Torin's head came up. Rain in his lashes. Blood drying black at his collar. His eyes found mine like they'd been looking for me the whole time.

"There she is." Kaelen said it soft, to the gallery. "Look at that, boys. The Alpha's little runaway still has a leash on him.