Page 408 of Hate Mates

“No.” I shake my head, determined. “We run, Orion. We fight. We find a way. There is no life for me without you.”

His fingers press into my waist.

His eyes—gods, his eyes—so fierce, so conflicted.

“I don’t know if there is running from this,” he says quietly.

I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers with his, pressing our matching marks together.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Chapter Eight

ORION VOSS

Vivienne sleeps beside me, her breath soft and even, her body still wrapped around mine like she was made to fit here. Like she belongs.

She does.

The mark on my wrist glows faintly in the dim cave light, its twin etched onto her skin. I trace it absentmindedly, feeling the connection between us pulsing, alive. I bound us together. I didn’t mean to. Didn’t even know it was possible.

But it happened.

And now the Order will come.

I feel the shift in the air first—a ripple in the magic around us, a disturbance that crawls over my skin like icy fingers. The hair on my arms rises, and my jaw tightens.

They know.

I sit up, careful not to wake Vivienne, but my sudden absence makes her stir. She blinks up at me, still caught in the haze of sleep, her body curling toward my warmth even as I pull away.

“Orion?” Her voice is soft, but the concern is there.

I don’t answer right away. I stand, listening. Waiting.

There—another shift, more distinct this time.

A signature of power—dark, hungry, moving toward us.

“Get up,” I say, sharper than I intend.

Vivienne frowns but obeys, pushing herself up onto her elbows. She’s still flushed from sleep, her bare skin catching the glow of the dying embers in the cave. The sight of her—my mark on her, my scent on her—would have made me hard again if not for the reality crashing down around us.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, already reaching for her clothes.

I don’t sugarcoat it. There’s no time.

“They know,” I say. “The Order knows something happened.”

She stills, her fingers frozen over the fabric of her dress. “How?”

I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair. “The bond. It’s too strong. I can feel you like you’re a part of me, and if I can, then so can they.”

Her throat works as she swallows, realization flickering behind her dark eyes. She looks down at her wrist, running her fingers over the mark. “We need to go.”

I nod. “Now.”

She moves fast, pulling on her dress, lacing it up with shaking fingers. I reach for my weapons, strapping a blade to my thigh, securing the leather bracers at my wrists. Fighting other warlocks can sometimes mean a loss of power if they know the right spells. Not every warlock puts the time and effort into learning bladework. I'm not every warlock.

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