Page 412 of Hate Mates

I don’t think.

I move.

I reach for Orion, our magic colliding, fusing, bleeding together in a way that makes my bones hum.

He doesn’t push me away.

He pulls me in.

Our combined energy erupts outward, turning the entire clearing into a storm of light and darkness.

The warlocks reel, scrambling, retreating.

Even Kieran steps back.

I grasp Orion’s arm, and the second our fingers connect, the bond between us tightens, strengthens, solidifies.

A true merging of souls.

And I know, without a doubt, that this—this—is something the Order will never allow to exist.

"We have to go," I whisper, my voice hoarse.

Orion doesn’t move at first. He’s still locked on Kieran, his chest heaving, his muscles coiled, his hand tight on his sword.

But I know what he’s thinking.

He wants to kill him.

Kieran knows it, too. But he only smirks, that infuriating, arrogant smirk.

“You think you can run?” Kieran wipes the blood from his lip, smearing it across his jaw. “You think the Order won’t hunt you to the ends of the earth for this?”

Orion’s grip tightens on his blade.

I step in front of him, pressing my palm against his chest. "No," I whisper. "Not like this."

His eyes burn into mine, the war still raging inside him.

But I see something else there, too.

Fear.

Not for himself. For me.

For us.

He exhales sharply, his free hand coming up to grip the back of my neck, his forehead pressing to mine.

I close my eyes, my heart pounding.

Then—he grabs my wrist, and we run.

We don’t look back.

We don’t stop.

The forest swallows us whole, the magic between us thundering like a second heartbeat.

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