Page 32 of Collar Me Crazy
Ryker crouched, touched the surface, and jerked his hand back. Cold seared up his arm, invasive and hungry. His wolf snarled inside him.
“This one’s almost gone,” he said grimly.
Sonya stood close, her hair catching the wind, her breath visible in the chill. “It’s accelerating,” she whispered.
Ryker scanned the darkening woods, every instinct on alert. The storm pressed closer, wind threading through the bare branches. “If it’s the bonds causing this…” He turned to her, jaw set. “Then we stop. We end whatever’s forming before it brings the whole town down with us.”
Her hand shot out, gripping his arm. “No.”
The word was soft but steady. Her fingers tightened against his coat, heat burning through the fabric. His wolf surged forward, possessive, unwilling to let her hand go.
“I’m not walking away,” she said. “Not from this. Not from you.”
“Sonya—”
“Ryker, listen.” Her voice shook but held. “Every vision points to you at the center. Either stopping it or… or making it worse. And I think which way it goes depends on what we choose. Us. Together.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath. Above them, clouds swirled, the first flakes drifting down like warning signs.
Ryker closed his eyes for half a second, leaning into her touch. His wolf pressed hard, demanding, urging him to claim, to trust. His human side whispered of ruin, of the night his family’s screams had been drowned out by fire and blood.
“You have no idea what you’re asking,” he murmured.
“Maybe not. But I know what I feel.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “And I know walking away won’t save us.”
A gust of wind tore through the trees, rattling branches and carrying the mournful hum of another ward weakening in the distance. Ryker opened his eyes, snow catching on his lashes. He let himself linger in her closeness for a moment longer, her hand warm on his arm, before pulling back just enough to steady himself.
The storm was coming. And so was everything else.
19
SONYA
The Hollow Oak Book Nook felt different at night, shadows dancing between the towering shelves while candles flickered in glass lanterns scattered throughout the store. Sonya sat cross-legged on the floor beside Moira, surrounded by stacks of ancient texts that smelled of vanilla and old magic.
"Anything?" Lucien asked from his position behind the main counter, where he'd been cross-referencing entries in what looked like a hand-written index.
"Lots about protective barriers and ward construction," Moira said, flipping through a leather-bound volume. "But nothing about what happens when they fail catastrophically."
"Keep looking." Sonya turned another page in the tome she'd been assigned, squinting at faded script that seemed to shift in the candlelight. "There has to be something. Towns don't just build protective systems without considering what might go wrong."
They'd been at this for three hours, ever since the storm had settled in and made travel impossible. Outside, wind howled through the November night, rattling windows and sendingoccasional flurries of snow against the glass. But inside the bookstore, surrounded by centuries of accumulated knowledge, Sonya felt like they were making progress.
Even if that progress was slower than she'd hoped.
"Here," Lucien said suddenly, his voice sharp with discovery. "Listen to this: 'When the threads of power grow too numerous and bright, when love binds what should remain separate, the Great Unweaving shall begin.'"
Sonya looked up from her book, pulse quickening. "What's that from?"
"A collection of prophecies from the Founding Era. Written by someone called the Hollow Seer." Lucien carried the book over to their makeshift research station. "There's more: 'Seven bonds of heart and soul, wrought in love and magic's toll. But beware the eighth that comes to pass, for it shall either save or see the last.'"
“Seven bonds,” Moira echoed, her brow furrowing. “Sound familiar?”
“Too familiar,” Sonya whispered. Her stomach knotted. “We already have seven pairs in Hollow Oak. If Ryker and I?—”
“You’d be the eighth,” Lucien finished, lowering himself onto the rug with them.
The room seemed to shrink around Sonya at those words. She could still feel the brush of Ryker’s lips from their kiss days ago, the way he’d looked at her like she was dangerous and necessary all at once. Her body warmed at the memory, but her mind supplied the echo of his voice: Then we stop.
