Page 31 of Collar Me Crazy
Nothing at all.
“You’re staring again,” Emmett said mildly, hefting another sack onto the pile with practiced ease.
“I’m supervising.” Ryker slung his own bag into place and dusted the grit off his hands. “Making sure you don’t pull something.”
“Right,” Callum drawled, his voice dry as November leaves. “Because I’m the one who needs supervision here.” He carried two sacks at once, muscles flexing under his coat, and shot Ryker a look that landed somewhere between smug and amused.
“Just focus on the sandbags.” Ryker grunted, but his eyes drifted anyway.
Across the street, Sonya stood on her toes, reaching for the top corner of a window frame while Freya steadied the ladder. The red sweater she wore deepened the warm tones of her hair, and when she laughed at something Freya said, the sound slid into Ryker’s bones like warmth after frost. His wolf, always restless, stilled as if the sound alone was enough to calm it.
“You know,” Emmett went on conversationally, “there are easier ways to spend time with someone than coincidentally showing up everywhere they happen to be.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Course you don’t.” Emmett passed him another sandbag—heavier than necessary, judging by the smirk. “That’s why you’ve been in town more this week than you have in the past six months combined.”
Ryker wanted to argue, but the evidence wasn’t in his favor. Monday, he’d fixed shingles on half the businesses in the square. Tuesday, he’d offered to check the structural integrity of the library roof. Yesterday, he’d helped Edgar Tansley inventory storm lanterns and blankets.
Every task put him within earshot or eyeshot of Sonya.
His wolf was pleased, smug even, but his human instincts kept a running tally of how bad an idea this was. Getting closer to people, letting them matter, only ever ended one way. He should retreat to the sanctuary, keep to himself until this strange pull toward her burned out.
Except every time he tried to convince himself, he’d catch her scent on the wind—clove and cedar—or hear her voice from across the street, and the thought of leaving would dissolve like snow on stone.
“Storm’s supposed to hit around eight,” Callum said, breaking into his thoughts. He tossed the last sack into place and dusted his palms. “Varric wants the boundary wards checked before then.”
“I’ll take the north perimeter,” Ryker offered automatically.
“Actually,” Emmett said with infuriating casualness, “Sonya already volunteered to cover that stretch. Something about her seer abilities being useful for spotting weak points. Might be good for her to have backup.”
Ryker’s wolf surged to attention, ears pricked at the idea, while his rational mind rattled off reasons it was a mistake. Hours alone with Sonya, in the woods, with the wards already unstable? It was asking for trouble.
“Fine,” he said at last, his voice sharper than he meant. “But only because the perimeter checks matter.”
“Sure they do,” Callum muttered, amusement threading through every syllable.
An hour later,Ryker walked the northern trail with Sonya beside him. The sky had gone slate-gray, clouds pressing low, the air sharp with the smell of incoming snow. Each time her sleeve brushed his, his wolf settled deeper, like it had found the only tether that made sense.
Sonya carried a small device that chirped when they neared ward stones. Ryker used his own senses, letting his wolf stretch into the currents of magic.
“This one feels off,” Sonya said, pausing at a marker half-buried in roots. She crouched, fingertips hovering above the carved surface. “Weaker, like it’s losing its grip on the network.”
Ryker pressed his palm against the cold stone. Usually there was a hum beneath his hand, steady and warm. This one felt thin, stretched. And worse—something inside gnawed at the energy, leeching it.
“It’s not just weaker,” he said. “It’s being drained. Like something’s feeding.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Her eyes shadowed. “The visions I’ve been having all show the same thing. Wards failing, the Veil bleeding out, Hollow Oak unraveling.”
Ryker straightened. “What kind of visions?”
She hesitated, biting her lip before answering. “The kind that don’t feel symbolic. The kind that leave me with the taste of ash in my mouth. Something’s feeding on every disturbance. Growing stronger each time.” She looked up at him. “And it’s tied to the mate bonds somehow.”
His wolf bristled, retreating like it had brushed a live wire. “Connected how?”
“I don’t know yet. But the timing matches. Every fluctuation follows a turning point for one of the couples. The bonds aren’t just reinforcing the Veil—they might be oversaturating it.”
They moved to the next marker, her device beeping frantically before they even reached it. The stone’s glow flickered faintly, as if fighting to stay lit.
