Page 32 of Roaring Heat
When we reach the circle of stones deep in the forest, I stop. This is the place. I chose it for a reason. The ring has stood here longer than memory, each stone etched with moss and shadow, the ground beneath thrumming where the ley lines knot together like roots. The energy is strongest here—potent, but steady, stable enough to hold what we’re about to ask of it.
My father brought my mother to this circle when he bonded with her. The stones remember. The forest remembers. And now it’s my turn. I don’t know if Anabeth feels it yet, the weight of the land gathering around us, but I do. It presses close, ancient and watchful, not just ceremony but recognition. Acceptance.
Anabeth turns slowly, her gaze brushing over the stones instead of the sea. Here there is no sight of the ocean, no glimpse of water. There's only the shelter of the trees and the sentience ofthe earth itself. She draws in a breath, her hair stirring with the faintest movement of air inside the circle.
“This is the first time I’ve felt like I could breathe since I got here,” she whispers, voice soft but certain.
"Because the land wants you here."
She glances at me. "Does it? Or is it warning me?"
"Both. That’s how it works. It pushes, tests, bends. If you’re not supposed to be here, it breaks you. If you are… it changes you."
Her throat moves with a swallow. "And you think it wants to change me?"
"I think it already has."
I move closer until our foreheads brush, and the contact hits like a strike of lightning trapped under my ribs. Her breath catches. Mine does too. For a second, we don’t speak. There’s nothing left to explain. It’s all written in the space between us. In the quiet that wraps around our bones and waits to see what we’ll choose.
I take a step closer, framing her face with both hands. She doesn’t pull away. Her eyes search mine, not with fear, but with fire. She’s scared, yes, but she’s still standing. Still here. I lean in until our foreheads touch. Her breath catches. Mine does too. For a second, we don’t speak. There’s nothing left to explain.
I draw her hand into mine and reach for the ceremonial dagger, the blade etched with marks from every bond before ours. “This is where it’s done,” I tell her quietly. “The place my father and brother bound themselves to their mates. The way I will bind myself to you.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull back. She already knows what we are—fated, bound before we ever touched. This isn’t about proof. It’s about sealing what’s already ours.
I slice her palm, then mine, the sting sharp but fleeting, a mark that will fade but never be forgotten. From the family’sbonding sash, I pull the leather cord worn smooth by years of use. I press our hands together, blood mingling, and wind the cord tight until the two of us are bound as one.
Her eyes lock to mine, wide and luminous in the shadows of the stones.
“My blood in your veins,” I vow, my voice steady even as my chest pounds. “Your breath in my lungs. I claim you, Anabeth, not because fate chose you for me, but because I would choose you, in every life, in every world, even if fate had stayed silent.”
The words hang in the circle like an oath etched into the air itself. The ley lines stir beneath our feet, answering with a low vibration that rises through the ground and into our bones. The stones hum faintly, glowing with a soft light along ancient cracks, as if the earth itself has woken to witness what we’ve done. The forest leans closer, branches whispering overhead, the land alive and listening.
But all I feel is her. The heat of her hand in mine, her pulse beating steady against my skin. The bond is sealed, not only by blood and cord, but by the land that now claims us both.
I brush the backs of my fingers down her arm, slow enough to feel each hair rise under the pass. She shivers, not from cold. It’s a quiet kind of desire, the kind that doesn’t demand but waits with certainty. Her eyes stay locked on mine, wide and steady, like she’s waiting to see if I’ll flinch before she does.
She steps into me, presses her hand to my chest. "You have a lot of rules, Beau Hayes. But if you're asking me to stay, then make sure you understand mine. I'm not some fragile thing you can hide away. If I stay, I fight with you. I learn. I don’t want protection. I want partnership."
Her voice doesn’t shake. Not even a little. That wrecks me more than if she had cried. She’s not asking to be protected. She’s demanding to stand at my side. Every instinct in me wants to shield her from the storm, but she’s the kind of woman who’drather walk into it than let it pass without her. I can’t protect her the way I want. But I can stand beside her while the wind tries to tear us both apart.
I wrap my arms around her, tight, burying my face in her neck. Her lips brush my throat when she nods, and the contact is so small, so unintentional, it tears something loose in me. My whole body tightens with the need to pull her closer, to let the weight of what we’re choosing turn into something physical, something permanent. But I hold back. Because the bond is already forming beneath the skin, beneath the blood. The land knows. And I think she does too.
"Then stay," I murmur, my voice low and certain. "Not behind me. Not beneath me. Stay beside me. Fight with me, Anabeth with all of us."
Her hands slide around my ribs. "I’m not going anywhere."
We stand like that for a long moment, the breeze shifting around us, the forest slowly exhaling. Then I reach into my jacket and pull out the small pouch I brought. Inside are two rings, carved from the wood of a ley-anchored cedar stump. Symbol and promise.
"We don’t wear gold," I say. "We wear the land. If you take this, it means you’re choosing to be part of us. The Hayes family. Redwood Rise. Me."
I explain the tradition slowly, not just the gesture, but the roots of it. How every Hayes ring is carved from a tree that sits on sacred ley ground. How the land watches the carving, judges the bond before it begins. She listens without interrupting, her fingers brushing the wood as if she already knows it means more than a promise. It’s belonging carved into something eternal.
She doesn’t hesitate. "Put it on me."
I slide the ring onto her finger, and she takes the second one and fits it onto mine. The second the wood touches skin, the leylines pulse. A deep, resonant thrum that rises up through the soil and into our bones.
"I love you Anabeth."
