Page 22 of Before the Bond Breaks
So, I didn’t.
I rode the rhythm, slow at first, then harder, faster, drawing sounds from him that sent heat rushing through me. His hands roamed my body, rough and reverent, touching like he was memorizing every inch. He whispered my name against my throat, his voice raw, and it unraveled me.
When the storm of it finally broke, it was more than physical. The bond snapped tight between us, a rush of heat and light weaving into my very soul. I didn’t have an inner wolf, but I felt his through him—wild, fierce, protective—and it wrappedaround me like a shield, pulling me into him in a way deeper than flesh.
My climax tore through me with a cry, every nerve alight, every wall I’d built shattering in the flood of him. He followed with a growl, hands gripping me hard as his release crashed through, his emotions spilling across the bond until I couldn’t breathe for the force of it.
When it finally ebbed, I collapsed against him, my skin slick with sweat, my body trembling with aftershocks. He held me tight, chest heaving, lips pressing into my hair like he couldn’t stop.
I lifted my head, searching his face. His eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them, molten gold threaded with something dangerous.
“You have me now,” I whispered.
His thumb brushed my cheek, his voice steady as a vow. “Always had you. Just had to wait for you to remember.”
And for the first time in two hundred years, I let myself believe it.
14
TALON
The pawnshop buildinglooked like it should have collapsed years ago. If I were being honest, this whole part of town should have been condemned long ago. A neon sign glowed in the window with half of the letters burned out, casting a sickly palette through the streaked glass.
I stepped inside first, holding the door for Maze, Candra, and Jenson. The stench of old paper, rust, and wet stone hit me at once. Relics lined the shelves of an old bookcase, some humming faintly with magic. Maze’s careful scan confirmed what I was thinking. While the relics that didn’t process power appeared to be nothing more than trinkets, the magical ones could be deadly in the wrong hands.
Maze studied the wards around the entrance. I watched her as she noted every tripwire, alarm, and arcane lock braided through every surface. The place was a fortress disguised as garbage.
Jenson took the lead, moving with the same calm he used in a fight. We wound our way to the back counter, where the owner lounged behind reinforced glass and a tangled mesh of securitycameras. He looked fae around the edges—ears almost too sharp, skin the color of wax paper under poor light, brown hair slicked back to hide a receding hairline. His eyes darted over us, lingering on Jenson for a beat before shifting to Maze’s face. My presence didn’t faze him much, but he couldn’t hide his nervous twitch when Candra stepped forward.
Jenson rested his hand on the counter. “We need a word, Wolford.”
The man’s mouth formed a smile, too fast and too forced. “Didn’t expect you back so soon. Or with such… company.” His gaze flicked to Maze, then to me. “You’re with the Valens now? Congratulations.”
Man, news traveled fast. I really shouldn’t have been surprised as I was. The magical community was worse than a small-town grapevine.
I stepped in, making my voice cold but polite. “We’re not here for a social call. We’re looking for a relic—one I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about. It’s called the Severing Stone.”
Wolford’s fingers drummed on the counter once, then stopped. The silence stretched. Power curled at the edge of my senses. Tiny defense spells flared, primed to go off if he moved the wrong way. I held my position, keeping my wolf in check. Show any aggression, and the man would vanish or unleash whatever he had hidden in this rat’s nest.
His voice slid out, slippery and quick. “Never heard of it. I deal mostly with small-timers these days. Magical artifacts haven’t crossed my hands in years, not since the last raid.”
I pressed him. “You’re lying. Even the black market is buzzing about this thing. Don’t waste our time, Wolford.”
He shrugged, widening his eyes, tilting his head in the way fae liked to feign innocence. “I’d help if I could. I don’t like trouble in my shop. Especially not the sort that gets Valkyries and shifters riled up. But I don’t have what you’re looking for.”
Candra’s attention sharpened. I sensed her magic flare, the subtle pulse of her truth sense swirling in the air. She cocked her head, gaze narrowing. Her voice cut through the owner’s next words. “That’s not true. You know more than you’re saying.”
Wolford’s fake charm cracked. He leaned away, hands rising slightly, eyes flicking to the side exits. He didn’t bolt, but the tension ratcheted tight.
Maze circled the room, careful not to touch anything. The old wood groaned under her steps. I saw her eyes track a flicker of movement along the doorframe, with runic marks glowing faintly. Even the coat rack had a spell humming in its base.
Candra ignored the unease flooding the room. “I have the power to sense truth, Wolford. You can keep lying, but it won’t work on me. Tell us what you know about the Severing Stone. Or I’ll let Jenson break your wards one by one and see how long you last with your defenses gone.”
Jenson flashed a thin, mirthless smile. The shop owner paled.
Wolford’s lips pressed thin. The man weighed his options, then dropped his gaze. “Fine. I’ve heard it mentioned. Nothing solid. Just the usual chatter. Some heavy hitters in the market are trying to find it. Nobody knows where it landed, only that it showed up in a private collection a few months ago and then disappeared again.”
Maze’s voice carried across the room, cool and sharp. “Who else has come asking?”
