Page 38 of Haunted Crowns
Golden light shattered. The battlefield vanished as a cold force yanked her back into darkness. Her eyes snapped open, unfocused.
“Eris!” Kareon’s voice was close, raw. His hands hovered, trembling, as relief flickered in his golden eyes.
She was awake, but her gaze slid past him. She had returned, but not whole. The weight of the vision still pressed against her chest.
“I’m here,” he said. His voice held steady, though his hands did not. “You’re safe.”
Eris blinked slowly as the world began to sharpen. Her lips parted, but no sound followed. Kaelioth’s voice broke the silence.
“She needs blood. Now.”
The word stirred something inside her. Hunger flickered, fragile, faint. But she had no strength to respond.
Kareon moved without hesitation. One arm supported her weight while the other cradled her head against his shoulder, her damp hair clinging to his skin. His hold tightened. His voice grew firm. “I’ll feed her myself.”
Kaelioth observed silently. Then he nodded once.
Kareon adjusted his hold with care, as if she might break. “Come on, Eris,” he murmured. “You need this.”
A trembling hand pressed weakly to his chest. “No…” she whispered.
Even in desperation, she resisted. The thought of harming him cut through the hunger clawing inside her.
Kareon’s fingers brushed her temple, tender, impatient. “Don’t be stubborn,” he said. His voice was gentle, edged with urgency. “You’re too weak. Just drink. I can take it.” His golden eyes met hers, unyielding.
Her lips quivered as exhaustion tugged at her, and with a faint, reluctant groan, her resistance gave way.
She leaned in, breath hitching as her lips brushed his neck—a flicker of heat, soft as skin.
Kareon went still, muscles locked, instincts drawn tight. Her mouth hovered over his pulse, and a low, guttural sound escaped him, almost a growl. Need surged through him, but he held it back. His instincts demanded surrender, but she needed steady, not starving.
Her breath trembled against his throat. She had not meant to touch him like that, so soft, so slow, but she did, and it broke him open. His scent—earth and steel, smoke and wildness—wrapped around her and pulled her closer. It was impossible to resist.
A moment passed in charged silence. Then her lips parted, and she bit him gently, intimate and precise, as if kissing the thread that tethered them together.
Kareon gasped. Heat slammed through him, and his spine arched. One hand tangled in her hair, the other drew her close, as if her touch kept him breathing.
She drank slowly, her breath searing his skin. The soft drag of her tongue along his pulse unraveled him completely. It was not bold; it was helpless. Still, it claimed him.
She was not feeding. She was binding.
Every breath became a vow. Every movement echoed something ancient and unspoken.
Inside him, something stirred. A pulse, then another. The air shifted. Then it snapped.
There was no sound, only sensation—a thunderclap in his bones. The bond locked into place with devastating finality. His heart lurched, then stilled, as if the world had just decided to belong to her. His wolf quieted, not in defeat, but in reverence.
When she pulled back, the absence was agony, like a blade carving through him. The bond between them thrummed, raw and fragile, stretched unbearably tight.
His golden eyes darkened as he looked at her, her mouth stained with his blood, still parted, still his. He reached up and brushed his thumb across her lips, the touch slow, intentional.
Her breath stuttered as their eyes met. They did not speak. They did not need to. Neither moved. The air held them like a vow. It was done, and nothing would ever be the same.
Kaelioth’s voice shattered the silence, exultant. “The spirits have deemed her worthy!” He raised his arms in celebration, then gestured toward the tent flap. “Kareon. Bring her out. The pack needs to see her.”
Kareon steadied her as she stood. Her limbs trembled from weakness, but also from the weight of what now lived inside her. Their eyes never left each other. Something sacred stirred in the silence between them—something unspoken that might not survive words.
He nodded once. She answered only with a breath.
