He put his hands out in front of us, wordlessly beckoning us to take them.
Annoyed, I placed my hand in his. Ivan did the same.
Revierrie’s fingers twitched beneath mine as he began to mumble a series of chants.
As he spoke the ancient words, he pulled his hands away, forcing Ivan and me to grip each other’s arms instead.
The moment my skin brushed against his, a shot of electricity rushed up my arm—unwelcome, thrilling, and all too familiar. Infuriating.
It seemed like my body hadn’t gotten the memo that we were done, and I hated it. Hated that my pulse skipped. Hated the way his warmth was soothing in the best and worst way.
Hated that my wolf reacted, going wild and excited in a heartbeat. It took everything to keep my calm—to stay unbothered, even as Ivan lifted his eyes to mine, and our gazes locked.
We continued to stare at each other in agonizing silence, listening to the priest’s ancient chants, waiting for something to happen. It only got hotter by the second, despite the chill night air.
After what felt like an eternity, Revierrie turned to us and said:
"Your Highness, Lady Maeve, it is time for you to say the ancient severance words, passed down from generation to generation. The Moon is generous and lays witness to the depths of your earnest desires."
The air around us felt dense—volatile with a growing supernatural energy. I felt restless on the inside. Ivan must have felt it too, because his brows drew subtly together.
Nonetheless, in the next moment, we both echoed off each other’s words:
"I, Ivan Cross, reject this bond and cut the ties that connect us together, by the will of Selene."
"I, Maeve Oakes, reject this bond and cut the ties that connect us together, by the will of Selene—"
A surge of pain shot up my spine, and a screech tore from my throat—gut-wrenching in its depth, guttural in the sheer agony of it.
It felt like a thousand needles pierced straight into my chest, like my skin was being ripped away to expose something feral and bursting from within me.
Ivan’s identical howl of pain broke the night too—echoing through the charged air alongside the wild flickering of flames and the sudden gusts of wind that roared around us.
But the agony didn’t stop. It came brutally from something inside me—something that held on too tightly, something that, despite the torment, refused to let go.
My wolf. She screamed within me, a banshee’s wail scraping against my skull, thundering like a migraine that wouldn’t end—sobbing, fighting, weeping like a fucking psychotic.
"Make it stop!" I screeched in a voice that blended with my wolf’s. "MAKE IT STOP, PLEASE!"
"Maeve," Ivan choked out—reaching forward desperately, like he was trying to reach me through the madness.
And for a second, it all seemed to make sense. A haze of irrational logic fell into place, molding this moment like muscle memory.
My own hand dove forward to meet his in a reflex that felt as natural as breathing.
The second we touched again, I exploded—fur surging forward in a violent burst, overtaking my skin and shoving my consciousness into the backseat.
There was no stopping it. My wolf had a mind of her own, and in that moment, her will crushed mine with terrifying ease.
My eyes glowed under the moon’s light. I bared my fangs and dropped to my knees, shifting into my wolf form with a snarl.
Ivan followed a heartbeat later, unleashing a powerful howl only an Alpha could own.
There was no time to overthink it. The second his haunting gray eyes met mine, our wolves lunged in an aching, desperate tether.
They circled each other like magnets pulled by instinct, closing the distance just to press against each other’s fur, to breathe each other in like oxygen.
"No! No!" I screamed from the inside, clawing to regain control, pushing back against the madness.
But it was no use. The cocooning peace of Ivan’s presence was like a drug—like the kiss of warmth after a cold night, the first taste of solace after endless war.
But it wasn’t a peace I wanted. It wasn’t the ending I came here for. I was done with it.
With every ounce of strength I had left, I tore myself away from Ivan’s wolf and forced a shift back into my human form.
The pain was excruciating, ripping through my bones and sinew like fire—but it worked. I screamed as my body twisted and reformed, but I did it. I took myself back.
Of course, I was naked.
"Maeve!" Revierrie rushed forward with wide eyes, his hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to reach for me or keep back. "Are you hurt? Goddess—are you okay?"
Behind him, Francis barreled toward me as well, followed by the older elder, both looking rattled and unsure if they were witnessing a miracle or a disaster.
But I stepped back from them, wrapping my arms around my chest.
"Did it work?" I barked in response, hard gaze swinging to Revierrie like a blade. "Tell me it worked!"
His expression, already pale with unease, dimmed further. I watched the light drain from his face as his lips parted, then pressed together again in hesitation.
"Well?" I snapped, stepping forward despite my nakedness. "Answer me!"
Revierrie exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to the chalk circle that now looked like a battlefield.
"I—I don’t know what to say," he admitted, voice low, almost reverent with dread. "This has never happened before. The wrath bond is... unpredictable. Violent. Volatile. It doesn’t follow normal rules."
"That’s not an answer," I hissed. "Did. It. Work?"
His silence was answer enough.
"No," he said finally, the word falling from his lips in a whisper. "It didn’t."
I screamed, rage clawing out of my chest. The walls shook the night as I turned away, shaking, trembling, furious at my wolf, the goddess, Ivan, the moon, the priest, at everything. At myself.
This bond refused to die.
And I didn’t know how much more of it I could take.
"I’m sorry," the priest offered hesitantly. "Something must have gone amiss. This is uncharted territory for me as well. Give me some time and I’ll look into it."
I stumbled a step back, heart pounding.
"Maeve," Ivan said gently—he was back in his human form too, and for once, the soft depth of his eyes held the entirety of my attention before his naked body did.
His voice was soft. Too soft. Like an apology. Like pity.
And when his hand reached for my shoulders—as if to gather my breaking pieces to himself, as if to mend back the shattering parts of me with his warmth—I flinched like he’d tried to burn me.
"Don’t touch me," I spat, venom lacing every syllable. My eyes met his squarely—wild, hurt, furious. "Don’t you fucking touch me."