Page 49 of Orc’s Grimoire

The marks on my ribs are simpler. Three lines of text on each side, running parallel to the bones, pulsing with a slower rhythm than the forearm sigils. Protection, the grimoire confirms when I ask. Defense against physical harm as well as magical intrusion.

And the mark at my throat—a single complex sigil, maybe an inch across, positioned just above the hollow where my pulse beats visible beneath the skin. This one, the grimoire tells me, is communication. A direct line between us that bypasses the need for blood, for proximity, for any of the usual requirements of magical binding.

YOU CAN REACH ME NOW. ANYWHERE IN THE ARCHIVE. ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD, IF YOU TRAVEL FAR ENOUGH. AND I CAN REACH YOU.

That should terrify me.

It doesn’t. Which might be a sign that I’ve been serving the grimoire too long—or a sign that I’ve finally accepted what I am.

A keeper who made her choice. Just like you made yours.

I pull my robe closed over the marks, hiding them from view. The fabric does nothing to dim their warmth against my skin. The grimoire’s claim burns steady and present, a constant reminder that I’m no longer just an anchor.

I’m an ally. A partner in whatever war is coming.

Gods help us both.

The door opens without warning.

I spin, reaching for the knife I’d left on the washbasin—and freeze when I see Korrath in the doorway.

He looks like a weapon waiting to be drawn.

He looks like salvation.

“You’re awake.” His voice is rough, edged with exhaustion he’s trying to hide. “I heard you moving. Wanted to check—“ His gaze drops to my arms, to the edges of the new sigils visible where my robe has slipped. “What is that?”

“The grimoire.” I let the robe fall open further, revealing the full extent of the marks. No point hiding them—he’ll see them eventually, and keeping secrets from the man bound to me by fate magic seems counterproductive. “It added to my collection while I slept.”

He crosses the room in three strides, and suddenly he’s close—close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Close enough that the mating mark on my collarbone aches with the recognition of his presence, demanding acknowledgment.

“The book is marking you.” Not a question. His fingers hover over the sigils on my forearm, close enough to feel the heat they generate but not quite touching. “More claims. More ownership.”

“Protection.” I watch his face as I explain, looking for suspicion, for doubt, for any sign that he thinks the grimoire is manipulating me. “The Author tried to reach me during the night. The new sigils stopped him.”

“How do you know that’s what they’re for?”

“The grimoire told me.”

“And you believe it?”

The grimoire’s offer still stood. That had to be enough.

“Then we’re working with it.” His jaw tightens—not argument, just acknowledgment of the discomfort in that fact. He steps closer, and the motion brings him to the edge of the table, close enough to touch.

The mating mark tightens, responding to our proximity, demanding more.

“You don’t trust me, spell-burner. Not completely.” I raise my hand to his chest, pressing my palm against the spot where his mating mark burns beneath his tunic. The heat is intense—twin flames responding to each other across the boundary of flesh and fabric. “You’ve been watching me for days. Waiting to see if the grimoire’s influence has turned me into a threat. Wondering how much of what I say is real and how much is manipulation.”

“Thyra—“

“I’ve been doing the same thing.” The admission costs me more than I expected. “Watching you. Waiting. Wondering if the mating mark is real or just another form of control.” I press harder against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric. “The same way I trust that you want me, even though you know what I’ve done. What I am.”

His hand closes over mine.

Not pulling away—pressing closer. Holding my palm against his heart, against the mark that claims me as his mate whether either of us wanted it.

“What you’ve done.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “You mean the scholars you sacrificed. The choices you made to keep the grimoire contained.”