Page 7 of Curvy Sold Mate

He did not look at her.

He looked at Marcus, looked at the satchel, looked at the space between his own hands, and kept them still.

“The amount is verified,” Viktor said, taking care to keep his voice level, lest they detect even a hint of emotion. “The pack bonds are authenticated with Kahn’s seal. You can confirm them now or after the exchange. I’d recommend now, because my patience is not one of the items I brought.”

Marcus took the satchel and opened it. His hands quickly moved through the contents. Viktor watched those hands and thought about breaking them. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, waiting for the feeling to subside.

Olivia stood between the two guards. He could feel her gaze on the side of his face, though he could not see the expression. She was scanning for her brother and finding Viktor instead, and whatever conclusion she drew from that substitution was one more thing he couldn’t afford to process right now.

“It’s all here,” Marcus said, sounding almost disappointed, as though he’d been hoping for a reason to extend the arrangement. “Pleasure doing business.”

“Release her.”

“Of course.” Marcus waved a hand. The guard beside Olivia produced a blade and cut the zip ties with a casualness that made Viktor’s jaw lock so hard his molars creaked. “She’s all yours.”

Viktor extended his hand toward Olivia without looking at her—a gesture stripped of warmth, tactical, meaning come, now, we’re leaving.

She didn’t take it. He hadn’t expected her to.

She walked past his hand and past him, toward the tree line. He fell into step behind her because that was the only position available—she would not walk beside him, and he would not walk ahead. They cleared the camp, crossed the perimeter markers, moved into the dense forest beyond, and Viktor counted sixty paces before the last of Marcus’s scent faded from the air, and he allowed himself to breathe at a depth greater than shallow.

She stopped on the trail and turned.

He knew this face. He’d seen it across briefing tables and in doorways and once, years ago, in a hallway outside Kahn’s study. She was not going to let this go. “Where’s my brother?”

“At the compound. Running operations.”

“He sent you.”

“I volunteered.”

Emotion flickered across her expression, fast, too fast for him to read, which rarely happened—he could map a room’s emotional topology from the doorway, but Olivia had always been difficult terrain.

“What happened at the ritual?” she asked. “After I left.”

“The channeling proceeded. Pairings were drawn.”

“And?”

The shard in her arm pulsed visibly beneath the skin—thin purple lines branching along her veins. He noted it, filed it under Caitlynn, urgent. Then he told her.

“Your name was drawn, and mine.”

She went very still, the kind where the mind behind the body was moving at a speed that required all available resources.

“Drawn,” she repeated. “As in paired.”

“Yes.”

“The ritual I helped design.”

“Yes.”

“Paired me with you.”

He held her gaze. “The bond is active. It was confirmed when your name was called. The magic is binding.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he watched the questions stack behind them—dozens, probably, each one sharper than the last—before she picked the blade she wanted.