Page 35 of Unveiled

Connor’s hand went to his chest, his fingers splaying over his sternum as if he’d been struck there. “Nothing.”

He felt a tug low in his ribs, a thread pulled tight between them. Not pain, not exactly. More like awareness. Like a door that’d been closed all his life had been opened a crack, and now he could feel the weather outside.

Connor took a step back. The tug sharpened. He stopped, startled, and the tug eased. He and Adrian stared at each other, Adrian’s eyes mirroring his own uncertainty.

Morrigan’s expression softened into something almost kind. “Ah. There it is.”

Connor’s voice came out rough. “What is?”

Adrian swallowed audibly. “I don’t know.”

Connor’s eyes were dark with fury and fear. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“It’s not a trick,” Morrigan replied softly. “It’s a consequence.”

Connor rounded on him. “Of what? Of that binding thing? That was supposed to be symbolic. A ritual. A—”

“A tether,” Morrigan supplied. “A vow with teeth.” He moved to a worktable and picked up a simple, black, soft-felt hat. He turned it in his hands as if it were alive. “You two thought a binding was a promise,” he said. “It is that, but in this village, promises are not metaphors.”

Connor laughed sharply. “We didn’t promise anything.”

Morrigan’s gaze flicked to Adrian, quick as a knife. “Are you sure?”

Adrian sighed. “We said words. That’s all.”

“And the village heard them,” Morrigan said. “The land heard them. The old oaths that live under the stones heard them. And because you are what you are, Connor, and you are what you are, Adrian—”

Connor’s fingers curled into his palms. “Don’t talk in riddles.”

Morrigan set the hat down and leaned on the table. “As you wish. Plainly, the binding is waking up.”

Connor saw Adrian rub absently at his shoulder. “Is that still annoying you?”

Adrian shook his head. “No. It’s an itch.”

Connor’s eyes flicked to Adrian’s collar. “Let me see.”

“No.”

Connor’s jaw flexed. “Why not?”

“Because it’s—” Adrian stopped. “Because it’s private.”

Morrigan’s gaze sharpened. “The mark’s showing.”

Connor’s head snapped up. “What mark?”

Morrigan sighed, as if watching two people insist the sky wasn’t blue. “The binding mark. It begins as heat, then an itch, then it breaks the surface. Like a bruise deciding to become a tattoo.”

Adrian shook his head, his veins prominent. “That’s not what it is. I told you it was a rash.”

Connor stared at Morrigan as if he’d confessed to a felony. “You’re saying there’s a mark on him.”

Morrigan tilted his head. “On both of you, eventually.”

Connor angrily spit out, “No.”

Adrian’s hand went to his shoulder, his fingers pressing through fabric. Morrigan’s voice softened. “It’s not a brand. It’s a sign. A visible anchor. The village likes its truths to be legible.”