Page 38 of Unveiled

Morrigan held Connor’s gaze for a beat, then nodded, as if conceding a point. “Fair.” He looked back at Adrian. “Then decide.”

Adrian swallowed hard. “It’s probably nothing.”

Morrigan’s expression said he didn’t believe him. Connor’s gaze was fixed on Adrian, his concern sharpening into buried anger.

Adrian made an exasperated sound and stood abruptly, shrugging out of his coat and tugging his shirt collar down enough to expose the top of his shoulder. His skin was reddened, probably from scratching, and beneath the obvious something like ink under water, but darker and forming. A curved line, a suggestion of a symbol.

Adrian stared at it, his eyes wide.

Connor went still. “That’s…” His voice broke, swallowed and tried again. “That’s not a rash.”

Adrian shrugged. “It could be. Some kind of reaction.”

Morrigan’s fingers hovered over the mark. “It’s the beginning. It will itch until the sigil settles.”

Adrian’s laugh came out thin. “Great. So I’m allergic to destiny.”

Connor’s gaze stayed locked on the mark, horror and fury warring inside him. “This is insane.”

Adrian pulled his collar up and grabbed his coat, his hands shaking slightly. “Connor.”

He looked at Adrian, and the thread between them tightened, sudden and sharp, as if the binding had taken offence at the distance between them. Adrian gasped, a small involuntary sound, and Connor’s eyes widened. He’d felt it too.

Morrigan’s voice was gentle. “You can fight it. Most do. Especially at first. But the binding doesn’t care about your disbelief, Connor. It cares about your resistance.”

Connor’s jaw clenched. “I’m not…”

“You are,” Morrigan said softly. “And it will push back.”

Adrian swallowed. “What happens if we keep resisting?”

Morrigan exhaled slowly, the kind of breath a person takes before saying something they know won’t be well received. “Resistance doesn’t break a binding,” he said gently. “It distorts it.”

Adrian’s brows drew together. “Distorts?”

“Yes.” Morrigan’s gaze flicked between them, unreadable but solemn. “Bindings are ancient things. They expect acceptance. Purpose. Alignment. When one or both of you push against it…” He made a small twisting motion with his fingers, as though bending a thread until it strained, “it tightens. Pulls. Corrects.”

“Corrects how?” Connor snapped.

Morrigan stated, “By forcing proximity. Forcing clarity. Forcing the connection you’re running from.”

Adrian’s brow furrowed. “Meaning what, exactly?”

Morrigan lifted a single brow. “Meaning it will continue to pull you together. Harder. At inconvenient times. Painful times. Dangerous times. The bond does not tolerate avoidance.”

Under his breath, Connor muttered a curse while pacing in a tight, frustrated line before turning back toward them. “So what? You’re saying this thing is going to drag us around like bloody marionettes every time one of us takes two steps in the wrong direction?”

Morrigan’s lips curved. “Only when those steps take you away from each other.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to be close to each other all the time. You will have your distance, but the bond will sense any attempt to sever it or to create too great a distance between you.”

Adrian shook his head in disbelief. “That’s…”

“Horseshit,” Connor finished.

Morrigan’s gaze softened, and that unnerved Connor more than any sharpness would have. “Valour bonds were forged for war,” he said quietly. “For protection. They were never meant to be gentle.”

Adrian let out a breath that seemed to tremble at the edges. “And if we still refuse? If we pretend the bond isn’t there?”

“Then it escalates.” Morrigan’s voice grew softer still. “It will demand what it is owed.”