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I look at her. Just the act of turning my head sends a flare of agony down my neck and into my chest. But I do it anyway, because looking at her is worth the torture. It’s the first day that I’ve been able to keep myself conscious for longer than a few minutes.

She meets my gaze. Her eyes are dark with worry, but there’s something stronger underneath. There’s a glimmer of resolve in those big, brown eyes of hers. Something that tells me that she can, in fact, feel what still lies broken between us.

“I have an idea. It’s an old tradition,” she murmurs. “If we complete the official Mating ritual, it will help you heal faster.”

I stare at her. Not because I didn’t think of it myself, but because it’s her saying it. Alina, who has spent a decade of her life hiding from me. My love, who once denied the very bond that still pulses between us like a second heartbeat.

“Are you sure?” I ask, voice searing up my throat like a razor blade. “Feels a little sudden, baby, considering you were still slamming door in my face a week ago.”

Her lips twitch into an almost-smile. I can tell she really wants to roll her eyes right now. “Well, you did drive across my flowerbeds.”

“Fair.”

“I don’t want to rush this,” she says, more quietly now. “But you’re not healing. And that’s not okay with me. I need to do this. I need to help you, Rowan.”

I study her for a moment. There’s a soft glow on her cheeks. Embarrassment at her own vulnerability, maybe, or the warmth of all her leashed love blooming beneath the surface. She’s nervous, and it’s not because she’s afraid of me. It’s because this is real now. There’s no undoing it. No going back.

“Just a small ritual,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair off my face. I’ve had a fever since they carried me off the battlefield. “A binding touch, and then my strength will be your strength. My health will be your health. Our bodies will be as bound as our hearts and souls.”

“Sounds rather dramatic.”

Alina sighs. “Your jokes don’t land when you’re this helpless.”

“All right,” I rasp. “What do we do?”

She shifts forward in the chair, lifting a small clay bowl from the bedside table. I didn’t even notice her preparing it. Inside, there’s a mix of herbs—lavender and sage and something sharp, like pine resin. She dips her fingers in water and presses them to the dried herbs, murmuring something under her breath in the old Celtic tongue of our ancestors. I recall the words from weddings I’ve attended over the years. Kseniya or one of the elders must have taught the words to Alina while I was lost to pain-induced delirium.

“Give me both of your hands,” she says softly.

I grit my teeth and push through the pain, lifting both hands. One is bruised from a couple of crushed bones, and one is still crusted with dried blood under the nails. She takes them gently, reverently, and starts to trace the herbal paste along my skin, down my knuckles, and across my wrists.

Her touch is tender and sure. I am the one who trembles.

I am vaguely aware of our audience, but the others are so still and silent that we might as well be ensconced in our own bubble.

“I bind my strength to yours,” she says, voice low yet clear. “I offer you the gift of my healing, and receive yours in return.”

The shimmering magic of our tethered souls responds immediately. It sings between us, electric and ancient. The bond, half-shattered and frayed at the edges for so long, flares bright and golden.

Complete, at last.

I gasp. My chest seizes up. Not in pain, but in awe. My wolf pushes forward to the surface, desperate to howl and claim, although I’m in no state to do so.

Alina doesn’t look away. Her eyes are locked on mine.

“You’ll heal faster now,” she whispers.

She presses my hands between hers and leans forward, brushing her lips lightly against my brow.

The touch scorches through me, a blessing and a promise from my beloved mate.

And just like that, the pain dulls.

I exhale slowly, my body finally relaxing. The weight of the agony lifts, just a little. My heartbeat steadies. My eyelids droop as a blissful sleep seeks to pull me away into a healing current.

“I…love you…” I manage to get out before being dragged under.

A week later, and my tattered body no longer needs to be held together with bandages and stitches.