Page 19 of Collar Me Crazy (Hollow Oak Mates #8)
SONYA
T he Hollow Oak Book Nook felt different at night, shadows dancing between the towering shelves while candles flickered in glass lanterns scattered throughout the store. Sonya sat cross-legged on the floor beside Moira, surrounded by stacks of ancient texts that smelled of vanilla and old magic.
"Anything?" Lucien asked from his position behind the main counter, where he'd been cross-referencing entries in what looked like a hand-written index.
"Lots about protective barriers and ward construction," Moira said, flipping through a leather-bound volume. "But nothing about what happens when they fail catastrophically."
"Keep looking." Sonya turned another page in the tome she'd been assigned, squinting at faded script that seemed to shift in the candlelight. "There has to be something. Towns don't just build protective systems without considering what might go wrong."
They'd been at this for three hours, ever since the storm had settled in and made travel impossible.
Outside, wind howled through the November night, rattling windows and sending occasional flurries of snow against the glass.
But inside the bookstore, surrounded by centuries of accumulated knowledge, Sonya felt like they were making progress.
Even if that progress was slower than she'd hoped.
"Here," Lucien said suddenly, his voice sharp with discovery. "Listen to this: 'When the threads of power grow too numerous and bright, when love binds what should remain separate, the Great Unweaving shall begin.'"
Sonya looked up from her book, pulse quickening. "What's that from?"
"A collection of prophecies from the Founding Era.
Written by someone called the Hollow Seer.
" Lucien carried the book over to their makeshift research station.
"There's more: 'Seven bonds of heart and soul, wrought in love and magic's toll.
But beware the eighth that comes to pass, for it shall either save or see the last.'"
“Seven bonds,” Moira echoed, her brow furrowing. “Sound familiar?”
“Too familiar,” Sonya whispered. Her stomach knotted. “We already have seven pairs in Hollow Oak. If Ryker and I?—”
“You’d be the eighth,” Lucien finished, lowering himself onto the rug with them.
The room seemed to shrink around Sonya at those words. She could still feel the brush of Ryker’s lips from their kiss days ago, the way he’d looked at her like she was dangerous and necessary all at once. Her body warmed at the memory, but her mind supplied the echo of his voice: Then we stop.
Moira nudged the open page with a fingernail. “Look here. It’s not just the Veil that would fail. The Great Unweaving means all the barriers — human, supernatural, spirit. Everything bleeding into one unstable mess.”
“That lines up with what I’ve been seeing.” Sonya’s voice came out thin. “Not just cracks in our wards. Whole seams between realms pulling apart.”
She glanced at Lucien. He was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that made her think of a predator circling in the dark. “You’ve seen something like this before, haven’t you?”
“Not seen,” he said evenly. “Heard. Old whispers about an emptiness between realms. The Void.”
As if summoned, Moira flipped to another passage. “Here. ‘When the Great Unweaving begins, the space between worlds grows thin, and that which dwells in the emptiness shall wake and hunger. It feeds on chaos, grows with each fallen barrier, until nothing remains.’”
Lucien’s eyes flicked to Sonya. “That sound familiar?”
Sonya shut her book with a thump, unable to stomach the eerie illustrations — gaping mouths, black rivers stretching across parchment. “I can feel it. It’s not just in visions anymore. Every time a ward flickers, it’s closer.”
The three of them sat in uneasy silence. The storm rattled the windows.
Moira was the one to break it. “So. Two problems. Too many mate bonds. And a hungry Void that loves chaos.”
"Three," Sonya corrected grimly. "Because according to everything we've read, the eighth bond is the key to either stopping this or making it infinitely worse. And I have no idea which outcome we're headed for."
Neither Lucien nor Moira rushed to fill the gap. They didn’t need to. The truth sat heavy enough.
Lucien tapped the prophecy again. “It says the eighth bond will either save or ruin. That’s choice, not doom.”
Sonya’s laugh came out brittle. “Choice sounds a lot simpler on paper. Out there it’s—” She cut herself off, picturing Ryker’s hand brushing hers in the snow.
Moira slid a fresh book into her lap. “Then we keep looking until we know what that choice is. Prophecies always leave out the practical bits.”
They bent to their work again, pages turning fast. Candle wax dripped.
Sonya skimmed through calculations and glyphs until one passage jumped out.
“Here. ‘Seven woven threads will strain the fabric, yet one more will tear it open. Only by binding what is meant to break can the weave be made whole again.’”
Moira leaned over. “Binding what’s meant to break…”
“Sounds like the mate bond itself,” Lucien said.
Sonya shut her eyes, the words pressing into her like a weight. Binding what’s meant to break. Wasn’t that exactly what Ryker had tried to warn her of? He’d spent his whole life running from a prophecy that made him a weapon. And now she might be the one who tipped the scales.
The lights flickered overhead, then died, plunging the store into flickering candlelight. Outside, other failures rippled through town, wards crying out in low moans.
“It’s worsening,” Lucien said quietly.
And before Sonya could stop it, a vision slammed into her.
The square flooded with shadows pouring through jagged tears. The seven couples ringed together, light spilling from their hands, but still barely holding. And she stood at the center, Ryker beside her, the decision hanging in the air.
Her hand snapped against the rug to steady herself. Moira grabbed her shoulder. “Sonya? What did you see?”
“The end,” she whispered. Her throat ached. “It’s coming fast. And when it does, Ryker and I will have to decide if what’s between us saves Hollow Oak… or destroys it.”