Finally, Armand turned to me.
Our gazes locked. He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before lifting the blade again.
I raised my hand, steady despite the storm inside me.
The blade was sharp, the cut precise. A sting, a drop of warmth trailing over my palm, and then Armand’s hand grasped mine.
The moment our blood mixed, I felt it.
A force like a tidal wave, rushing through me, tethering me to the pack in a way I had never experienced before.
A gasp tore from my lips as the connection snapped into place, a thousand emotions slamming into me all at once. It wasn’t just a feeling—it was a presence, an awareness, a hum of countless voices threading into my very soul. I could feel them. All of them.
The pride of the warriors standing at attention, their loyalty like a
