His hope tangles with mine.
His fear and desperation and the bone-deep relief of finally, finally not being alone—all of it floods through me like I've been struck by lightning.
And he can feel me too.
I know he can because I feel his shock at the depth of my trauma, his rage at everyone who's ever hurt me, his determination to protect me even though I don't need protecting.
His love.
Fuck.
His love.
Raw and new and absolutely terrifying in its intensity.
I release his neck, licking the wound to help it clot, tasting his blood one more time before I pull back to look at him.
His eyes are wide.
Stunned.
The green-gold irises are practically glowing, and I wonder if mine look the same—if the bond is visible in the way we're staring at each other like we're seeing each other for the first time.
Maybe we are.
As though this is the first time anyone has ever truly seen me.
The good, the bad, the absolutely fucking terrifying.
It’s the most out of body experience I’ve ever had a taste of.
"Seraphine," he breathes, and my name sounds different now.
Weighted. Sacred.
Like he's saying a prayer to a god he just discovered.
I open my mouth to respond—to say something, anything, to acknowledge what we've just done—but the words die in my throat.
Because reality is crashing in.
Cold and unforgiving and impossible to ignore.
I just bonded with him.
With Sage Wilder.
An Alpha I met hours ago but have loved through letters for five years.
An Alpha who has a pack.
A pack that never asked for an Omega.
A pack that definitely didn't ask for me—the packless, unstable, murderous Omega with a body count and a brother people whisper about in terrified tones.
They don't know who I am yet.
Don't know that their pack member just bonded himself permanently to Seraphine Eastman.
