<b>Chapter </b><b>109 </b>


    GRAYSON


    “I’m not watching you kill her!”


    “Pierce-”


    “No. Let him!” I throw a hand out, stopping Theo from going after him. “Let him go.”


    I fucking get it. That shithead loves her. In his own twisted, useless way.


    I get it.


    But I’m not him.


    I kneel by her again. Her lips are parted. Blood drying in the corners. Her pulse is thready as hell.


    Fuck.


    I swipe the sweat off her corbone. She flinches. Not even awake, but still trying to fight. That’s my girl.


    Theo’s pacing behind me, muttering under his breath like that’s gonna fix shit. I don’t look at him.


    “Get me a knife,” I snap.


    “What?” Theo freezes. “What the hell for?”


    “I need blood. Mine.”


    “You’re not making her drink again-”


    “No. I’m iming her.”


    Silence.


    Then Pierceughs. Bitter. <i>Loud</i>. From the top of the hatch. “You’re insane.”


    I don’t look at him. “Get me the damn knife.”


    “You’re gonna do the mating here?<b>” </b>Theo asks, <i>voice </i>low, like maybe he didn’t hear me right. “Right now?”


    “She’s not gonna make it to a fucking altar.”


    “You’re not thinking-”


    “She’s dying”


    If I don’t do something, she’s going to die.


    I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing. My hands shake, but I keep them steady enough to unzip the ck kit bag on the floor. There’s a drawer inste hidden under the first p of gauze and burn gef, behind the false wall I stitched in years ago I already know what’s on there. I kept it the way she taught <ol><li>me<b>. </b></li></ol>


    Obsidian des wrapped in salt cloth.


    magic.


    Old magic. Blood magic. My mother’s magic. Stuff that got buried when the new regime took over, when the Elders ouwed half the shit that used to save lives, Stuff no one talks about anymore unless they want to be exiled.


    06:31 Sun, 31


    But I remember. She taught me before she died. Taught me with her hands over mine and blood on the flory


    Theo won’t understand. Pierce sure as fuck won’t


    But I don’t need them to.


    If I concentrate–if I get it exactly right–I can sever the imprint. I can cut Riot’s rot out of her spine and anchor her to me instead Hot mark im the usual way. This is older. Dirtier. It’s the kind of magic thates with pain.


    “This is not fucking possible!” Theo shouts, his voice cracking as he lunges forward and yanks the bag out of my hold.


    “Don’t,” I snap, louder than I mean to.


    He steps back like I burned him<b>, </b>but he doesn’t drop it.


    I move. Quick. Cross the room in three strides and grab his wrist. “Give it back.”


    “Grayson–this isn’t the way.” He’s panting. Eyes wide. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”


    “I know exactly what I’m doing.”


    “She needs rest<b>–</b>she needs time-”


    “She’s out of time.”


    Jessica jerks on the cot again<b>, </b>mouth open in a silent scream. Her spine bows. Her fingers curl like ws around the edge of the sheet. The bulb af flickers once. Her eyes shoot open–silver, blind, wrong.


    I point at her, voice low and deadly. “That is not rest. That is not healing. That is her dying slow while he watches from inside her”


    Theo looks away.


    “I’m not asking,” I say. “I’m not negotiating. I’m not following orders. She’s mine. I’ll tear the rot out with my own fucking teeth if I have to.”


    He hesitates.


    Jessica gasps again, a low rasping sound like metal scraping concrete.


    I let go of Theo’s wrist. He stares at the bag. Then at me.


    “I swear to God,” I mutter, “if you try to stop me again, I’ll put you through that wall.”


    Then I yank the bag back, drop <i>to </i>my knees beside the cot, and start unwrapping the salt cloth.


    The de is obsidian ck. Dull on the edges. Sharp at the point. My fingers are steady now. My heartbeat isn’t


    I look at her body–ruined and burning and still beautiful–and I know there’s only one shot.


    One cut. One spell. One anchor.


    Her to me.


    Or nothing.


    The salt cloth peels back slow.


    It sticks where the blood driedst time–my mother’s blood, maybe mine too. I don’t care. I ball the rag and toss it aside. The de glints once in <b>the </b>low light, dark as hell, dull until it wants to bite. My palm curls around the hilt and my breath holds.


    It’s heavier than I remember.


    Good.


    “Pierce,” I snap without looking. “Boil water. Tear open anything with alcohol. Wipe your fucking hands.”


    I hear him scramble, curses tumbling. A jug ms. Metal tters. Theo paces the wall like a dog losing his goddamn mind.


    But I’m already leaning over her, one knee wedged to the cot to steady her twitching body. I press the t of my hand to her corbone–right a púlse point where she used to bite me when she wanted attention.


    “Jess,” I murmur, not soft. “If you can hear me, don’t fight.”


    She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Her eyes are open now but looking straight through me. Pupils blown. Irises wildsilver. Her lips move t something’s whispering to her from the inside.


    I press harder. Anchor her down.


    She jolts. Her body bows again like someone’s hooking wire through her spine and yanking. A low snarl slips from her throat.


    Not her voice.


    Not her.


    Good. That means I’m close.


    <b>100</b>%


    I hook her shirt up to her ribs, drag it up and over her head, toss it aside. She’s burning. Skin flushed deep red, veins dark, coiled around each other like. barbed wire.


    Right there–just under the rib. Right under the scar I gave her when we were kids and she tried to jump that fence behind the butcher’s yard. She bles all over me then too.


    Old blood. New blood. All the same now.


    I press two fingers to the spot.


    Find the pulse.


    Whisper the binding word. The one my mother made me memorize by beating it into my back with a switch every time I got it wrong.


    Root. Blood. Anchor.


    Jessica shrieks.


    Her whole body jerks. Her heels m into the cot. One arm flies up like it’s about to strike and then folds in on itself. Her wrist dislocates with a pop


    “Fuck–hold her down!”


    Pierce crashes back into the room, towel soaked and steaming in his hands. He dives in, pins her thighs. Theo hisses something sharp from the wall but doesn’t move.


    dig my knees into the cot, lock her hips under mine. The de hovers over her skin now.


    Steady.


    I don’t breathe.


    Root. Blood<b>. </b><b>Anchor</b>.


    06:31 Sun, 31 Aug


    Then I press the obsidian into her side.


    The edge hits her skin.


    Not deep yet. Just enough to bleed. Just enough to open the gate.


    I angle the de, drag it slow, deliberate, just beneath the surface. It’s not about pain–it’s about ess. Blood has to answer willingly, even if body’t breaking. That’s the rule. The body lies. The blood never does.


    “Don’t fucking move,” I growl, mostly to myself.


    Pierce grips her tighter. His jaw’s clenched. He doesn’t get it. Not yet.


    “This isn’t just a cut,” I mutter, dragging the de another inch. A line opens beneath it, dark blood rising like sap from a poisoned root. “This is the for seal. Old blood magic. It works in threes<b>–</b>cut, bind, burn. You open the blood. Then you feed it a name. Then you seal it to someone else.”


    Theo’s still pacing like a lunatic. “That’s suicide.”


    “Shut up.”


    <b>“</b>Grayson-<b>” </b>


    “I said shut the fuck up.” I press the de deeper. Jess twitches like I lit her spine on fire.


    “I’m not asking you to believe in it,” I say, low, fast, working. “I’m not asking you to help. But if you interrupt this now, you’re going to rip her soul in half. And she won’t just die. She’ll burn from the inside out and take half this goddamn forest with her.”


    Theo stills.


    That’s what I thought.


    I turn back to Jess. The cut is open now. Wide enough. Bleeding heavy. Her chest is heaving like she’s drowning on drynd. Her eyes are wild–still <b>not </b>fully her.


    “That thing inside her–it’s not just Riot’s voice. It’s a binding. A hook lodged in her spine, tied to him through blood and scent and dominance. He didn’t just mark her. He fucking imprinted her.”


    Pierce mutters something like a prayer. Doesn’t matter.


    “She’s still here,” I say. “Buried, but she’s here. I can pull her back.”


    The knife shakes in my hand, just once, before I steady it.


    “I’m going to give her a new tether. Mine.”


    I wipe my palm across my mouth, then slit it open with the same de. Blood wells fast.


    “You said that’s suicide,” Theo snaps. “You bind her to you like that, there’s noing back. You bleed into her now, you carry whatever’s inside has, too


    “I know<i>,</i>” I say, dead t. “That’s the point.”


    I press my bleeding palm to the cut in her side. Her blood mixes with mine, hot and slick, like the earth itself is answering


    I know the moon goddess won’t forgive this. I know the punishment ising. But it Jess lives–if she breathes–I’ll take the fall, r’ll bumi ka <b>hor </b>dly