Bloom

Freed

The house is cloaked in shadows, heavy with anticipation. Every tick of the clock reverberates in my chest, counting down to the moment I knew would define me. The air feels thick, almost alive, as if it’s holding its breath alongside me.

Dad approaches McKayla and me, shoulders rigid under the weight of command. His usual strength is there, but his eyes betray a weariness that sets my skin on edge. Pride and sorrow war across his features, the storm behind his calm barely contained. I can feel it radiating from him, a pulse of unspoken grief, a warning of what tonight demands.

Without a word, he draws two small, ornate boxes from his jacket. His hands tremble subtly—not with fear, but with the gravity of duty.

“I had an old friend, a witch, craft these,” he murmurs, voice carrying the weight of generations. “They are more than jewelry. You’ll wear them always. No one else can remove them, touch them, or manipulate the magic inside. Any attempt… will bring unbearable pain.”

Inside, the necklaces shimmer with a life of their own. The red ruby in mine glows faintly, warm beneath my fingers, almost as if it recognizes me. McKayla’s sapphire flickers with its own quiet power.

Dad’s voice drops lower, the cadence of authority threading through every word. “These chains will not break when you shift. They are bonded to us, to your mother and me. Stronger than steel, lighter than air. Tethered not by blood alone, but by magic, so that even if the world tears you apart, you remain connected to your family.”

I lift the ruby over my head, feeling a ripple of energy pulse into me. Ancient, grounding, and warm. The threads of power twist between McKayla and me for a brief heartbeat before vanishing. I notice her hands tremble slightly as she clasps her necklace; the flicker in her eyes is fleeting but undeniable. She will share nothing, not tonight.

The clearing is quiet but alive, the night thick with scents of pine, jasmine, and something darker, metallic—like the promise of power and blood. Every shadow seems to move with intent, whispering secrets I can’t hear but feel deep in my chest. Wolves from neighboring packs watch, but it’s his eyes I notice first—Azeo.

Even across the space between us, I feel him—the subtle pull, the heat radiating in waves I can’t ignore. Every flicker of color in his eyes feels like a challenge, a claim, a temptation. I bite back a shiver. I will not give him the satisfaction.

McKayla moves ahead, radiant beneath the golden lights, drawing attention like a sun pulling everything into orbit. I follow, trying to fade into the shadows, yet I know he is tracking me. I can feel it—slight shifts in the air, a ghost of warmth brushing my shoulder as if he were closer than he is.

Do you feel that? His voice slides into my mind, silk and shadow.

I freeze. The world contracts to the line of his gaze. I force myself to mask my racing pulse, my trembling hands. I told you to stay out of my head, I snap silently, but the thrill of his proximity makes it impossible to be entirely composed.

A low chuckle, dark and intimate, curls around me. Control is an illusion, McKenna Rochester. Let’s see how long you cling to yours.

I move deliberately past him, brushing the edge of my arm along his without touching him. The air hums between us. The current is dangerous, taut, like a rope stretched over a chasm. Every step, every breath is a test—every heartbeat a dare.

Inside the marquee, the air shimmers with laughter and whispered conversations, but I hear none of it. Every brush of a hand, every passing figure seems amplified. And then it comes again—the subtle, impossible awareness of him. Azeo’s presence, dark and magnetic, a predator circling its prey.

You’ve changed, he whispers into my mind, smooth, deliberate. So different from three years ago.

Stay out of my head, I bite back.

We’ll see, he murmurs, silk-dark. We’ll see how long that lasts.

My name is called, slicing through the haze. The crowd freezes. Their gazes weigh on me, but none as heavy as his. I ascend the stage, every nerve alert, every sense sharpened. I take the ceremonial knife in my father’s hand, the metal cold and unyielding. My chest tightens as the bond severs, agony like fire through my veins.

Yet even as the ruby burns against my skin, warm and humming with tethered magic, I feel him—closer than possible, a brush of presence that pricks at my senses. A ghost of heat along my neck, a whisper at my mind’s edge, a shadow of contact that I cannot—and will not—name. My knees threaten to buckle, but I stand, forcing control.

McKayla’s embrace is grounding, but even through her warmth, I sense him—the predatory heat, the subtle touch of magic tracing me, testing me.

You’re free tonight, McKenna, he murmurs. But freedom is only a beginning.

I inhale sharply. Do not speak to me again.

Oh, we will speak, he promises, velvet-dark and dangerous. Much more than you think you’re ready for.

The knife slices across my palm. The tether shatters. Pain floods me, but beneath it, there is power—the ruby hums, pulses, a secret heartbeat. For a moment, I feel tendrils of red and blue energy entwining between McKayla and me before fading, invisible to all.

I step down from the stage, ruby pressing warm against my chest, and lock eyes with him across the room. He smiles, slow, predatory, the corners of his mouth tugged by amusement or desire—I can’t tell which. My pulse flares. I want to hate him, to turn, to walk away. Instead, I feel the pull, sharp and magnetic.

You are already mine in ways you don’t see, his voice coils around my mind, teasing, intimate. Even in freedom, I own pieces of you.

I bite back a breath. My fingers itch to brush against the sleeve where his arm might have been, to close the space between us by a fraction, just to see what it feels like. My body wants to betray me. My mind screams restraint.

I move into the crowd, but every step feels like a dance with him, a game played in shadows and glances. He mirrors me subtly, not overtly, but the pull is undeniable. My breath catches whenever his eyes flicker toward me, and every color they shift—green, black, blue, red—feels like a claim, a promise, a threat.

Even in the ritual’s aftermath, even in the cold severing of my family’s bond, I feel him—the impossible proximity, the magnetic heat, the silent challenge. I am free.

And yet, I am already his.