Chapter 7: The bond that burns

Cordelia's Pov 

The mating bond snapping into place was like being struck by lightning while simultaneously drowning in starlight. 

Every nerve in my body sang with the connection, every breath synchronized with his, every heartbeat echoing the rhythm of his own. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and absolutely terrifying.

The curse screamed.

I felt it writhing in the spaces between our souls, fighting desperately against the flood of pure bonding energy that was systematically destroying its anchor points. 

Dark magic that had fed on rejection and pain for over a century found itself faced with the exact opposite—acceptance, connection, the fundamental rightness of two wolves recognizing their true mate.

"Hold on," I gasped, my consciousness spinning between my own body and Lysander's as the bond settled into place. "It's fighting back."

That was putting it mildly. The curse was throwing everything it had at us, sending waves of phantom pain and manufactured memories designed to break our concentration. 

Images of Lysander rejecting me, magnified and twisted until the humiliation felt fresh as an open wound. Whispers of my own inadequacy, every insecurity I'd ever harbored about not being worthy of an alpha's attention.

But the bond held. More than held, it blazed with the strength of five years' worth of unresolved feelings finally finding their outlet.

"Delia," Lysander's voice was rough, strained, but underlying it was something I hadn't heard in years. Wonder. "I can feel everything. Your pain, your anger, but also..."

"Also what?" I managed, though I could feel it too through the connection. Love. Stubborn, persistent, absolutely infuriating love that had survived rejection, exile, and five years of careful distance.

"Also your incredible talent for holding grudges," he said, and despite everything, despite the curse literally disintegrating around us and the world-changing magnitude of what we were doing, I laughed.

The sound seemed to break something fundamental in the dark magic. The curse's death throes intensified for a moment, then suddenly collapsed in on itself like a house of cards in a hurricane. 

I felt the last tendrils of malevolent energy burn away in the face of our completed bond, leaving nothing but clean, bright connection in their wake.

The silence that followed was profound.

"Is it over?" Margaret's voice seemed to come from very far away, though she was standing barely ten feet from us.

I opened eyes I didn't remember closing, blinking against the sudden return of normal candlelight. Lysander was staring at me with an expression of such raw vulnerability that it made my chest ache.

"It's over," I confirmed, though I didn't move away from him. Couldn't, really. 

The new bond was settling around us like a warm blanket, and breaking contact felt impossible. "The curse is gone."

"And the side effects?" Cordy inquired with professional interest.

I considered this, taking inventory of the connection humming between us. "Well, we're properly mated now. Completely, irrevocably bonded on every level that matters." 

I shot Lysander a look that was part exasperation, part affection. "I hope you're prepared for that, because there's no undoing it this time."

His hands came up to frame my face with infinite gentleness. "I wouldn't want to undo it."

"Convenient, since it's impossible anyway."

The practicalities of our situation were starting to sink in. I was bonded to Lysander Ashworth. Again. Properly this time, with all the supernatural bells and whistles that entailed. 

I could feel his emotions as clearly as my own, sense his physical state, and know his location even when he was out of sight.

It should have been claustrophobic. Instead, it felt like coming home.

"Right," I said, finally pulling back enough to address the room at large. "Crisis averted, curse broken, alpha saved. I assume there will be paperwork."

Margaret looked like she was trying to swallow something particularly unpalatable. 

"The pack will need to be informed. Officially."

"Naturally." I stood up, immediately missing the physical contact but trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "And I assume my exile status is now officially revoked?"

"You were never officially exiled," Rupert pointed out diplomatically.

"No, I just left in spectacular fashion after my public humiliation and no one bothered to contact me for five years. Completely different thing."

Lysander struggled to his feet, and I felt his lingering weakness through our bond. 

The curse might be gone, but it had taken a considerable toll on his system. He'd need time to recover, proper food, actual sleep that wasn't interrupted by supernatural torment.

"Delia," he said quietly, "we need to talk. Properly. About what this means."

"Do we?" I tilted my head, considering. "Because it seems fairly straightforward to me. 

We're mated, the curse is broken, and now we all have to figure out how to live with the consequences of your family's dramatic supernatural nonsense."

"It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" I moved toward the chamber's exit, suddenly desperate for fresh air and space to process what had just happened. 

"You needed saving, I saved you. Everything else is just details."

I could feel his frustration through the bond, his desire to have the conversation I was deliberately avoiding. 

The one where we talked about feelings and forgiveness and whether there was actually a future for us beyond crisis management.

"The pottery studio," I said, pausing at the threshold. "I'm keeping it. Whatever else happens, that part of my life stays exactly as it is."

"Of course."

"And I'm not moving back to the estate immediately. I need time to adjust to..." I gestured vaguely between us. "This. All of this."

"Whatever you need."

His easy agreement should have been reassuring. Instead, it made me more suspicious. The Lysander I'd known five years ago wouldn't have given in so easily to demands that conflicted with pack tradition and his own preferences.

But then, the bond was already showing me glimpses of how much he'd changed. The weight of regret he'd carried, the careful way he'd learned to consider other people's needs before his own. 

The man who'd rejected me for political expediency was gone, replaced by someone who'd learned the hard way that some things were more important than appearances.

"Right then," I said, stepping out into the corridor. "I'll be in touch once I've processed the fact that I'm apparently the Luna of Ravenshollow pack again."

Behind me, I heard Margaret's sharp intake of breath at the title, but I didn't look back. 

I had five years of independence to reconcile with a bond I'd never expected to feel again, and that was going to take considerably more than one evening in a ritual chamber.