The Bond Between Them

The first thing Alaric noticed was the silence.

Not ordinary silence.

Not the hush of winter forests or sleeping mountains.

This silence was wrong.

The kind that came before something died.

He stood motionless beneath the twisted pines, black cloak stirring faintly in the wind while the men behind him continued speaking in nervous, half-whispered voices.

“…if the eastern border falls, the council will—”

“Enough.”

The single word cut through the night like a blade.

Every man fell silent immediately.

Alaric barely heard them anyway.

Something cold had just wrapped around his ribs.

His gaze lifted slowly toward the distant horizon where storm clouds churned above Blackwood Forest.

Home.

A sharp pulse struck through the bond on his wrist.

Pain.

Fear.

Her fear.

The air around him darkened.

Branches overhead groaned violently.

One of the men stepped back instinctively. Another lowered his eyes to the ground.

No one looked directly at Alaric when the shadows moved around him like living things.

“My lord?” someone asked carefully.

Alaric ignored him.

The silver markings winding beneath the skin of his arm were burning now.

Eleanor.

Something was inside the wards.

His jaw tightened.

Impossible.

Nothing crossed the Blackwood wards unless invited.

Then the realization hit him.

And for the first time in years—

True anger stirred.

Not loud anger.

Not wild rage.

Something far worse.

Stillness.

Deadly and absolute.

The lanterns hanging from the nearby trees shattered all at once.

Glass exploded across the clearing.

Several horses screamed.

One man stumbled backward in terror as darkness spread unnaturally beneath Alaric’s boots like spilled ink.

“My lord—”

“I am leaving.”

No one argued.

No one was stupid enough.

The storm winds screamed through the trees as Alaric reached for the magic buried beneath his skin.

Ancient.

Monstrous.

Hungry.

The forest recoiled from it instantly.

Runes ignited along his hands in molten silver light while shadows twisted violently around his body. The temperature dropped so quickly frost spread across the dead leaves at his feet.

One of the younger men whispered a prayer.

Another quietly backed away.

Alaric’s eyes remained fixed on the distant storm.

On her.

“Something touched my wife,” he said softly.

The words were calm.

Gentle even.

Which somehow made them horrifying.

Then he vanished.

The forest imploded around the space he’d occupied a heartbeat before.

Trees bent violently outward as dark magic ripped through the mountain path toward Blackwood House.

Toward Eleanor.

—

Back at the manor, the crying beyond the front door had stopped.

That was somehow worse.

Eleanor stood frozen in the hallway, athame clenched tightly in her trembling hand while black shadow pooled beneath the threshold.

The candles had all gone out.

Every single one.

Only lightning illuminated the house now in brief flashes of silver-white.

The wards carved into the walls flickered weakly.

Something scraped against the front door.

Slow.

Patient.

Like claws dragging across wood.

Eleanor swallowed hard.

“You are not my mother,” she whispered.

A long silence followed.

Then—

“No,” the voice answered softly.

The shadows moved.

The thing outside laughed quietly.

And the sound was not human.

Eleanor stepped backward immediately, pulse hammering now as cold spread through the hallway. The air smelled wrong suddenly.

Rotting earth.

Wet soil.

Graves opened after rain.

Another scrape dragged across the door.

The wood splintered slightly beneath the pressure.

Her stomach turned.

Nothing should have been able to touch Blackwood House like this.

Unless—

Unless she had weakened the wards herself by answering it.

Stupid.

Gods, stupid.

She knew better.

The house groaned violently around her.

Upstairs, something heavy moved across the floor.

Eleanor’s blood ran cold.

She was no longer alone inside the house.