Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~10 min read
Living within three feet of someone was harder than Sage had imagined.
Not because of Thorne—though navigating the bathroom situation had been mortifying, involving a lot of shouting through doors and very careful timing.
But because there was nowhere to hide.
Not from him. Not from herself.
They’d managed two days with the bond marks, developing an awkward choreography of movement. Thorne cooked with Sage perched on the counter beside the stove. She showered while he sat outside the bathroom with his back to the door, reading. They slept in her room—him on the floor, her in the bed, both pretending it wasn’t the most intimate thing either had ever done.
The marks were spreading. Up both their forearms now, beautiful and terrible.
And the curse was still killing.
Sage was chopping vegetables for dinner—Thorne’s hands were busy with the stir-fry—when her phone rang.
Iris.
“Hey,” Sage answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder. “What’s—”
“It’s Aunt Meredith.” Iris’s voice was wrecked. “She’s dead, Sage. The curse. This morning.”
The knife slipped from Sage’s hand, clattering against the cutting board.
Thorne’s head whipped around.
“What?” Sage whispered.
“Aunt Meredith. She just… Mom found her in the garden. The healers said it was the curse, same as the others.” Iris was crying now. “Sage, I can’t—we’re running out of time.”
Aunt Meredith.
Who had taught Sage about plants. Who had braided her hair and told her stories and never, not once, made her feel like her questions were betrayal.
Who had been fifty-three years old with two grown children and four grandchildren and a laugh that could light up a room.
Gone.
“I’m coming home,” Sage said. “Right now. I’ll—”
“No.” Iris’s voice turned sharp. “You stay there. You work with the Thorne heir. You find a way to break this curse. That’s how you honor her. Not by coming to another funeral.”
“Iris—”
“I love you. But we need you to save us, not mourn with us.”
The call ended.
Sage stood frozen, phone still pressed to her ear, the reality of it crashing over her in waves.
Aunt Meredith was dead.
Another person she loved, gone.
Five deaths now. And they were no closer to stopping it.
“Sage.” Thorne’s voice was gentle. “What happened?”
She tried to answer. Couldn’t get the words past the tightness in her throat.
Thorne moved closer, his hand finding hers. “Tell me.”
“My aunt. The curse.” Her voice broke. “She’s dead.”
His expression shattered. “Sage, I’m so sorry.”
And that was it. That was what broke her.
Not Iris’s tears or the news itself, but the genuine grief in Thorne Blackwood’s eyes for a woman he’d never met. For a Mitchell.
Sage felt the sob building, tried to hold it back.
Failed.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, but it was too late. The grief came pouring out in gasping, ugly cries that shook her whole body.
Thorne didn’t hesitate. He pulled her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her waist.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’m here.”
Sage clung to him and broke apart.
She cried for Aunt Meredith. For Lily and her great-uncle and all the others. For the time they were losing and the fear that they’d fail. For the bond marks burning on her wrist and the impossible choice ahead.
For all of it.
Thorne held her through it, solid and warm and safe. He didn’t offer platitudes or tell her it would be okay. He just stood there, letting her fall apart, keeping her together by sheer presence.
Eventually, the sobs faded to hiccups. Then to shaky breathing.
Sage didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his shirt.
“Don’t be.”
“I got your shirt wet.”
“I don’t care about the shirt.”
She felt his chin rest on top of her head, felt him take a slow breath.
“When my cousin Catherine died,” Thorne said quietly, “I locked myself in my room for two days. Wouldn’t talk to anyone. Wouldn’t eat. My father tried to get me out—said I needed to be strong, that Thornes don’t show weakness. But I just… couldn’t.”
Sage lifted her head to look at him.
His eyes were distant, remembering. “My cousin Rowan finally picked the lock. Brought me food and sat with me while I cried. Didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fix it. Just sat there.” Thorne’s gaze refocused on her. “Sometimes that’s what grief needs. Someone to sit with it.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Sitting with mine?”
“Standing, technically. But yes.”
A watery laugh escaped her. “You’re terrible at jokes.”
“I’m aware.”
They stood there, wrapped around each other in the small kitchen, the stir-fry probably burning on the stove.
Sage should pull away. Should put distance between them.
But she didn’t want to.
For the first time since the marks appeared, she didn’t want space from Thorne. She wanted this—his arms around her, his heartbeat steady under her ear, his magic twining with hers in comfort.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not telling me it’ll be okay. For not trying to make it better.”
“I can’t make it better. But I can be here while it hurts.”
Sage’s chest ached, but not from grief this time. From something else. Something warm and terrifying.
“We have to stop this,” she said. “The curse. We can’t lose anyone else.”
“We won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” Thorne agreed. “But I believe it anyway. We’re going to figure this out, Sage. We’re going to save them.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust in the certainty in his voice.
“What if we can’t?” she whispered. “What if the bond is the only way and we’re too late?”
Thorne pulled back just enough to look at her. His hands came up to cup her face, thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks.
“Then we use the bond,” he said. “If it comes down to that—if it’s the only way to save your family and mine—then we stop fighting it and we do what needs to be done.”
“You said you didn’t want this. The bond. Forever.”
“I don’t want people I love to die more than I don’t want the bond.” His eyes were intense, green and gold in the kitchen light. “And I don’t want you to carry this guilt if we run out of time. This isn’t your fault. None of it.”
“It’s not yours either.”
“I know. But we’re in it together now. Whatever happens.”
Together.
The word settled into Sage’s bones, warm and solid.
“The marks are getting worse,” she said. “More complex. They’ve reached my elbow.”
“Mine too. And the separation pain is stronger.”
“What if Councilor Vance was right? What if they force completion before we’re ready?”
Thorne’s expression turned thoughtful. “Would that be the worst thing?”
Sage blinked. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking. About the bond. About us.” He took a breath. “What if we stopped seeing it as a curse and started seeing it as a tool?”
“I don’t understand.”
“The bond would merge our magic. Make us exponentially stronger. Give us access to both earth and shadow magic.” His hands dropped from her face but stayed on her shoulders. “What if that’s exactly what we need to break the curse? What if we’re supposed to bond first, then use that combined power to end this?”
Sage’s mind raced. She hadn’t thought of it that way—the bond as a weapon instead of a prison.
“That’s actually brilliant,” she said slowly.
“I have my moments.”
“But it’s still permanent. Still forever. Even if we use it to break the curse, we’d be stuck with each other after.”
“Would we be stuck?” Thorne asked quietly. “Or would we be choosing each other for real this time?”
Her breath caught.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” he continued. “I know we didn’t ask for the marks or the curse or any of this. But Sage…” He paused, clearly fighting with the honesty wards. Then: “Working with you these past two weeks has been the best part of my life. You’re brilliant and fierce and you care so deeply about everyone. You question everything, including me, and it makes me want to be better. And the idea of being bonded to you—really bonded, not just forced by magic—that doesn’t scare me as much as it should.”
Sage couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the pounding of her heart.
“What are you saying?” she whispered.
“I’m saying maybe the marks aren’t wrong. Maybe we are compatible. Maybe the universe saw something we were too stubborn to see.” He searched her face. “I’m saying that if I have to be bonded to someone for eternity, I’m glad it’s you.”
The words hit her like a tidal wave.
This was Thorne Blackwood. Heir to the Thorne Coven. The man she’d been raised to hate.
And he was standing in front of her, marks glowing on his wrist, saying he wanted to be bonded to her.
Not because he had to.
Because he was starting to want to.
“I don’t know what to say,” Sage admitted.
“Say you’ll think about it. About choosing the bond instead of fighting it.”
“And our families?”
“Will be alive. That’s what matters. Everything else we can figure out after.”
Sage looked at him—really looked at him. At the hope in his eyes and the fear beneath it and the way he was holding himself like he’d just offered her his heart and was waiting to see if she’d break it.
She thought about Aunt Meredith. About Lily and all the others. About the clock ticking down to more deaths.
She thought about the bond marks and shared magic and forever.
She thought about Thorne holding her while she cried, Thorne saving her from magical backlash, Thorne standing beside her against both their families.
And she thought: Maybe choosing each other isn’t the worst fate in the world.
Maybe it’s the best one.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.
Relief flooded his expression. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But Thorne?”
“Hmm?”
“I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If we do this—if we choose the bond—promise me it’s real. Not just to break the curse. But because we actually want to be together.”
“I promise,” he said without hesitation. “And Sage? Same goes for you. If we bond, I need to know you want this. Want me. Not just as a tool to save everyone.”
The honesty wards sang between them.
“Deal,” Sage said.
They stood there, close enough to kiss, the marks pulsing in time with their heartbeats.
Two weeks to decide.
But standing here, in Thorne’s arms, Sage was starting to think the decision had already been made.
The marks hadn’t been wrong.
They’d just been early.
Reader Reactions