Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~12 min read
Two days after the Mitchell family dinner, Thorne’s phone rang.
Sage watched his expression shift from calm to tense as he answered.
“Yes, Father. Tonight? I—yes, I understand. I’ll be there.”
He hung up, jaw tight.
“That didn’t sound good,” Sage said.
“Thorne coven gathering. Mandatory attendance.” He looked at her. “They know about the bond marks. Someone from the Council must have talked.”
“So we tell them the same thing we told my family. Show them the research, explain about Eleanor and Silas.”
“It won’t go the same way.”
“Why not?”
Thorne ran a hand through his hair. “Your family is… warmer. More willing to listen. The Thornes are different. More traditional. Less forgiving of perceived betrayal.”
“I’m not a betrayal. I’m a solution.”
“To them, you’re the same thing.”
Sage took his hand, feeling the bond marks pulse. “Then we convince them otherwise. Together.”
“Sage, I don’t think you should come.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s going to be bad. Worse than your family dinner. And you don’t need to face that. I can—”
“If you finish that sentence with ‘I can handle it alone,’ I’m going to hex you,” Sage interrupted. “We’re bonded. Or bonding. Whatever happens to you happens to me. Literally. So I’m coming.”
“They might try to hurt you.”
“They might try to hurt you. Which is why we go together.”
Thorne looked like he wanted to argue. Then he sighed. “You’re stubborn.”
“You’re just figuring this out?”
“No. But every day it becomes more apparent.”
“Good. Keeps you on your toes.”
He smiled despite his obvious anxiety. “Promise me something?”
“What?”
“If it gets dangerous—if someone actually tries to hurt you—you’ll let me protect you.”
“Only if you promise the same. If someone comes after you, I get to defend you.”
“Deal.”
They shook on it, and the bond marks glowed brighter.
The Thorne estate made the Mitchell property look modest.
Sage stared up at the mansion—three stories of dark stone and wrought iron, surrounded by gardens that looked like they’d been carved from shadows. Protective wards shimmered in the air, so thick she could taste the magic.
“This is where you grew up?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s very…”
“Ominous? Forbidding? Like a villain’s lair?”
“I was going to say impressive. But those other words work too.”
Thorne squeezed her hand. “Last chance to turn back.”
“Not happening.”
They walked to the front door together. It opened before they could knock—a woman in dark purple robes, elegant and severe, stood in the entrance.
Thorne’s aunt. Sage recognized her from the Council meetings.
“Aunt Lydia,” Thorne said evenly.
“Thorne.” Her gaze cut to Sage like a knife. “And you brought the Mitchell.”
“Her name is Sage,” Thorne said, an edge to his voice. “And yes, I brought my bonded partner to a family meeting. Since the meeting is presumably about the bond.”
Lydia’s expression didn’t change. “Everyone is waiting in the great hall. Try not to disgrace yourself more than you already have.”
She turned and walked inside.
Sage blinked. “Is she always that warm?”
“That was warm for her. You should see her when she’s actually angry.”
They followed Lydia through halls lined with portraits of stern-looking Thornes, past rooms filled with dark wood and darker magic, until they reached massive double doors.
Lydia pushed them open.
The great hall was exactly what it sounded like—a cavernous space with vaulted ceilings, stone pillars, and a long table where at least thirty Thornes sat in perfect, hostile silence.
Every eye turned to them.
Sage felt Thorne’s hand tighten on hers.
An older man sat at the head of the table. Thorne’s father, Sage guessed. He had the same sharp features, the same green eyes. But where Thorne’s expression held warmth beneath the intensity, his father looked carved from ice.
“Thorne,” he said. “Sit.”
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
“And I’m not a child to be ordered around.” Thorne’s voice was calm but firm. “I’m the heir to this coven. Your future leader. I’ll stand.”
Father and son stared at each other.
Finally, Thorne’s father inclined his head slightly. “As you wish. Though bringing a Mitchell to stand at a Thorne gathering shows remarkably poor judgment.”
“Bringing my bonded partner shows respect,” Thorne countered. “We’re a unit now. What involves me involves her.”
“You’re not bonded yet. The marks can still be severed.”
Sage felt Thorne’s magic flare. “We’re not severing the bond.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Actually, I do. We both do. Destined bond marks require consent to sever. We’re not giving it.”
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
“You would choose a Mitchell over your family?” A man Sage didn’t recognize stood—younger, maybe Thorne’s age. “Over your duty?”
“This isn’t about choosing, Marcus,” Thorne said. “This is about saving both our families.”
So this was Marcus. The uncle who would inherit if Thorne failed. The one who’d sabotaged them, according to the outline Sage had read so many times.
She studied him carefully. Ambitious eyes. Calculating expression.
Trouble.
“The bond is the only way to break the curse,” Sage said, stepping forward slightly. “We found proof in the Council archives—”
“We don’t care about your proof,” Marcus interrupted. “You’re a Mitchell. Everything you say is suspect.”
“Then look at the evidence yourself. The curse targets both our bloodlines. The only documented way to break a dual bloodline curse is—”
“Is for the Mitchells to stop casting it.”
Sage blinked. “You think my family cast this curse?”
“Who else benefits from forcing our heir into a bond with a Mitchell?” Marcus gestured around the hall. “This has been your family’s goal for generations. Infiltrate the Thornes, weaken us from within.”
“That’s insane,” Sage said. “We’ve lost five people. Why would we curse ourselves?”
“To make it look believable.”
“So we killed our own family members—including children—to trick you into accepting a bond? Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
“I hear a Mitchell trying to talk her way out of blame.”
“And I hear a Thorne too paranoid to see the truth!”
Sage felt her magic rising, earth energy crackling at her fingertips.
Thorne stepped between her and Marcus. “Back off.”
“Or what?” Marcus smiled coldly. “You’ll defend her? Prove to everyone here that you’ve already chosen the Mitchell over your own blood?”
“I’m choosing to not let you bully my partner.”
“Partner.” Marcus spit the word. “You’ve forgotten who you are. What you are. You’re a Thorne. Our future leader. And you’re throwing it away for a girl you’ve known three weeks.”
“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m trying to save you. All of you.” Thorne’s voice rose. “The curse is real. It’s killing us. And the bond is the only solution we’ve found. If you’d just listen instead of—”
“We’ve listened enough,” Thorne’s father said, standing. “You’ve been compromised, Thorne. The Mitchell has clearly influenced you, made you believe her lies about bonds and curses and solutions.”
“These aren’t lies!”
“Then prove it. Sever the bond. Show us your loyalty is still to the Thorne coven.”
“I can’t sever a destined bond. It would kill us both.”
“So you claim.”
Thorne stared at his father. “You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you’ve been manipulated by a pretty face and earth magic designed to ensnare.”
Sage’s temper snapped. “I’m standing right here. If you’re going to insult me, at least have the courage to do it to my face instead of through him.”
Thorne’s father turned his cold gaze on her. “Very well. You are a Mitchell. Your family murdered my grandmother, tried to steal our magic, and has spent a century attempting to destroy us. Now you’ve trapped my son in a bond that will give you access to Thorne power. You are a parasite, and I want you out of my house.”
“No,” Thorne said flatly.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. You want Sage gone? I go with her. Bond marks, remember? We can’t be separated.”
“Then you’re both banished until you come to your senses.”
“Fine,” Thorne shot back. “We’ll break the curse without your help. And when everyone you love is dead because you were too proud to accept a solution from a Mitchell, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”
The hall erupted.
Thornes shouting, magic crackling, anger filling the space like smoke.
Sage felt Thorne’s magic flare beside her, protective and fierce.
Then she felt something else.
Dark magic. Familiar.
The curse.
She spun toward Marcus just as he moved—a blade in his hand, wreathed in shadow magic, aimed straight at her heart.
“Sage!” Thorne threw himself in front of her.
The blade struck.
Time seemed to slow.
Thorne gasped, staggering backward into Sage’s arms.
Blood bloomed across his chest.
“Thorne!” Sage caught him, lowering him to the ground. “No, no, no—”
“I’m okay,” he gritted out. “Just a scratch.”
It wasn’t a scratch. The shadow blade had cut deep, and worse—it was cursed. She could see dark magic seeping into the wound.
Rage unlike anything Sage had ever felt flooded through her.
She looked up at Marcus, her magic rising like a tidal wave.
“You stabbed him,” she said, her voice eerily calm.
Marcus sneered. “I was aiming for you, Mitchell. He got in the way.”
“Bad move.”
Sage let her magic loose.
Vines erupted from the stone floor, wrapping around Marcus’s legs, his arms, dragging him down. He screamed, trying to cut them away, but for every vine he severed, three more appeared.
“Sage,” Thorne wheezed. “Don’t kill him.”
“Why not? He tried to kill me. He stabbed you.”
“Because you’re better than him.”
She wanted to argue. Wanted to let the vines squeeze until Marcus couldn’t breathe.
But Thorne was right.
She released the magic. The vines dropped Marcus, leaving him gasping on the floor.
“Get him out of here,” Thorne’s father ordered. Several Thornes grabbed Marcus, dragging him away.
Then Thorne’s father approached them. He looked at his son, bleeding on the floor, then at Sage, still crackling with magic.
“You protected him,” he said.
“Of course I did. We’re bonded.”
“You could have killed Marcus. You had the power. I felt it. But you stopped.”
“Because Thorne asked me to.”
His father knelt down, examining Thorne’s wound. His expression shifted—still stern, but softer. “The blade was cursed. Dark magic in the wound.”
“I can heal it,” Sage said. “Earth magic counters shadow corruption.”
“You would heal a Thorne?”
“I would heal my partner. Who happens to be a Thorne.”
She placed her hands over the wound, letting her magic flow. Green light mixed with red blood, drawing out the dark magic, knitting flesh back together.
Thorne’s breathing eased.
The wound closed, leaving only a faint scar.
“There,” Sage said, pulling back. “Good as new.”
Thorne sat up slowly, testing the healed skin. “Thank you.”
“Always.”
They helped each other stand, and Sage became aware that every Thorne in the hall was staring at them.
Thorne’s father spoke first. “You saved his life. Twice. Once by taking the blow meant for you, and once by healing a wound that would have killed him.”
“Yes,” Sage said simply.
“Why?”
“Because I love him.”
The words came out without thought. But the moment she said them, Sage knew they were true.
She loved Thorne Blackwood.
Thorne’s eyes went wide.
“You love me?” he said.
“Yes. I love you. And I’m sorry it took someone stabbing you for me to realize it, but there it is. I love you. Completely. Terrifyingly. And if anyone—Mitchell or Thorne or anyone else—tries to hurt you again, I will end them.”
Thorne stared at her for a long moment.
Then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Right there, in the middle of the Thorne coven hall, in front of his father and entire family, he kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.
The bond marks exploded with light.
When they pulled apart, breathing hard, the marks had changed. No longer just vines and shadows—now they were intertwined, inseparable.
Stage three had begun.
Thorne’s father cleared his throat.
They looked at him, still wrapped around each other.
“It seems,” he said slowly, “that I was wrong about you, Sage Mitchell. You’re not trying to destroy my son. You’re trying to save him. Save all of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, Thorne.” He looked at his son. “You’re willing to face banishment, death, anything to protect her?”
“Without question.”
His father nodded. “Then I won’t stand in your way. Bond with her. Break the curse. Prove that a Mitchell and a Thorne can do together what neither family could do apart.”
It wasn’t warm acceptance.
But it was permission.
And from a Thorne, that was basically a blessing.
As they left the estate, Sage leaned into Thorne. “That went better than expected.”
“You call me getting stabbed better than expected?”
“You’re alive. I’m alive. Your father didn’t disown you. I’m counting it as a win.”
Thorne laughed, then winced. “Don’t make me laugh. Healed or not, it still hurts.”
“Sorry.” She kissed his jaw. “Better?”
“Getting there. Though I might need more of that magical healing.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Shut up and kiss me again, Mitchell.”
So she did.
And the bond marks sang between them, promising forever.
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