Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~10 min read
Sage woke to pain.
Not the dull ache of too little sleep or too much stress. This was sharp, searing, like someone had wrapped barbed wire around her left wrist and pulled it tight.
She gasped, jerking upright in bed.
Her wrist was glowing.
Pale green light pulsed beneath her skin, forming a pattern she didn’t recognize. Vines and symbols, intertwined in a bracelet of magic that burned and froze simultaneously.
“What the—”
A crash from the other side of the cabin.
Thorne.
Sage threw off her blankets and ran, still in her pajamas, her wrist screaming with every movement.
She found Thorne in the living room, on his knees, cradling his left wrist against his chest. Dark purple-black light emanated from his skin in the same pattern as hers.
Their eyes met.
“Please tell me you see this,” Thorne gritted out.
“I see it.” Sage moved closer, her own wrist burning hotter as the distance between them decreased. “When did it start?”
“Five minutes ago. Woke me up. I’ve tried everything—dispelling charms, counter-curses, cold water. Nothing works.”
Sage examined her own wrist. The symbols were becoming clearer as the glow intensified. She recognized some of them—ancient runes for binding, joining, unity.
Her stomach dropped.
“Thorne,” she said carefully. “I think these are bond marks.”
He looked up sharply. “What?”
“Blood bond marks. The magical signature that appears when a bond is forming.” She moved closer still, and the pain in her wrist decreased slightly. “They usually only appear after the first stage of the ritual is completed.”
“We haven’t done any ritual.”
“I know.”
“Then why—” He stopped, understanding dawning. “The curse.”
“The curse chose us,” Sage breathed. “Not just as research partners. As the bond pair.”
Thorne stood, swaying slightly. Sage grabbed his arm to steady him, and the moment they touched, the pain in both their wrists vanished completely.
They froze.
The marks were still there, still glowing softly. But touching each other had stopped the burning.
Slowly, Sage pulled her hand back.
The pain returned immediately. Worse than before.
She grabbed his hand again, relief flooding through her as the burning stopped.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thorne said.
“Apparently the marks want us close.”
“How close?”
Sage experimentally stepped back, keeping hold of his hand. The marks stayed calm.
She let go.
Pain slammed back, doubling her over.
Thorne caught her, pulling her against his chest, and the marks settled again.
“This is a nightmare,” he muttered, but he didn’t let go.
Sage pressed her face against his shirt, breathing through the lingering ache. He smelled like cedar and something sharp—his magic, maybe. Or just him.
“We need to figure out what triggered this,” she said against his chest.
“Agreed. But first we need to figure out how to function when we apparently can’t be more than three feet apart.”
“Maybe it gets better? Once the marks settle?”
“Let’s test it.” Thorne took a careful step back, hands still on her shoulders.
The marks flickered but didn’t burn.
Another step.
Burning started, low but building.
Another step, and he had to drop his hands.
The pain spiked viciously.
They came back together fast, both gasping.
“Three feet,” Sage confirmed. “Maybe four if we’re lucky.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Bond marks are permanent once they appear, but the pain might fade as we adjust to them.”
“Or it might get worse.”
“You’re really bad at optimism.”
“I’m realistic.” Thorne’s jaw was tight. “This is the curse’s doing. It’s forcing our hand.”
“Forcing us into the bond.”
“Yes.”
They stood in the middle of the living room, close enough that Sage could feel his heartbeat, and stared at each other.
“I need coffee for this,” Sage said finally.
“I need coffee and about six hours of screaming into a pillow.”
“We can probably manage the coffee.”
They moved to the kitchen together—awkwardly, trying to navigate the small space while staying within range. Thorne made coffee one-handed because Sage was standing too close to his right side. She grabbed mugs and nearly elbowed him in the ribs.
“This is ridiculous,” Thorne said.
“This is our life now, apparently.”
They managed to get coffee made and sat at the table, chairs pulled so close their knees touched.
“Okay,” Sage said, pulling over her research notes with her free hand. “Bond marks appear in three stages. First stage is intention—when both parties consciously choose to begin the bond. Second stage is commitment—usually a ritual witnessed by family. Third stage is consummation—” She felt her cheeks heat. “Physical intimacy that seals the bond permanently.”
Thorne was very carefully not looking at her. “We haven’t done any of those things.”
“No. But the curse apparently doesn’t care about proper procedure.”
“Can we reverse it? Before it progresses?”
Sage flipped through texts with shaking hands. “Maybe. If we can identify exactly how the curse triggered the marks, we might be able to counter it. But Thorne…” She looked up, meeting his eyes. “These marks mean the curse has identified us as compatible. Not just magically compatible. Soul compatible.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” The honesty wards pulsed. “We’ve been working together for two weeks. Living together. Trusting each other. Our magic already complemented perfectly during the research. Maybe the curse just recognized what was already there.”
Thorne stood abruptly, and Sage had to stand with him or be dragged by the marks’ pain.
“No,” he said. “I don’t accept this. We are not soul compatible. We’re enemies who happen to be stuck in an impossible situation.”
“Are we?” Sage challenged. “Still enemies?”
“We’re supposed to be.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He turned to face her, and she saw the war in his eyes. Fear and anger and something else. Something that looked like longing.
“No,” he admitted finally. “We’re not enemies anymore. But that doesn’t mean we’re meant to be bonded.”
“The curse seems to disagree.”
“The curse is trying to kill our families. Forgive me for not trusting its judgment.”
They glared at each other, standing toe-to-toe in the small kitchen.
Then Sage’s wrist flared with pain despite their proximity.
She hissed, grabbing her arm.
Thorne caught her hand, examining the mark. “It’s spreading.”
She looked down. He was right—the vine pattern had grown, crawling up her forearm in delicate spirals.
“That’s not good,” she said.
“We need help. Someone who understands blood bonds better than we do.”
“Who? We can’t tell our families—”
“The Council,” Thorne said. “Councilor Vance has been alive for over two hundred years. He’s seen bond marks before. Maybe he knows how to stop this.”
Sage nodded. “Call him. Now.”
Thorne pulled out his phone, and they spent five frustrating minutes figuring out how to hold it so they could both hear while staying close enough to prevent pain.
Finally, they got Councilor Vance on the line.
“This is highly irregular,” the elderly witch said. “Calling at dawn—”
“We have bond marks,” Thorne interrupted. “They appeared overnight. We haven’t completed any bonding ritual. The curse triggered them somehow.”
Silence.
Then: “Send me an image of the marks.”
Thorne switched to video call, showing their glowing wrists.
More silence.
“Those aren’t just bond marks,” Councilor Vance said finally, his voice grave. “Those are destined bond marks.”
Sage’s stomach plummeted. “What does that mean?”
“It means the magic itself has chosen you as bonded pairs. Not your conscious choice. Not a ritual. The universe looked at your souls and decided you were meant to be joined.”
“That’s impossible,” Thorne said.
“Rare, yes. Impossible, no. Destined bonds appear perhaps once in a century. Usually among witches who are already in love and don’t realize it yet.”
Sage’s face went hot.
“We’re not in love,” Thorne said flatly.
“Nevertheless, the marks have appeared. Which means your souls are compatible on a fundamental level. The curse likely used that compatibility as a conduit.”
“Can we reverse it?” Sage asked desperately.
“Not without killing one or both of you. Destined bond marks, once triggered, progress on their own timeline. You have approximately two weeks before they force completion of the bond.”
“Force?” Sage said.
“The pain of separation will increase until proximity is no longer enough. Until only the completed bond will satisfy the magic.”
Thorne looked like he’d been punched. “You’re saying we have two weeks before we’re magically compelled to complete a blood bond?”
“Yes. Or you complete it willingly beforehand. Either way, within two weeks, you will be bonded.”
The call ended in a haze of Councilor Vance explaining protocols and safety measures, but Sage barely heard it.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days until she and Thorne Blackwood were bound together forever.
Not by choice.
By destiny.
When they finally hung up, they stood in silence, still pressed close to keep the marks calm.
“I’m sorry,” Sage said quietly.
Thorne looked at her. “For what?”
“For this. For the marks choosing us. For—”
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It’s not yours either.”
“I know. But that doesn’t make it easier.”
They stood there, connected by magic they hadn’t asked for, facing a future neither wanted.
“We could run,” Thorne said suddenly. “Leave. Try to outrun the marks.”
“That won’t work. Bond marks follow souls, not bodies.”
“Then we fight it. Find a way to sever the connection.”
“You heard Vance. That would kill us.”
“So what? We just accept this? Give up our freedom because some cosmic force decided we’re soul mates?”
The word hung between them.
Soul mates.
Sage looked at Thorne—really looked at him. At the fear in his eyes and the set of his jaw and the way he was holding himself like he was bracing for impact.
And she thought about the last two weeks. The late-night conversations and shared research and the moment he’d saved her from the curse’s backlash. The way her magic sang when his was near. The way she’d started to crave his presence even before the marks appeared.
“Maybe,” she said quietly, “we don’t have to see it as giving up freedom. Maybe we can see it as choosing each other.”
“The marks are forcing us to choose.”
“The marks appeared. But how we respond—that’s still our choice.”
Thorne stared at her. “You’re actually considering accepting this.”
“Are you saying you’re not?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
The honesty wards pulsed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Then let’s figure it out together,” Sage said. “We have two weeks. Maybe we use them to decide if the bond is actually what we want. Or if we spend them fighting it until the magic decides for us.”
“That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”
“You have a better one?”
He didn’t.
They both knew he didn’t.
“Two weeks,” Thorne said.
“Two weeks,” Sage agreed.
To decide if they could choose a destiny they’d never wanted.
Or if they’d let it choose them instead.
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