Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~11 min read
The healers left at midnight.
“We’ve done all we can,” the head healer said, her expression grave. “The wound is clean, the dark magic purged. But the damage…” She hesitated. “His dragon is fading. The injury was severe enough that his beast is retreating, trying to preserve his human half.”
“What does that mean?” Freya asked, though dread was already pooling in her stomach.
“It means he’s dying. Slowly. The dragon is sacrificing itself to keep the human alive a bit longer.” The healer’s eyes were sympathetic. “Hours, maybe a day. I’m sorry.”
“No.” Freya’s voice came out sharp. “There has to be something—”
“There is one thing.” The healer glanced at the bond mark that had appeared on Freya’s wrist during the combat—faint silver lines that pulsed with magic. “Complete the mate bond. Fully. The magic of a completed bond could heal him, give his dragon the strength to survive.”
“Then we do that. Now.”
“It has to be freely given. If there’s any hesitation, any doubt, the bond won’t complete properly. And forcing it could kill you both.” The healer moved toward the door. “The choice is yours, Lady Freya. But choose quickly. He doesn’t have much time.”
Then she was gone, leaving Freya alone with Lysander’s too-still form.
He looked smaller somehow, lying in the massive bed. Pale. His breathing shallow. The bandages around his torso were clean now, but she could still see the outline of the wound beneath—a sword meant for her, taken by him.
She crawled onto the bed beside him, careful of his injuries, and took his hand.
Through the bond, she felt him—distant, fading, his usual overwhelming presence muted to barely a whisper. But underneath, still there: his love for her. Absolute. Unwavering. Even dying, he loved her.
“You stupid dragon,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “You promised to wait a century if I needed it. You can’t die now. That’s breaking your promise.”
His eyes flickered open—just barely. Silver, but dim. Fading.
“Freya.” Her name came out as barely a breath. “You’re safe?”
“I’m safe. Because you threw yourself in front of a sword. Why would you do that?”
“Had to.” His hand squeezed hers weakly. “You’re everything. My mate. My choice. Worth any cost.”
“Even your life?”
“Especially that.” A ghost of his usual smile. “Rather die saving you than live watching you fall.”
Through the bond, she felt more than heard his next words: I love you. If I’m dying, I need you to know. I love you. Not because of the bond. Because of you. Who you are. Your strength. Your fire. Everything.
“You’re not dying,” she said fiercely. “I won’t let you.”
“Can’t stop it. Wound is too deep. Dark magic got too close to the dragon.” He coughed, the sound wet and terrible. “But Freya—I’m not sorry. Saving you? Best thing I’ve ever done. Even if it costs everything.”
“The healers said completing the bond could save you.”
“No.” The word came out sharp, urgent. “Won’t trap you that way. Won’t make you accept the bond out of guilt. You deserve choice. Real choice. Not this.”
“What if I already chose?”
His eyes met hers, hope and confusion warring. “What?”
“What if I chose you weeks ago? After you showed me your paintings. After you fought yourself constantly to give me space. After you proved that being your mate means partnership, not possession.” Her voice broke. “What if I’ve been in love with you for a while now, just too scared to admit it?”
Through the bond, his emotion crashed into her—hope so bright it hurt, love that consumed, desperate need to believe her but fear that she was just saying what he wanted to hear.
“Freya—”
“I chose you,” she said firmly. “Not because you’re dying. Not because the bond demands it. I chose you because when I think about my future, you’re in it. When I imagine forever, it’s with you. Fighting about your terrible courtship attempts. Laughing over books. Flying through dragon realms. Growing old together—or not old, since the bond makes me basically immortal.”
“You’re sure?” His voice was barely audible. “Not just guilt? Not just the bond pushing you?”
“I’m terrified,” she admitted. “Terrified of losing myself, of making the wrong choice, of becoming someone I’m not. But I’m more terrified of losing you. Of watching you die when I could save you. Of living the rest of my life knowing I was too scared to accept the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Through the bond, she felt his understanding. His acceptance. And underneath—his pride in her. Even dying, he was proud of her strength, her courage, her honesty.
“I won’t force you,” he whispered. “Even now. Even dying. You deserve to choose freely.”
“Then I’m choosing.” She leaned down, her forehead pressing to his. “I accept the bond, Lysander. I accept YOU. Not because you’re dying, but because I want forever with you. Want the terrifying, wonderful, chaotic future we’re building. Want to be your mate, your partner, your equal.”
“Freya—” His voice broke on her name.
“Be my mate,” she whispered against his lips. “Forever. By choice. By love. By everything we are together.”
“Yes.” The word came out broken, desperate. “Yes. Always yes. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and—”
She kissed him.
And the bond exploded.
Magic erupted from where they touched, silver light blazing so bright it filled the room. Freya gasped as power surged through her—not painful, but overwhelming. Ancient magic recognizing their choice, sealing their fate, binding them together in ways that went beyond physical, beyond emotional, beyond anything she’d imagined.
She felt him—really felt him—not just his emotions but his essence. His dragon roaring with joy as it stopped fading, found strength in their completed bond. His human half crying with relief and love and desperate gratitude.
And she felt herself changing. The bond marking her, claiming her, transforming her in subtle ways. Not making her a dragon—she was still human. But connecting her to dragon magic, to Lysander’s immortality, to a future measured in centuries instead of decades.
The wound in his side—the terrible injury that had been killing him—began to heal. Not slowly, but rapidly, dragon magic and mate bond magic combining to knit flesh and bone and scale. The dark magic that had been clinging to it burned away, unable to withstand the power of a completed bond.
Lysander gasped, his eyes flying open fully—silver and bright and alive. “Freya—”
“I’ve got you.” She held him as magic continued to surge, as the bond settled into place, as they became something more than two separate beings. “I’ve got you, and you’ve got me, and we’re never letting go.”
“Never,” he agreed, his voice stronger now. “Never letting go. My mate. My choice. Mine.”
“Yours,” she confirmed. “And you’re mine. Forever.”
The magic finally settled, the blazing light fading to a gentle glow. When Freya looked down at her wrist, the faint silver lines had become solid—a permanent mark, beautiful and intricate, that proclaimed her as Lysander’s mate.
And when she looked at his wrist, she saw the same mark. They were bound. Completely. Eternally.
Through the bond—now fully open, completely connected—she felt everything he felt. His overwhelming love. His relief at surviving. His joy that she’d chosen him willingly. His pride in her strength. His certainty that they were meant for each other.
And she felt herself loving him back. Not forced by magic, but choosing it. Choosing him. Choosing them.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
He sat up slowly, testing his newly healed body. The wound was gone—not even a scar remained. His dragon had returned in full force, she could feel it through the bond, satisfied and possessive and absolutely devoted to its mate.
“Alive,” he said, wonder in his voice. “Whole. Complete.” He looked at her, silver eyes glowing. “You saved me.”
“You saved me first. Multiple times. I’m just returning the favor.”
“By accepting a bond you weren’t ready for—”
“I was ready.” She cut him off. “I’ve been ready for weeks. Just too scared to admit it. But watching you almost die? That clarified things pretty quickly.”
Through the bond, he felt her honesty. Felt that this wasn’t just about saving him. She really had chosen this. Chosen him.
“I love you,” he said, the words coming easier now. “Not just because you’re my mate. Because you’re you. Stubborn, fierce, brave enough to fight for your own fate. Everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“I love you too.” The admission felt natural, right. “Even though you crashed my wedding and kidnapped me and brought me dead sheep.”
“I’ll never live down the sheep, will I?”
“Never.”
He laughed—real, genuine, alive—and pulled her close. The movement didn’t hurt anymore, his body fully healed by the completed bond.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her hair. “For choosing me. For saving my life. For being brave enough to accept something that terrified you.”
“Thank you for being worth choosing.” She pulled back to look at him. “For respecting my agency even when it was killing you. For proving that love chosen is better than love forced.”
Through the bond, their emotions intertwined—love and relief and joy and absolute certainty that they’d made the right choice. Not because fate demanded it, but because they wanted it.
“What happens now?” Freya asked.
“Now?” His smile was wicked. “Now we have a completed mate bond, which means certain… obligations. The bond wants us to consummate. Seal it completely.”
Heat flooded her face. “Right now?”
“Not if you’re not ready. The bond is complete—the rest is just tradition.” But through their connection, she felt his desire. His dragon’s need to claim his mate fully. His human side’s desperate want tempered by his insistence on her comfort.
“I’m ready,” she said, surprising herself. “I chose this. Chose you. Chose forever. Might as well start it properly.”
Bonus chapter opportunity here
His eyes blazed silver. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She kissed him again, deeper this time. “Make me yours, Lysander. Completely. Forever.”
“Already yours,” he murmured against her lips. “Been yours since I crashed your wedding. Just took you a while to catch up.”
“Arrogant dragon.”
“Your arrogant dragon.”
“Mine,” she agreed. And let him show her exactly what that meant.
Much later, wrapped in silk sheets and Lysander’s arms, Freya stared at the completed bond mark on her wrist. It glowed faintly in the darkness, pulsing in time with her heartbeat—or was it his? She couldn’t tell anymore. They were too intertwined.
“No regrets?” Lysander asked quietly.
“None.” And through the bond, he felt the truth of it. “Terrified? Yes. Overwhelmed? Absolutely. But regretful? Never.”
“Good.” He pressed a kiss to her marked wrist. “Because you’re stuck with me now. Forever. No take backs.”
“What if you’re terrible to live with?”
“Then you have centuries to fix me.” His smile was soft in the darkness. “We’ll figure it out together. That’s what mates do.”
Through the bond, she felt his absolute contentment. His dragon satisfied, his human half happy, both completely devoted to her.
And for the first time since her father had announced her engagement to Viktor, Freya felt at peace.
This was right. This was home.
Not because magic forced it, but because she’d chosen it.
Chosen him.
Chosen them.
And that made all the difference.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you more,” he countered.
“Impossible. I fought a trained warrior for you.”
“I took a sword for you.”
“I accepted a bond that terrified me.”
“I waited one hundred twenty-seven years.”
She laughed, pressing closer. “Fine. You win. You love me most.”
“Damn right I do.” But through the bond, she felt his joy. Not at winning, but at having her here. Safe. His. Willing.
Forever.
Just like she’d promised.
Just like they both chose.
Again and again and again.
💕 Want to know what happens BETWEEN the lines? 💕
This chapter continues in Chapter 26.5: “The Bond Completes” – available exclusively for Patreon supporters!
The mate bond is complete, and now comes the consummation. Lysander has waited 127 years for this moment, and his dragon is finally unleashed. Freya discovers exactly what it means to be claimed by a dragon prince—body, soul, and everything in between…
🔥 [Read the FULL bond completion scene on Patreon →]
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