Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~7 min read
Three days of research, and Hazel was no closer to understanding how to modify the binding.
The grimoire was dense, complex, written in a magical language that shifted meaning depending on how you read it. She’d filled an entire notebook with translations and theories, but the central problem remained: the prohibition against love was woven so deeply into the familiar binding that removing it might unravel everything.
She needed more time.
Time she didn’t have.
Because Orion was pulling away more each day. Training sessions were brief and clinical. He barely spoke except to correct her form or explain a technique. He slept in wolf form on the porch now, not even inside the house.
And through the bond, she felt his resolve hardening. His determination to leave before the binding triggered. Before he lost his powers and couldn’t protect her.
He was counting down to goodbye.
Hazel couldn’t take it anymore.
She found him on the back porch after midnight, in human form for once, staring at the forest. The bond told her he was hurting. Missing her even though she was right here. Torturing himself with proximity to something he’d decided he couldn’t have.
“We need to talk,” she said, stepping outside.
He didn’t turn around. “It’s late. You should be sleeping.”
“I can’t sleep. Not while you’re out here suffering.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar.” She moved to stand beside him. “And I’m tired of pretending this is okay.”
“Hazel—”
“I’m falling in love with you.” The words came out in a rush. “I know you don’t want to hear it. I know it makes everything harder. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”
His hands clenched on the porch railing. “Don’t.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because it doesn’t matter!” He turned to face her, eyes blazing. “Don’t you understand? Your feelings, my feelings—none of it matters. The binding doesn’t care about love. It punishes it.”
“Then we’ll find a way around the binding—”
“There is no way around it!” His voice rose, rough with frustration and pain. “I’ve spent three hundred years bound by this magic. I’ve seen what happens when familiars try to break the rules. There is no loophole, no exception, no magical solution that lets me keep my power and be with you.”
“What if you didn’t need your power?”
“Then you’d die.” The words were flat. Final. “Mara is still out there. Other dark witches will come. You need a protector who can actually protect you, not a mortal man who’ll get himself killed in the first real battle.”
“You’re more than your power—”
“To you, maybe. But in a fight against dark magic?” He shook his head. “I’m useless without the binding. Just another human who’ll watch you die because he was too weak, too slow, too mortal to save you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it.” He stepped closer, and she could see the anguish in his eyes. “I’ve lived this life. I know what I’m capable of with power and without it. And Hazel—I cannot watch you die. I can’t. I’d rather leave now, keep you safe from a distance, than stay and fail you when it matters most.”
“You wouldn’t fail me.”
“I already am.” His voice broke. “Every day I stay, I’m failing. Because I’m compromised. Distracted. More worried about my feelings than your safety. This—” he gestured between them, “—this is exactly what the binding was designed to prevent.”
“Then the binding is wrong!”
“The binding is absolute.” He reached out like he might touch her face, then stopped himself. “And you confessing your feelings changes nothing. If anything, it makes it worse.”
The rejection hit like a slap. “Worse?”
“Yes. Because now I know—” He stopped. Looked away. “Now I know that if I stayed, if I let myself have this, you’d want me too. And that makes leaving so much harder.”
“Then don’t leave.”
“I have to.”
“Why?” Tears burned in her eyes. “Why does duty matter more than happiness? More than love?”
“Because duty keeps you alive!” The words burst out of him. “And your life is worth more than my happiness. It always will be.”
She stared at him. At this man who’d been taught for three centuries that his wants didn’t matter. That love was weakness. That sacrifice was the only acceptable choice.
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she whispered.
He flinched. “Maybe. But it’s true.”
“What if I don’t want you to sacrifice for me?”
“Too bad.” His expression hardened. “This isn’t about what you want, Hazel. It’s about keeping you safe. And I’m going to do that whether you like it or not.”
“Even if it destroys us both?”
“Yes.”
The finality in his voice cracked something in her chest. “So that’s it? I confess my feelings and you just—reject them? Push me away?”
“I’m not rejecting you. I’m protecting you.”
“By breaking my heart?”
Pain flashed across his face. “If that’s what it takes.”
“You’re a coward.”
He went very still. “What?”
“You heard me.” Anger replaced hurt. “You’re hiding behind duty and rules because you’re terrified. Not of losing your power—of being happy. Of letting someone see you as more than a familiar. Of believing you deserve love.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” She stepped closer. “Three hundred years of being told you’re a tool. A servant. That your feelings don’t matter. And you believed it. You internalized it so deeply you can’t even imagine a world where you get to choose yourself.”
“This has nothing to do with—”
“Everything!” Her voice rose. “This has everything to do with it! You think loving me is selfish, but you know what’s actually selfish? Deciding what’s best for me without asking. Choosing to leave because you can’t handle the possibility that love might be worth the risk.”
“Love isn’t worth your life!”
“That’s my decision to make, not yours!”
They were standing toe to toe now, both breathing hard, the bond crackling between them with hurt and anger and desperate, helpless want.
“I’m leaving after we deal with Mara,” Orion said quietly. “That’s final.”
“Fine.” Hazel’s voice shook. “But don’t pretend you’re doing it for me. You’re doing it because you’re too scared to fight for something that matters. Too conditioned to believe you deserve happiness.”
“Hazel—”
“I’m done with this conversation.” She turned toward the door. “And I’m done trying to convince you that you’re worth loving.”
“Where are you going?”
“To bed. Alone. Like you apparently want.”
She went inside, closing the door harder than necessary.
Through the bond, she felt his anguish. His regret. The way he almost followed her.
But he didn’t.
And a moment later, she felt the familiar shift—magic rippling as he changed to wolf form.
He’d sleep outside tonight. Far from her. Maintaining the distance he thought would save them both.
Hazel crawled into bed fully clothed and let herself cry.
Because loving someone who didn’t think he deserved to be loved was the cruelest thing in the world.
And because no matter what he said, no matter how hard he pushed her away—she wasn’t giving up.
She’d find a way to break the binding.
And then she’d break through three hundred years of walls Orion had built around his heart.
Even if it killed her.
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