Odhran followed without hesitation, pushing him deeper into the bedding and swinging a leg over to straddle him. Her weight pinned him there, warm and insistent. "Don’t worry, it won’t take long," she murmured, though the words held no comfort.

"No. I have a mate," Marek managed, his voice rough as he pressed his hands against her hips, trying to create space.

Odhran scoffed. "Yet here you are, chasing after someone else who isn’t yours."

The truth of it stung, silencing him for a moment. Her hands moved over his chest, possessive. "Count yourself lucky I’m not asking for your soul."

He pushed harder, muscles straining, but she used her magic to reach for the knife in the brazier with startling speed. She gripped the handle firmly as she pressed the blade to the side of his neck. Cold steel bit just enough to draw a thin line of warning.

"You owe me two favors already. I saved you from those men who would have fucked and torn your ass apart. And I’ve promised to guide you to Drakwyne."

Marek’s breath came shallow, terror threading through his veins. "Give me time to think about this. Please."

"It has to be tonight." Her voice left no room for negotiation. The knife stayed firm. "You said you were willing to do anything. So if you refuse now, you die here. And all your efforts, everything ends in nothing."

The fear crested inside him, a wave that threatened to drown every other thought. Aveloria’s face flashed in his mind, distant and accusing, but the blade at his throat anchored him to the present danger.

Odhran’s eyes never wavered. She signaled with a slight tilt of her head, and somehow they shifted together, his body moving almost against his will to lie fully on the bed. She adjusted over him, hips rolling in a slow grind that pulled an involuntary moan from his throat. The sound shamed him even as sensation sparked through the panic.

For a moment, the tension stretched, her body moved against his, the knife still threatening and his hands half-pushing, and half-clutching.

Conflict tore through him, the pull of her warmth, the dread of what this meant, and the guilt that clawed at his chest. He tried to speak again, but she leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear.

"

"It’ll be over soon." She mumbled.

Then, without warning, she struck. The blade tore across his throat in one decisive motion. Pain exploded in his veins; Marek’s hands reached to his neck, fingers slipping over the blood pooling from his throat as his eyes widened in shock. A gurgling sound escaped him, painful and desperate, as more blood poured between his knuckles. He fought for a while until strength drained from his limbs.

He thrashed once, twice, before everything went still. His body collapsed limp beneath her.

"Draeven mor’thal varenn ul veyra’nor." She whispered into his ears.

Dwell in the dark and wander far beyond.

Odhran lifted herself away from him, breathing steady despite the violence. She tossed the knife into the brazier, where it clattered among the coals. Without pause, she crossed to a nearby shelf and retrieved a jar filled with small, black, sluggish creatures that writhed faintly. She returned and tipped several onto Marek’s still chest. They stirred slowly at first, then began crawling with purpose toward the ruin of his throat, drawn to the blood.

She uncorked a small bottle of blue elixir and drank deeply. Almost immediately, veins stood out across her skin, dark and pulsing with unnatural energy.

Odhran moved again and stripped away the rest of his clothing. She threw his shirt into the brazier where it caught fire and burned.

The fire shifted, turning a deep, eerie blue as she began to chant in an ancient tongue, the words vibrating through the cabin.

"Lunara vek sorn, Vrenn thal nor’Kai. Draeva sorn’var, Enkar thol reven. Vrenn. Vrenn. Vrenn."

Soul and blood, be made whole again. Return from the realm beyond. Moon Mother, hear my call. Let the lost one rise. Let the lost one rise. Rise. Rise.

The smoke thickened in the air. A heavy wind rose outside, whipping around the space and rattling the shutters.

The smoke darkened, twisting into the vague silhouette of a man, hazy yet distinct. Odhran’s chant grew stronger, more urgent. The shadowy form hovered over Marek’s body, consuming the creatures that had latched onto his wounds. Then it descended, forcing its way into him through nose, ears, and open mouth in coiling tendrils.

The wind howled louder. Minutes stretched, taut with power. Skin formed over the gash and the wounds healed completely.

Finally, Marek’s eyes snapped open. He sat up too quickly, chest heaving, but his movements were not quite his own. His gaze found Odhran, and when he spoke, the voice that emerged was deeper and more familiar, shattering her composure.

"Odhran."

Tears welled in her eyes as the years of grief broke over her. She rushed forward, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

"Giddon," she whispered against him, voice cracking as she cried.

Their arms locked around each other, bodies pressed close in the lingering smoke and firelight; the storm outside settled almost immediately.

Marek—no, Giddon now- held her tightly, his hands tracing her back with a lover’s memory. The terror that had filled the previous occupant was gone, replaced by something ancient and reunited.

Odhran buried her face in his shoulder, allowing herself this single moment of release.

Giddon held her as Odhran’s sobs tore through the cabin. She cried loud and unrestrained, the kind of sound that had been buried for twenty-three years. Her shoulders shook against him while the blue flames in the brazier still flickered with dying ritual smoke.

"I’m sorry," she gasped between breaths. "It took so long. So many years to find a vessel strong enough for you. I failed you for so long."

Giddon’s hand moved in slow circles across her bare back, the warmth of his palm grounding her. He didn’t rush her. He held on, letting her release everything she had carried alone.

When her breathing finally evened, he pulled back just enough to look at her face. His thumb brushed across her wet cheeks, wiping away the tears with careful strokes. "No more crying," he said, voice low and steady in this borrowed throat. "Not tonight."

He glanced down at the naked form he now inhabited, flexing the fingers of one hand as if testing its reality. The muscles were solid, the skin still warm from the ritual’s aftermath.

"Am I truly alive?"

"Yes," Odhran whispered, her hand resting over his heart. "But only for a short while. The binding won’t hold forever."

"How did you find the right one?" he asked, curiosity threading through the words.

She leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest. "The vessel had a split soul. It made room for you without tearing him apart completely. I saw the fracture when I looked deeper."

Giddon pulled her closer, arms wrapping tight around her waist. Their bodies fit together with the ease of long memory. Odhran’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the unfamiliar stubble there.

"We don’t have much time," she said, urgency creeping into her tone. "I need you to make love to me like we used to. I want to carry another child. One who will inherit everything I am."

A familiar smile curved his lips, the teasing glint returning to the eyes that were not originally his. "Still giving orders after all this time, Odhran?"

She let out a shaky laugh, the sound fragile but real. "I haven’t been with anyone else since you died. No one. I couldn’t."

And the truth of her words seemed to ignite something in him.