Chapter 92 AFFECTION IS A FICKLE THING
RAGNAR'S POV
My eyes flash.
“That is not a confirmed thing that could happen.”
“But it is possible.”
Dax has said enough for today.
“Return to your quarters now,” I repeat.
Dax studies me one last time.
“And if the ritual is attempted,” he says quietly, “you won’t be able to control the outcome.”
“I never intended to.”
Our eyes lock and I remember years of shared history sitting between us.
Of unfinished arguments that have gone with the years.
Then he steps back into the trees as his scent fades slowly.
Now who was the one that liked dramatic exits?
Yurik remains tense in my mind also thinking of what Dax said.
I stand alone in the clearing, the weight of his words settling over me.
Kill him.
Sever us.
Or erase him.
Three outcomes and none were acceptable to me.
Sebastian is angry and hurt but he is mine. The very thought of him being stripped away from me makes me want to tip someone's head off.
The thought alone feels like suffocation to me.
Dax suspects something and the others are searching for him.
And if word spreads that the most powerful Alpha in the region is mated to an Omega housing an ancient wolf,
The challenge match will turn into a rebellion fast.
I close my eyes briefly.
For the first time since being with him, I am not calculating pack strength or territorial advantage or anything.
I am only calculating the risk to one person.
The ritual exists and whether I use it or not doesn't matter because someone else will.
And I do not yet know which outcome I fear most.
And that realization unsettles me more than Dax’s return ever could.
This was only supposed to be a quick and harmless fling so when did I start to care so much for an Omega?
.
.
.
I do not go back to my chambers after that, I do not go to Sebastian either.
If I see him now, if I feel the raw edge of his anger through the bond while Dax’s words are still echoing in my skull – I might say something I should not say.
So I turn towards the oldest wing of the pack house where everything is kept.
The library.
It is not a place most wolves value or frequent as paper does not bleed nor pose any challenge to hot headed wolves so it is deserted.
The doors groan as I push them open and I am greeted by the scent of aged leather and dust.
This room is even older than my grandfather.
Some of these shelves hold texts copied from ruins and packs long burned down to ash.
So if there was ever a ritual capable of severing a wolf from its host, it would surely be written here.
I shut the doors behind me and it blocks all the sound from outside.
Even Yurik quiets, though I can feel uneasy from him.
“You are considering it,” he says.
“I am merely verifying it,” I answer under my breath.
There is a difference. I don't think I could put Sebastian through any of those outcomes Dax mentioned earlier.
I move closer to the restricted shelves near the back wall with old bindings.
There were no titles on the sides or even the front, the only thing there was sigils branded into the leather.
Part of my training was that I had to be able to understand how to read ancient sigils.
Hierarchy law.
Blood rites.
Pack doctrine.
I pull one free and set it on a long table. Dust scatters into the air as I lay it open across the table.
The script is written with old ink that has faded but is still legible to read.
There are many references and how the dominance structure of the pack should be in this book.
Early pack formation theories and mentions of how each member of the pack: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta and Omega should act and behave.
Thank the goddess for the changes and reforms I made sure to put my foot down on.
Some packs still followed this stupid set of laws.
I flip the pages carefully before I get to one where it is about ancients.
The word appears three times in the first chapter of the column alone.
Descriptions vary– powerful, unbound, destabilizing.
My jaw tightens. Sebastian was not acting or behaving like what this book is saying.
It would be a miracle if he could even stand up for himself on some days.
Unclaimable.
The mate bond pulses faintly in my chest as if in protest to this.
I turn another page and there.
A passage has been torn out cleanly from the book, pages are missing from it.
“Severance Rite” is the only thing I can manage to see from the part that wasn't torn out.
My fingers are still on the parchment.
So it was not a rumor.
It's true.
The book crackles softly under my grip.
Dax did not exaggerate and there might be some element of truth in what he said.
I flip down to the last page where someone who was in a hurry or rush scribbled something across.
“Attempted once and failed. The host expired before completion.”
My throat tightens. The death part was also true.
I exhale slowly.
Stripping the bond entirely, the very idea feels like tearing muscle from bone on me.
Would he survive it?
Would I?
Yurik’s growl vibrates low.
“We will not sever anything Ragnar, just so you know, Alisander is still my mate.”
“I have not decided anything yet,” I say quietly.
But the fact that I am here suggests otherwise.
Footsteps echo faintly beyond the shelves walking towards me.
I do not look up immediately as I already recognize who they come from.
“A strange hour for historical curiosity Ragnar,” comes a calm voice from behind me.
I close the book slowly before turning around.
Beta Ava stands a few paces away with her arms loosely folded.
Her dark hair is braided back tightly and her posture relaxed but observant.
She takes in the table and the open texts right in front of me as her eyes sharpen.
“You are in the sealed section,” she notes.
“You noticed.” I respond dryly.
“That section is for blood law and extinct rites.”
“I am well aware Ava.”
She steps closer, glancing at the partially covered page I could not close. Her gaze lingers just long enough to recognize the script type.
“It’s ancient dialect,” she says quietly.
I meet her eyes.
“What exactly are you looking for, Ragnar?”