Chapter 18 THE WEIGHT OF THE MATE BOND
RAGNAR’S POV
The first time it happens, I am already feeling frustrated in a council meeting.
The elders pointlessly argue about patrol routes, about boundaries along the eastern ridges and responsibilities with their teeth bared at each other like savages.
I am half listening, half calculating supply routes for winter, when something hits me–fast, blinding, utterly out of place.
Heat.
Not the warmth of the sun or of fire, no.
This is internal low and coiling like a snake wrapped around my body.
A sudden awareness of my own body hits me that has no business surfacing while six senior wolves glare at each other over a carved oak table.
I stiffen.
Yurik lifts his head inside me pretending he wasn't avoiding listening to them argue.
“Mate,” he murmurs.
I know.
The sensation spikes, sharp enough to steal my breath. A flash of imagery slashes across my mind as I stiffen and clench my fists hard.
A pulse of need that is not mine, drags itself around me waking my member causing me to take a deep exhale.
Sebastian.
I bare my teeth without meaning to.
The elders all fall silent.
“Enough,” I growl, my voice rougher than intended but I don't care. “This meeting is adjourned.”
They exchange looks but do not argue. They never do when my tone drops like that.
I leave the hall with rigid strides, hands clenched at my sides and every step an exercise in control.
Thank the goddess I'm wearing a long tunic today.
The moment I am alone, I brace a palm against the stone wall and breathe through my nose greedily.
Of all the times.
Of all the gods-damned moments.
Yurik is amused. “He dreams rather naughty ones”, my wolf says, unmistakably smug.
“Don’t,” I mutter.
He cannot help it.
Well neither can I, apparently.
The mate bond–thin as spider silk for years, since I lost my mate has been full blown awake since the day I confirmed it.
Since that night I scented him properly and the world shifted under my feet.
And the moon goddess, in her cruel humor, decided to remind me that mates are not optional.
I straighten, schooling my expression, and return to my duties walking weirdly.
It will not happen again that day.
It happened that night.
I am asleep when the sensation drags me up from darkness, abrupt and disorienting.
Once again heat coils through my spine and heavier this time, more insistent.
My breath stutters as awareness floods through me. Desire, vivid and unashamed, wrapped in emotion that makes my chest ache.
Longing..
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling of my quarters, jaw clenched so hard it hurts.
Yurik stretches languidly. ‘He is thinking of you.”
“I gathered that,” I snapped.
“He touches himself.”
I snarl, a sound torn straight from my throat.
The bond pulses in response, bright and awfully cheerful.
I feel the echo of sensation from him without explicit details, only intensity.
The irony is bitter.
I am an Alpha. I have taken lovers before. Desire is not new to me. But this-this is invasive.
It’s not asking permission.
It doesn’t respect timing.
I force myself to breathe. To ground myself and to pull my wolf back before he decides to hunt that horny Bambi that's our mate.
The sensation fades eventually, leaving me tense and awake long after the moon dips behind the mountains.
The next day, it happens during training inspections.
The day after that, during negotiations with a neighboring pack.
Once, gods help me, it happens right in the middle of a disciplinary hearing.
Each time, it is different in flavor but identical in effect—Sebastian’s body reacting, his thoughts straying, his desire spilling across the bond and slamming into me like a reminder I did not ask for.
That horny Bambi!
Yurik is less restrained each time. “He wants you,” my wolf says, pleased. “He has always wanted you.”
“That doesn’t make this acceptable,” I snapped internally.
“It makes it inevitable.”
I ignore him.
I cannot afford distraction. Not when my pack depends on me. Not when weakness will certainly invite a challenge. Not when the bond itself is coming in a rather inopportuned moment where something smells fishy recently.
And then there is him.
Sebastian arrives for his shifts with the same quiet diligence, the same careful posture and the same respectful distance like he hasn't been sexually frustrating me all week.
He smells faintly of ink and paper more, a detail I notice despite myself. He avoids my eyes more than necessary, which tells me everything and nothing at once.
If you're going to fantasize roguishly (yes I saw his dreams) about me, you might as well look me in the eyes.
One afternoon, he's two hours late and I feel angry and hurt. I don't know where it's coming from.
My patience frays thread by thread.
Yurik prowls, agitated. “Something is wrong.”
“No shit Sherlock,” I mutter, fingers drumming against the arm of my chair.
When Sebastian finally appears, blood-scented and bruised, my restraint snaps.
I do not remember crossing the distance between us.
I do not remember putting my hands on his face or the taste of iron in the air.
The fury that floods me fast blinds my vision. I don't even know what happened.
I remember growling for him to stay still.
I remember Yurik taking advantage of my anger and surging forward before I can stop him.
The memory of my wolf’s control–of our control–still sits under my skin like a brand.
What Yurik did is not even graphic in recollection but his intent is unmistakable.
Grooming and all but claiming him by having his scent and saliva all over him to warm people.
I wrestle control back before it goes too far.
And I flee.
Like cowards do, perhaps but it was necessary if I wanted to remove myself from being close to him, from smelling and sporting an erection like he was.
Since then, the bond has only intensified.
Every stray thought Sebastian has of me, I feel like a tug behind my sternum.
Every restless night he endures, I pay for in disrupted sleep and frayed nerves.
Every wet dream he has, I wake up with an erection.
The moon goddess is nothing if not thorough in her punishments.
“We should take him,” Yurik says one evening as I sit alone, staring at reports I have read three times without actually reading.
“End this lusting.”
“No,” I answered immediately.
Why?
“Because I will not trap him in something he does not understand,” I say. “And let's not pretend we can give him what he wants.”
Yurik snorts. “You already do. Every time you deny him.”
That is the problem.
The realization creeps in slowly, unwelcome but persistent. As long as Sebastian’s desires are uncontrolled, they'll continue to bleed across the bond to me at the worst possible moments.
Control.
That is what I need.
If I cannot sever the bond, then I must manage it, control and structure it.
An arrangement of sorts if you will.
The idea forms reluctantly, sharpened by irritation and necessity rather than kindness.
I've run out of those when I started contemplating murder throughout this week.
No love and no attachments.
It'll be our own secret.
Yurik stills, considering. “You lie to yourself if you think you can go through the stupidity in your head without falling for him, I know I have.”
“Perhaps,” I admit. “But it'll be enough for now. The future will take care of itself.”
The bond hums, as if in anticipation.
For the first time in days, the pressure eases, not because Sebastian is quiet, but because the bond senses my decision is made.
Tomorrow night, I will summon him.
And get this over with.