39B: FATED TO CELESTIALS II

**MEDINA** 

No spell I knew could sever a true mate bond—not cleanly, not safely. But I was not seeking safety. I was seeking finality. If I could kill the bond before they knew, before it grew strong and consuming, before the gods had their way… then perhaps I could still win.

Elijah came to stand beside me. “There’s something behind your eyes,” he murmured. “Something you’re not saying.”

“Then don’t look so closely.”

He laughed, low and bitter. “You think I don’t see you, Medina? You, who’ve haunted my halls and hunted my enemies. You, who wear your heart like armor and your smile like a sword?”

I turned to him, every inch of me cloaked in stillness. “Then see me, Elijah. But do not pretend to understand me.”

A beat passed.

“I don’t,” he admitted.

And that—strangely—hurt most of all.

A century of loving him. A hundred years of standing at his side, through blood and storm. And still, he could not see it. He did not feel it.

But she would.

When she learned.

When she saw.

When the bond pulled at her ribs like mine did now.

I wanted to tear the stars down from the sky. I wanted to burn the gods that had cursed me with this knowing. I wanted to unmake Celeste.

“Elijah,” I said, more sharply now, my voice no longer laced in honey but iron, “if you ever find her—your mate—do not tell me. Spare me that mercy.”

His brow lifted, ever so slightly. “You would not want to know?”

“No.”

I could not bear it.

He studied me, as if the truth might unfold in the lines of my face. “Is this about someone else?” he asked, too casually. “Have you found your mate?”

I scoffed. “I’ve found many things in this life. A mate is not among them.”

It was not a lie.

Because I hadn’t found him.

The gods had.

And they had given him to someone else.

He stepped away then, pouring himself a dark drink from the decanter near the hearth. I watched the liquid swirl in his glass like shadowed blood.

“You are cruel tonight,” he remarked.

“I am always cruel.”

He turned, his expression unreadable. “No. You are wounded. And trying not to bleed.”

I hated him then. Not for his words. But for how gently he said them.

I closed the space between us slowly, taking the glass from his fingers and setting it down. He let me.

“I am many things, Elijah,” I whispered, “but weak is not one of them.”

“I never said you were.”

“Good. Because I am going to do what must be done. And when I do, you must never ask me why.”

A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What are you planning?”

“Something selfish,” I answered. “Something necessary.”

I stepped away, heading for the doors, feeling his gaze scorch my back.

“Medina,” he said before I could leave.

I paused.

“If fate ever does bring her to me,” he said, voice low, “I won’t let go.”

I nodded once. “Then I will make sure she never reaches you.”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t stop me either.

And that was his first mistake.

I had once believed the mate bond sacred. Divine. A mercy gifted to those the world had bruised.

Now I saw it for what it was.

A noose. A punishment. A curse veiled in silk.

Celeste did not deserve Elijah. Not in the thousand lives she might live.

She had not stood beside him in war. She had not stitched his wounds in silence while he drank away his ghosts. She had not bled for him. She had not loved him—truly loved him—when there was nothing to gain but ruin.

And yet, the gods had chosen her.

I would not stand by and watch that bond blossom.

No. Not when it was still silent. Dormant.

There was still time.

Time to keep her blind.

Time to keep him blind.

Time to shape the future with my hands, and crush the one they were never meant to share.

I stood just outside the doors of the study now, my hand resting on the cold stone frame, breathing slowly, methodically.

Behind those doors was the only man I had ever sworn myself to without a crown to offer.

And I would not lose him to someone who knew nothing of loyalty.

She could not even understand him. Not the way I did.

She was light. Foolish, trembling light. And Elijah was forged of night.

He would devour her.

He should have devoured her.

But I had seen the way he looked at her once. Unknowing. Confused. As if something was pulling. A thread caught in the depths of his soul.

And I had watched him resist it.

If that pull ever grew stronger…

No.

He would never know.

Neither of them would.

They would die ignorant of what they could have been.

And I—

I would carry the truth alone.

It was better that way.

So I made promises in the quiet.

Not with blood. Not with spellcraft.

But with teeth and bone.

I promise he will never look at her the way I’ve dreamed of him looking at me.

I promise he will never feel that pull—not while I breathe.

I promise she will always feel like something is missing.

I promise I will never let the gods win.

The night air kissed my cheek through the hallway window, sharp with the scent of impending rain.

I tipped my head to the sky beyond the stone, and whispered like one might to an old enemy:

“You should have never chosen her.”

And deep within me, something cold bloomed into flame.