Chapter 5 Healing Hands and Stubborn Hearts

Cordelia's Pov

The ritual chamber beneath Ravenshollow was exactly as pretentious as I'd expected. Stone circles, ancient runes carved into the floor, candles arranged in patterns that probably meant something deeply significant to people who took this sort of thing seriously.

The whole setup screamed 'ancient supernatural nonsense' with all the subtlety of a neon sign.

"This is where the original mating ceremony was supposed to take place," Cordy explained, lighting what had to be the hundredth candle.

"Before Lysander decided to make his grand rejection speech in the main hall instead."

"How thoughtful of him to choose a more public venue for my humiliation," I muttered, examining the intricate stonework.

"Nothing says 'this isn't personal' quite like an audience of three hundred."

Lysander stood in the centre of the circle, looking about as enthusiastic as a man facing execution. Which, given his current condition, might not be far from the truth.

The journey down to the chamber had clearly cost him, and his hands shook slightly as he stripped off his shirt.

I tried very hard not to notice how the candlelight played across his chest, highlighting muscle and scars I'd once known intimately.

Five years hadn't dulled the physical attraction, unfortunately. My treacherous wolf stirred with interest, apparently having forgotten that this particular male had chosen pack politics over our bond.

"The curse is tied to his life force," Cordy continued, arranging crystals around the outer edge of the circle. "To break it, you'll need to establish a direct connection to his wolf spirit and essentially burn the curse out from within."

"Burn it out," I repeated. "That sounds delightfully painful."

"For both of you, I'm afraid." She gave me a sympathetic look. "The connection required is... intimate. More intimate than most healings."

Margaret, who'd been hovering near the entrance like she was afraid I might bolt at any moment, stepped forward. "How intimate?"

Cordy's smile was decidedly wicked. "Soul-deep, dear. The kind of connection that only exists between true mates."

The silence that followed could have been bottled and sold as concentrated awkwardness. Lysander's jaw tightened, and I could practically feel the waves of reluctance radiating from him.

Even dying, the man apparently couldn't bear the thought of being vulnerable with me.

"Brilliant," I said cheerfully. "So to save your life, we need to forge the exact connection you publicly rejected five years ago. The irony is so thick I could serve it with custard."

"Delia..." he started, but I held up a hand.

"No. Absolutely not. We're not doing the thing where you apologise or explain or make this about feelings. This is a medical procedure, nothing more.

I'm here to break a curse, not to have a heart-to-heart about our past."

His eyes flashed with something that might have been hurt, but I was well past caring about Lysander Ashworth's delicate emotions.

He'd forfeited the right to my sympathy when he'd chosen appearances over our bond.

"Right then," I said, stepping into the circle. "How exactly does one go about establishing a soul-deep connection with someone who's spent five years avoiding you?"

"Physical contact helps," Cordy advised. "Skin to skin. The more contact, the stronger the connection."

I looked at Lysander, who was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Resignation, maybe. Or dread. Possibly both.

"Well?" I said. "Are you going to stand there looking tragic, or are we doing this?"

He moved toward me with careful, measured steps, like he was approaching a wild animal. When he was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, he stopped.

"I need you to know," he said quietly, "that I never wanted this for you."

"This? You mean saving your life? How considerate."

"I mean being forced into a position where you have to touch me again."

The admission hung between us, raw and honest in a way that reminded me why I'd fallen for him in the first place.

Before the politics and the pressure and the spectacular public rejection, there had been moments like this. Moments when his guard dropped and I could see the man beneath the alpha.

"Lysander," I said, reaching up to place my hands on his chest. His skin was burning hot, fever-bright and damp with perspiration. "Shut up and let me save your life."

The moment my palms made contact with his skin, the world exploded into sensation. The mating bond, damaged but not destroyed, roared back to life with the force of a wildfire.

I could feel his wolf spirit, wild and desperate and fighting against the dark tendrils of curse magic that were slowly strangling it.

But I could also feel his pain. Not just physical, though that was considerable, but the deeper ache of regret and self-loathing that had been eating at him for five years.

The knowledge that he'd thrown away something precious for the approval of people who didn't matter.

"I can see it," I whispered, my hands growing warm as I channeled healing energy through the connection. "The curse. It's like... like thorns wrapped around your soul."

His hands came up to cover mine, his touch gentle despite the tremor in his fingers. "Can you remove them?"

The curse fought back as I began to work, sending waves of agony through both of us. Lysander's back arched, a low growl rumbling in his chest, but he didn't pull away.

If anything, he leaned into the connection, trusting me with a vulnerability he'd never shown before.

"There's so much of it," I gasped, sweat beading on my forehead as I pushed deeper into the tangle of dark magic. "It's been growing for months, feeding on your life force."

"Just... don't stop," he managed through gritted teeth.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, pouring my energy into saving the man who'd broken my heart, feeling more connected to him than I had in five years.

The mating bond pulsed between us, stronger with each passing moment, and I couldn't tell if that was helping the healing or making it infinitely more complicated.

"Almost there," I whispered, finding the core of the curse and beginning the delicate work of unraveling it. "Just hold on."