With a nod, he closed his eyes. For a moment he was very still, with the poised tension of a runner waiting for the starting gun. He drew in a long, slow breath, chest lifting; held it; let it out again. A pause, then he repeated the pattern. In through his nose, out through his mouth, deep and calm.
Cathy found her own breathing slowing, falling into step with his. In; hold; out. Anticipation and anxiety still warred in her mind, but her racing pulse steadied.
Aodhan reopened his eyes. He flicked her the tiniest of smiles, chin dipping in a slight nod of approval. Raising his right hand, he began to speak.
She’d seen him do magic before, of course. But those had been hasty, hurried spells, his feet set and his voice strained and harsh as he sought to wrestle the world to his will. Now, she finally appreciated that those improvised rituals had been like a virtuoso pianist forced to perform Bach on a kazoo.
His long, strong fingers stroked the air, capturing the candlelight. His whole body flowed into even the tiniest gesture, every muscle working in perfect harmony. He barely moved, yet it was a dance; and more.
It was a seduction.
He didn’t command the magic. He enticed it, enraptured it, entranced it. She could feel some vast, intangible force gathering around them, as mesmerized by that subtle performance as she herself.
He wasn’t looking at her, his gazed focused on some hidden landscape—but it was as though he whispered each syllable for her ears alone. She couldn’t understand the words, yet they stirred up scattered, disconnected snatches of memory—the glitter of wet pebbles on a beach, the taste of fresh blackberries, her son’s first smile. It was like catching a faint, unexpected breath of a half-forgotten perfume, or hearing a snatch of song in a language that she hadn’t spoken since childhood.
Cathy was so spellbound, she almost missed her cue. Aodhan’s fingertip brushed her palm, jolting her out of her trance. Remembering his instructions, she fumbled for his hand. His chest hitched as her finger found the start of the sigil, as though he too had felt the contact like an electric shock.
Slowly, holding her gaze, he drew his finger along her palm. Cathy copied the motion in mirror image. She’d been worried that she’d somehow mess this up, go too fast or too slow—but now, in this moment, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to mirror his movements.
Round the first circle, then the second. The rough heat of his palm under her fingertips; his slow, feather-light touch. They were so perfectly in tune, she could have been drawing on her own skin, right hand on left.
Magic ran down Aodhan’s arm, gathering in the hollow of her palm. Her blood was like sunlight in her veins. She was glowing too now, though with emerald fire rather than gold. With each pass of their fingers, the linked circles brightened. Once, twice, three times.
Sweat beaded Aodhan’s brow, yet he kept up his steady, melodic chant. He raised his hand, the symbol on his palm blazing with golden light. She copied him, lifting her own.
Their palms met.
Lightning searing through every cell of her body. She would have jerked away in shock, but he’d already folded his fingers, trapping her own.
The energy between their palms crackled, green and gold writhing like battling snakes. Aodhan gripped her hand tight, teeth clenched, muscles rigid. She could feel how he shook, fighting to contain that wild, furious power.
It was too much. Too much for one man, even Aodhan, to hold alone for long. She could sense him slipping, losing his grip on her hand.
Instinctively, she closed her own fingers, adding her own strength to his. The contradictory swirls of green and gold blurred together, coalescing into brilliant, pure white light. A sudden vertiginous rush, a sense of heat sweeping through her—and then it was gone.
“Well,” Aodhan said in the sudden darkness. “That was somewhat more dramatic than I expected.”
It took her a second to form words. “Did it work?”
He held up their joined hands in answer. Shimmering golden lines had appeared on her wrist, tracing intricate fractal curlicues across her skin. An identical pattern spiraled up Aodhan’s forearm, though his gleamed a deep, rich green, like light through a flawless emerald.
Cathy turned her wrist as much as she could without letting go of him. “It reminds me of Tamsin and Cuan’s marks. Their mate bond.”
“That’s what gave me the idea, actually. Rest assured, this is nowhere near as permanent. Or intimate.” He cleared his throat. “Which leads us to the topic of completing the ritual.”