The wards flared one more time—bright enough I had to close my eyes or go blind—and when the light finally died Draven was still kneeling on the floor with his hand on the anchor stone except his veins weren't just black anymore, they were pulsing with red that looked way too much like demon-spawn eyes.
Not good. That was decidedly not good.
"Draven?" His name came out strangled because my throat had decided swallowing was optional and also my lungs were doing that thing where they forgot how to expand properly.
He didn't answer. Just stayed there frozen with his palm pressed to the stone while whatever the wards had done to him finished processing, and the bond between us tasted like copper and ash in ways that made my brain scream danger.
"The ward accepted him." Morgana's voice was clinical but I caught the underlying holy shit we got lucky tone. "His intent was pure enough. He can access the binding now."
