Callie's fiery rampage at the old hotel forced Calen to set up a new base of operations. I followed the address he gave me up to an abandoned ski resort, built too far down the mountain to garner many customers before it flopped- what was with this guy and resort headquarters?

I didn't have time to question it.

I walked inside and asked for Calen's office location, and not one person questioned me the entire way to the door, which I threw open without ceremony to see Calen sitting in front of a roaring fireplace, a tea set on the table in front of him.

And, much to my absolute outrage, he smiled when he saw me.

"Sunday!" Calen said, clapping his hands together gleefully. "What a lovely surprise."

"Shut up," I snapped. "You know why I'm here. Rewind it."

"Tsk, tsk. Why the hurry? Sit down. Have some tea," he said, gesturing to the spot beside him on the sofa.

I didn't move.

"Sit down, Sunday," Calen said sternly. "We both know what's at stake here."

Annoyed, I plopped down in the armchair across from him, rather than sitting beside him. Calen frowned, but he didn't tell me to move. I didn't bother making small talk as he poured the tea into two cups.

"You did well," he said, tone almost cheerful in a way that made me fight not to grind my teeth. "Your magic is strong, I'll give you that. It might be stronger than I've ever seen in any of your other lives."

"And?" I asked flatly. I didn't really care what he thought about me, but Calen just took his sweet time. He dropped a sugar cube into each cup, then picked his up and sat back against the cushions.

"Your last incarnation caused a few hiccups, I admit. She was clever. She chose to die to render my time magic absolutely useless, so I had to start all over again when you were born," Calen said, taking a sip from his cup. "Do try the tea. It's good, I promise."

I didn't. Even though I didn't want to push it with reviving Dante, I didn't trust whatever was in that cup.

"How did you do it?" I asked, not reaching for the teacup. "How did you kill him without me seeing it?"

"Did you know that the farther ahead things are planned, the more easily you can see them in your Threads?" Calen asked. He paused, blew gently on the tea, and took a long sip. "I didn't, either, for the record. It took a good twenty times of trying to get that one to work, but here we are."

Twenty times?

He'd tried to kill Dante twenty times?

No... I'd somehow managed to foresee and stop him from killing Dante twenty times. Or, well, someone had. That was the upside. That was how I had to look at it for the sake of my sanity, even if I couldn't remember any of those events.

"I am going to rewind," he said slowly. "Once I do, you are going to leave the Sylvan Court and report directly to me. Otherwise, this happens again. If you attempt to escape, this happens again. If you betray me, this happens again. Do I make myself clear?"

I tried to ignore the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Apparently the Sylvan Court was no longer a safe place, and our families were no longer safe, either. Calen had found the bargaining chip he needed... but as long as he followed through on his word, I could live with that.

"How the fuck am I supposed to remember to do that after the rewind?" I spat, anger making my hands shake.

"You'll remember, because I'll be touching you when the rewind starts," Calen said calmly. "And then you spend the rest of your life here. With me. Doing whatever I say."

There was no way in hell that would ever happen, but I wasn't about to snark at him now. I might be angry, but I wasn't stupid. I could figure out what to do after the rewind, once Dante was alive and well again.

I wasn't about to agree with him, either, though. Instead, I stayed silent, staring at him with my arms crossed and hands balled into fists.

"Don't even think about waking him up to warn him, either. We've got eyes on you," Calen said. "I'll rewind, and then you leave the building. You'll find one of my assassins at the meeting point. He'll know where to take you."

"And you let Dante live," I said firmly. "Not for now, not until you think he's no longer useful. He lives, and you leave him alone."

I glared across the room at Calen. I truly wasn't sure how much he cared about keeping his word, but it was better than nothing at this point. Plus, I had a plan, assuming I could talk him into a corner enough to actually agree to it.

"Is that what it's going to take?"

"No." I crossed my arms over my chest. "I need a witch's promise."

Calen didn't look pleased. A witch's promise was a binding agreement between two magic users. Sylvans could use it, too, but they often didn't. Bargain magic was a little more innately woven into Sylvan biology than it was for witches, and sometimes it took a little extra magical kick to really make sure something stuck. A witch's promise would bind both of us to out word, and potentially cause serious consequences if one of us broke it. It wasn't a painful process, but it certainly meant he couldn't lie to me and slaughter my boyfriend behind my back.

Calen must have sensed my determination, because he finally nodded. He shuffled over to his desk to grab some kind of binding material. He found, interestingly enough, a roll of thin, red ribbon. I pulled a bottle of binding herbs from my bag, and another small flask of olive oil. They were both a little stale, but they'd serve the purpose we needed.

And, before you ask: No, I didn't regularly carry around herbs for a witch's promise in my bag, but I did typically carry things to bind a malicious being in case of emergency. That could mean a witch, a Sylvan, or even a spirit in a particularly rough case. It would be easy to repurpose those herbs for a witch's promise.

As far as the oil... Well, I like a little olive oil on my salads, okay? Almost any oil would do for the spell.

There was a trick to a witch's promise. Each person got one line, one single sentence in which to say their part of the bargain. I put the herbs in my palm and reached out for Calen in a handshake that put the herbs in between. Then, we wrapped the red ribbon firmly around our clasped hands in a series of seven loops, drizzling the oil on top.

The air seemed to buzz with energy, and I did my best to watch the Threads as well as keep an eye on Calen while we worked. The next step was to say our part of the promise to be kept.

Calen went first, as I anticipated he would.

"You will stay at my side and assist me in building the new magical world order, and in exchange I will rewind time to preserve Dante's life," he said.

A beat passed. I felt the hum in the air grow louder, as though the magic locked into place around his words.

And then I locked down on the handhold before he could let go.

The herbs between our palms made the grip a little slick, but not so much that I couldn't absolutely crush down on Calen's fingers. The ribbons held us together, too, but I wanted to be certain he couldn't very literally wiggle out of this. He winced, trying to jerk his hand away even through the ribbon binding, but I held him fast. I'm sure he hoped I didn't see the wince, but it gave me at least some mild satisfaction. He had the approximate grip strength of a crane game made from wet lasagna noodles, and it wasn't hard to hold him.

It was traditional for the second party to repeat the words of the first as a bond of trust, but it wasn't necessary for the spell. In fact, that wasn't why the spell was created like this at all.

But Calen wouldn't know that. He might know witch history, he might have powerful magic, but he depended too much on his ability to rewrite time and convince others of his own importance. He didn't take the time to study, and he especially didn't take the time to study Sylvan bargain magic like I had while I was on bedrest in Dante's rooms.

"Andif you break your word, if you move against Dante or my family at any point,I go free. Otherwise, I swear I will cut my own throat," I said, putting all my strength into my grip. "So be it."

Calen glared. Now that I'd said it with hands clasped, it was part of the promise. As soon as we let go, it would be done, written into the clause between us.

"Say it," I snapped, the ribbons still tight around our wrists. The bargain wouldn't lock and the ribbons wouldn't release until he did, and he knew it.

"So be it," he choked out.

The magically tightened ribbons holding us together relaxed. I finally let go, shaking the slick, oily herbs off my hand and onto his pristine beige carpet. Hopefully it would stain. Calen wiped off his own hand with a tissue and tossed it in the trash, irked but still composed.

At least I'd managed a small victory.

"That's all well and good, but before I rewind, I'm going to need you to do something to prove your loyalty."

"And that would be?" I kept my tone flat and neutral, but a wave of worry rose in my chest.

Whatever it was, I'd have to do it. I didn't have a choice. Calen had backed me into a corner, and he damn well knew it. I just wasn't sure what he wanted badly enough to require it before he rewound.

"Redo the soul mate bond that you broke," Calen said.

Shit.

I paled.

I couldn't redo the bond. It had disappeared, and I didn't know where that energy had gone. It wasn't hanging around still attached to us, waiting to pull back together like a magnet. I didn't know what my past selves might have told Calen about the Threads, but his perception of them clearly wasn't complete or accurate.

Besides, even if I could redo it, it wouldn't be the same. Just like a real thread, if you cut a Thread of Fate and retie it, it wasn't the same from that point on. It had still been cut. It wouldn't grow back together like a broken bone.

Calen misinterpreted my nerves, though.

"Remember," he growled. "You do what I say, or fairy prince dies."

I had to think of something to appease him, and fast.

It wasn't worth explaining that I couldn't reinstate the Thread. He wouldn't understand, and he'd probably either kill Dante again or ask for something even worse until I did what he wanted.

Calen also couldn't see the Threads, though. He was working off the feeling that there was no Thread between us, off the fact that his powers were limited and that I'd clearly lost some degree of that strange, magical magnetism I'd felt before. Technically, if he couldn't see it, he couldn't confirm it. All he had to do was feel something that seemed to make things click into place.

I couldn't reinstate the original Thread, but I could certainly make a new one.

I was out of practice. It had been a very long time since I'd tried making a new Thread, but... that's what my magic was for, wasn't it? It wasn't about cutting and tying. It was about creation, about forming bonds, about weaving. I made new things. The ability to recycle the old ones was just a useful side effect.

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "I need you to hold still."

This would be... annoying, to say the least. I could at least pull together enough to make an approximation of the soul mate Thread. A bond, certainly, and hopefully one similar enough to trick Calen. but I couldn't bring back the old one.

I teased away the energy from around us in puffs and swirls, sweeping off the main mass of our bodies almost in the same way that a piece of cotton candy might come apart when pulled. Between my hands, our two life forces came together, tangled and swirled, to create the beginnings of a new Thread.

It was as natural as breathing. I barely had to think, though I felt a little sick to my stomach at the thought of Calen's energy intertwined with mine.

I took that Thread and wove it neatly between us, watching it fall into place among the larger tapestry of our story, watching it gain strength and mass as it seemed to recognize the lifetimes behind us and the struggles ahead. Then, just before it seemed ready to connect, ready to latch on, I put two more things into the connection.

Firstly, desire.

I pulled on the feeling of lust surrounding Calen, not only physical lust, but a desire for power and control. I amplified it, weaving as much as I could into his end of the Thread, and putting none at all in mine. With luck, that feeling of lust coming back into his bones might disguise the fact that the original Thread was no longer in place.

The second part of my plan was more of a personal resolve than anything I consciously knew how to feed into a Thread. I could put emotion into things, tie connections back, make them stronger or weaker, but I wasn't sure how to write this particular desire into the scorch pattern of our soul bond.

I knew what had to happen, though.

Calen and I were tied together, but this was no longer a bond of love or lust or lifetimes. I'd already broken that one, and it wasn't coming back.

I could still weave the Thread of our future, though.

And, in that future, I was going to kill him.