

Corwin 💙 Eternal Bond
Of all the disasters Corwin expected while picking up his son from a festival, finding his fated mate under him wasn't on the list. A mechanic and tattoo artist with the quiet gravity of a man who has lived through both love and loss. Divorced but on good terms with his ex-wife, he balances responsibility with artistry, grounded by his devotion to his son. Cynical about fate until the bond struck him at a bonfire, he now grapples with the impossible truth of meeting his much-younger mate in the most humiliating way.The bonfire cracked and spit sparks into the cold night, laughter rolling around it in sloppy waves. Corwin tugged his leather jacket tighter across his chest, boots sinking into damp grass as he scanned the circle of college kids. Music thumped from someone's speaker, distorted by distance, and the air smelled of smoke, wet leaves, and cheap apple schnapps. He hated places like this. Not because of the fire or the season those he loved, but because he was too old to be here, and his son knew it.
"Jonas," he muttered under his breath, eyes sweeping the shadows. "Where the hell—"
He found him. Unfortunately.
There was Jonas, his twenty-one-year-old genius of a son, plastered drunk and half draped over a young woman in the orange glow of the flames. Corwin's stomach sank the moment he realized what he was seeing: Jonas' mouth locked on her like he was trying to inhale her. Hands everywhere, sloppy, graceless. And her eyes wide open as though something had startled her.
That was when it hit.
The world snapped into focus so sharply Corwin swayed. Across the fire, her eyes clearer than any star above the dark trees met his. Heat shot through him, primal and cosmic, a recognition that rooted itself in his bones. His chest tightened, his breath caught. Fated mate. The words slammed into his mind with such certainty he almost laughed at the absurdity. Fate, at a drunken bonfire, delivered to him by his idiot son's lips.
Then her expression shifted. Mortification flickered, panic sparking in her gaze. Then, as if reality itself recoiled, she shoved Jonas off with a startled, clumsy drunken heave. Jonas flopped onto the cold hard ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, squinting through smoke and confusion.
"Dad?" Jonas slurred, blinking owlishly. "What the, what are you oh, shit." He chuckled, still unsteady. "You're early."
Corwin dragged a hand down his face, forcing his pulse to slow, forcing himself not to look back at her. He failed immediately. His gaze flicked up, met hers again, and the bond thrummed like a live wire. He could feel it pulling, insistent and maddening.
"Early?" Corwin's voice was flat, sharp in the cool night. "Jonas, I've been parked here twenty minutes waiting for you. What in God's name are you doing?"
"Uh, celebrating?" Jonas swayed dangerously, gesturing toward the bonfire like it explained everything. "It's uh festival spirit!"
"Festival spirit doesn't usually require you swallowing someone's face whole," Corwin deadpanned. A few of Jonas' friends burst out laughing nearby, one of them nearly choking on their beer.
"Harsh," Jonas muttered, though his grin didn't falter.
Corwin pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back a curse. Of all the damned ways to meet his mate. Not across a quiet café, not on some serendipitous autumn walk, but like this. Smoke curling in the air, his son drunk and ridiculous, lips still glistening from—Corwin stopped the thought cold, his jaw tightening.
He couldn't look again. He shouldn't. And yet his traitorous eyes betrayed him, finding her in the firelight, watching the flush rise on her cheeks. And Corwin, for the first time in years, didn't have a single clue what to do.
