Help! Five Beast Alphas Want To Breed Me!!(BL)

Chapter 394: A Closed Bond

Avaren;

"She’s weakening faster." One of them says, and the irritation that settles into me at those words is immediate.

I stand silently in the containment chamber as mana hums heavily through the walls around us.

The spell holding Alana in place crackles softly at the centre of the room, and even from here, I can feel the instability beginning to creep into it.

It’s annoying. Very annoying.

I tilt my head slightly toward the witch who spoke as my index finger taps against the inside of my other elbow.

"How much faster?" I ask, and there’s hesitation.

I hate that.

"It’s... difficult to calculate exactly," she answers carefully, and I lift a brow.

"Bram is using too much of her life force to maintain the disguise."

Of course he is. I exhale slowly.

"He was instructed to remain hidden whenever possible," I note. Because not only did I give him that order, I asked them to tell him that, as well.

"Yes." One of the witches replies, and exasperation takes its place in my mind fully.

"Yet somehow he failed even that simple task." I breathe, and I’m met with silence.

The warlock I sense standing near the containment platform finally clears his throat nervously.

"He’s constantly around people," he explains. "Talking. Interacting... Maintaining prolonged appearances. The spell has to work harder every time he actively behaves as her."

A pulse of irritation crawls beneath my skin.

That fool!

That spell was never meant for constant performance. Mimicking appearance alone already requires enormous mana. Voice, scent, mannerisms, prolonged interaction...

All of it drains directly from the source. And the source is dying.

I turn my attention back toward the containment seal and let out a small, pitiful breath.

Alana’s mana flickers weakly inside it. Like a small, fading... pathetic butterfly.

The first time we sealed her here, her mana was vibrant enough to resist the prison around her.

Now?

Now it barely responds at all.

The witches have done well keeping her alive this long.

Better than expected, honestly.

But there is only so much they can do when Bram insists on parading around Gravemaw pretending to be a woman.

"He’s becoming reckless," one witch mutters carefully, and I almost scoff.

She’s wrong. Bram has always been reckless.

The problem is that confidence has made him arrogant. And arrogant men eventually ruin everything.

"How long before the strain kills her?" I ask calmly, and the room grows quiet again.

"...We don’t know." A warlock at the far end of the room whispers.

That answer displeases me instantly.

"You don’t know," I repeat flatly, and the atmosphere in the room shifts.

I hear clothes ruffle, and subtle whispers like they’re all straightening up,

"We’re trying to stabilise the drain, but every time Bram pushes the spell too hard, her condition worsens again." Someone chimes, and there’s another pause.

Like they’re not quite sure how to tell me what they are about to.

"She nearly gave up yesterday." A witch close by says almost as low as a breath. But I hear it. And I pause.

My expression stills completely as my head tilts towards the voice.

"Explain."

The witch swallows.

"The disguise destabilised briefly. We had to reinforce the transfer manually." She explains, and a breath huffs out of me.

Interesting. Just... interesting.

So the spell is already beginning to fail.

That means one of two things.

Either Alana is running out of life force... or Bram is overusing the transformation beyond what the ritual can sustain.

Neither option is useful. And both seem like the kind of problem that skunk would create.

I step closer to the containment platform, and the mana prison crackles softly around her unconscious body.

However, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.

Just hangs there suspended in magical sleep while her life is slowly siphoned away to maintain someone else’s facade.

A cruel spell. Effective... But cruel.

Calisí would probably call it poetic.

My mouth curves slightly at the thought of her.

And just then, I feel a silence echo through our bond— the kind of silence that follows after a door is slammed shut.

I stop moving immediately, and every thought inside my head stills.

The room continues around me.

I hear breathing, heartbeat... and magic. But beneath all of it, there’s nothing from her.

Calisí blocked our bond. She shut me out.

A faint crease forms between my brows as I think about it.

That is unusual. Not impossible... But unusual.

She rarely shuts me out entirely, especially not without warning.

I remain still for a few seconds longer before turning away from the containment chamber again.

"Keep Alana alive," I say calmly as I begin walking toward the exit.

The order sounds simple. But it isn’t.

"If Bram destabilises the spell again before this operation is complete, inform me immediately," I add, and their chorus follows.

"Yes, Lord Avaren." The massive chamber doors open again as I approach, and cold air brushes against my skin.

And still my bond with Calisí remains blocked.

The last time Calisí blocked me out completely, she slaughtered an entire hunting camp by herself because one of the men tried touching her.

She only told me afterwards because she was annoyed that I sensed blood through the connection.

The second time, this happened, she—

No.

I push that memory aside immediately as my bare feet walk across the stone ground.

I already know how Calisí is.

She has never enjoyed being watched too closely. Especially when violence is involved.

And she trusts me enough to believe I will respect her silence whenever she chooses it.

I always have.

Because, despite everything people think about her... Calisí has never lied to me about who she is. And she has never given me reason to doubt her decisions or capabilities.

By the time I return to my chambers, the unease has settled properly beneath every inch of my skin.

The unease doesn’t quite feel like fear. It’s something else... Wrongness.

I can not help the feeling that something is wrong.