The first time Sloane sees Kaelen Vire, he’s standing in a ring of firelit runes, his shirt torn, fangs bared, scent like storm and iron cutting through the incense of the truce chamber. She came to kill him. Instead, when their hands touch during the alliance ritual, the fated bond flares to life—a white-hot chain locking around her spine, her pulse thundering in places no man has ever touched. She stumbles back. He catches her wrist. “You’re mine,” he growls, and the room erupts.