The first thing I notice when I wake is the heat.
Not the warmth of sunlight—there are no windows here, only silver sconces that burn with cold fire along the walls of Cassian’s chambers. No, this heat is deeper. It pulses beneath my skin, a slow, insistent throb in my veins, like a second heartbeat. It coils low in my belly, tight and restless, and every breath I take tastes of him—dark amber, frost, ancient stone. His scent clings to the black silk sheets tangled around my legs, to the pillow still dented from where his head lay last night. It’s in the air, in my lungs, in the blood that now runs half his.
The bond.
I sit up too fast, my head spinning. The gown I wore last night—the one I’d chosen for stealth, not seduction—is wrinkled, the high collar askew, revealing the sigil at my throat. I press a hand to it, feeling the faint hum of magic beneath my fingertips. It’s stronger now. Awake. Waiting.
I wasn’t supposed to sleep. I was supposed to plan. To find a way out. To figure out how to kill him without killing myself.
But the moment I’d stepped into this room, the bond had flared—a wave of dizziness, a rush of warmth, and then darkness. I don’t remember lying down. I don’t remember closing my eyes. I only remember the last thing I saw: Cassian standing by the door, watching me with those crimson-rimmed eyes, his expression unreadable.
And now it’s morning. Or what passes for morning in the Shadowveil Court, where time is measured in blood tides and moon phases, not sunrises.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching cold marble. The floor is etched with faint silver lines—more runes, I realize, dormant for now. This entire chamber is a prison built on magic. And I’m trapped inside it, bound to the man who owns it.
The door opens before I can take a step.
He’s already dressed—black coat, silver buttons, hair perfectly in place, as if he hasn’t slept at all. But his eyes are different. Darker. Hungrier. And when he looks at me, the bond *pulls*, a taut string between our chests, drawing me toward him like a marionette on a string.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice low, smooth. “Good. The bond is stabilizing. That means it’s working.”
“It’s *not* working,” I snap, backing away. “It’s a curse. A mistake. And I want it *gone*.”
He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. The lock clicks. Final. “You don’t understand what it is.”
“I understand enough. It ties me to you. It makes me feel… things.”
His lips twitch. Not a smile. A knowing. “What things?”
I glare. “You know what things.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
He moves closer. Slow. Deliberate. “You feel the heat. The pull. The way your body reacts when I’m near. You want to touch me. To taste me. To—”
“Stop.”
“—kiss me,” he finishes, ignoring me. “You dreamed of it last night, didn’t you? Me on top of you. My mouth on your neck. My hands on your skin.”
My breath hitches. Because he’s right. I *did* dream of it. Not just dream—*remember*. A flash of memory that wasn’t mine: his body over mine, his fangs grazing my throat, both of us gasping, trembling, on the edge of something too intense to name.
“It’s not real,” I whisper. “It’s the bond. It’s forcing these… visions.”
“Or it’s reminding us,” he says, stepping even closer. “The Bloodsworn rite doesn’t create feelings. It *reveals* them. Buried truths. Suppressed memories. The magic only binds two people if their blood *recognizes* each other.”
“My blood doesn’t recognize you. I came here to *kill* you.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, now close enough that I feel the heat of his body, “your pulse just quickened. Your pupils dilated. And your scent—” He inhales, slow, deliberate. “—just turned sweet. Like honey and fire. That’s not hatred, Basil. That’s *arousal*.”
“You’re insane.”
“Am I?” He reaches out, not touching me, but his fingers hover near my wrist, where the bond mark pulses faintly beneath my skin. “Let me show you.”
“Don’t—”
His fingers brush my wrist.
And the world *burns*.
Fire races up my arm, searing through my veins, pooling in my core. My knees buckle. I gasp, stumbling back, but he catches me before I fall, one arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me hard against him. My chest slams into his, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His other hand cups the back of my neck, holding me in place.
And then the vision hits.
Not a flash. A *flood*.
Moonlight. A garden. Roses black as ink. I’m in a white gown, laughing, running through the shadows. He chases me, faster, stronger, but he lets me win. I turn, breathless, and he catches me, spins me, presses me against a stone wall. His hands frame my face. His eyes—softer, warmer—search mine. “You’re mine,” he whispers. “Say it.”
And I do. “I’m yours.”
Then his mouth crashes into mine—hot, hungry, *real*—and the kiss is so vivid, so intense, that I feel it *now*, on my lips, on my tongue, in the ache between my legs.
I cry out, wrenching myself free, but the bond drags me back, forcing me to stay close, to *feel*.
“No,” I gasp, pressing a hand to my mouth. “That didn’t happen.”
“It did,” Cassian says, his voice rough, his chest heaving. “We were in love. And someone made us forget.”
“You’re lying.”
“Then why does it feel true?”
I shake my head, backing away until my shoulders hit the wall. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to,” he says. “The bond will make you.”
He turns, strides to the door. “You’re confined to this wing. My guards will bring food. You will not leave.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I already am.”
He opens the door. “And Basil?” He glances back, his eyes burning. “Don’t fight the bond. It only makes the heat worse.”
The door shuts. The lock clicks.
I slide down the wall, my legs weak, my skin still burning. The vision lingers—his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the way my body arched into his like it *knew* him.
I press my palms to my eyes. *No. No, no, no.*
I came here for revenge. For justice. To break the curse that killed my mother.
Not to fall for the monster who cast it.
But the bond hums beneath my skin, a constant, maddening reminder: I’m already falling.
---
Hours pass. Or maybe days. Time blurs in this windowless tomb.
I pace. I meditate. I try to focus on spells—binding curses, blood reversals, anything that might sever the bond. But every incantation fizzles, the magic scattering like smoke. The bond resists. It *protects* itself.
And then, just as I’m about to scream, the door opens.
It’s not Cassian.
It’s a vampire woman—tall, silver-haired, her gown shimmering like liquid mercury. Lysandra Vale. His ex-lover. The one who watched me with such venom last night.
She steps inside, smirking. “Well. Look at you. The great assassin, reduced to a caged bird.”
“Get out,” I say, straightening.
“Oh, I’m not here to hurt you,” she purrs, circling me like a predator. “I’m here to *help*.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Don’t you?” She stops in front of me, tilting her head. “You think you’re the first woman Cassian’s bound? You think you’re *special*?”
“I don’t care about his past.”
“You should.” Her fingers trail down her collarbone, stopping at the bite mark. “He marked me. Claimed me. Spent nights in my bed, whispering promises he never kept.”
“And now he’s stuck with me,” I say coldly. “Lucky me.”
She laughs. “You think this is *stuck*? This is *temporary*. The bond will fade. It always does. And when it does, he’ll come back to me.”
“If you’re so sure, why are you here?”
Her smile falters. “Because I see the way he looks at you. And I don’t like it.”
“Too bad.”
She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You want to know how to break the bond? There’s a ritual. Ancient. Forbidden. It requires a sacrifice—blood, breath, and one final act of betrayal.”
My pulse jumps. “What kind of betrayal?”
“The deepest kind,” she says. “You have to make him *feel*. Love. Grief. Despair. And then—” She leans in, her lips brushing my ear. “—you rip his heart out while he’s still loving you.”
I freeze.
Because that’s exactly what I came here to do.
She pulls back, smiling. “Think about it.”
And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stand there, my blood cold, my mind racing.
Is that the answer? To make him love me—*truly* love me—and then destroy him?
But the thought makes my chest ache. Because the bond isn’t just forcing me to *want* him.
It’s making me *care*.
---
That night, the heat returns.
It starts as a whisper—warmth in my fingertips, a flush on my neck. But within minutes, it’s a wildfire, racing through my veins, pooling between my legs. My skin is too tight. My breath comes too fast. I pace the room, desperate, my hands clenching and unclenching.
And then the door opens.
Cassian steps inside, his coat gone, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. His eyes lock onto mine, and the bond *screams*.
“You’re burning,” he says, voice low.
“I know.”
“The bond heat. It’s worse when we’re apart.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“I can’t.” He closes the door. “If you don’t touch me, you’ll pass out. Or worse—your magic will spiral. You could hurt yourself.”
“I’d rather die than touch you.”
He moves too fast. One moment he’s across the room. The next, he’s in front of me, his hands on my arms, his body pressing me back against the wall.
“Liar,” he murmurs.
And then he lifts me.
One arm under my knees, the other around my back, he carries me like I weigh nothing. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, my hands gripping his shoulders. His breath is hot on my neck. His heart—slow, steady, *alive*—thuds against my chest.
“Don’t,” I whisper, but my voice trembles.
“You’re trembling,” he says. “Your pulse is racing. Your scent is *drowning* me.”
He carries me to the bed, lays me down gently. But he doesn’t let go. He leans over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding up my thigh, beneath the fabric of my gown.
“Don’t,” I say again, but it’s weaker.
“You want this,” he says. “You want *me*.”
“No—”
His thumb brushes the inside of my thigh, and I *arch*, a moan tearing from my throat.
He smiles. “Liar.”
And then the bond flares—bright, hot, *unbearable*—and another vision hits.
Me, on this same bed. Him above me. Both of us naked. His mouth on my breast, his fingers inside me, my hands clawing at his back, both of us gasping, *begging*.
I cry out, tears burning my eyes. “Stop. Please.”
He freezes. Looks down at me. And for the first time, I see it—*concern*. Not lust. Not triumph. *Worry.*
Slowly, he pulls his hand away. Rolls off me. Sits on the edge of the bed, his back to me.
“The heat will pass,” he says, voice rough. “But it’ll come back. Every night. Until the bond is… satisfied.”
“What does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer.
I sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Toying with me. Teasing me. Making me feel—”
“I’m not toying with you,” he says, turning to look at me. “I’m *protecting* you. If I hadn’t touched you, the heat would have made you collapse. If you’d passed out alone, your magic could have lashed out. You could have burned down half the wing.”
“And this—carrying me, touching me—is *protection*?”
“It’s necessity.”
“And the visions? The memories? Are those necessary too?”
He hesitates. Then, quietly: “I don’t know what they are. But I feel them too. And Basil…” He reaches out, brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I think they’re real.”
I pull away. “Don’t.”
He sighs, stands. “Sleep. The heat will fade by morning.”
He walks to the door. Pauses. “And Basil?”
I don’t look at him.
“Don’t touch yourself tonight,” he says. “It’ll only make it worse.”
And then he’s gone.
I lie there, trembling, my body still aching, my mind racing.
I came here to kill him.
But what if the only way to survive is to let myself *want* him?
What if the only way to break the curse… is to love him first?
I press my hands to my face, my breath shuddering.
Don’t touch me, I’d warned.
He didn’t let go.
You already are.