The tincture dulled the fever, but it didn’t kill it.
It sat in my stomach like a stone—bitter, metallic, ancient—its magic seeping into my veins, smoothing the jagged edges of the bond’s pull. The fire in my blood cooled from a roar to a simmer. The visions receded, no longer tearing through me with every breath. But the ache remained. Deep. Persistent. A hollow throb beneath my ribs, a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone. That I hadn’t been since the Blood Moon Ritual claimed us.
Kaelen stood by the window, back rigid, gaze fixed on the spire’s battlements. He hadn’t moved since Riven left. Hadn’t spoken. Just stood there, a silhouette against the pale dawn, his bare chest still damp from the bath, the scars across his skin catching the light like silver thread. The bond hummed between us, low and insistent, a tether wound tight around my chest. But it wasn’t just the magic that told me he was awake.
It was the way he hadn’t looked at me.
Not since the kiss.
Not since I’d slapped him, then kissed him back with teeth and fire, my hands fisted in his hair, my body arching into his, my core clenching, wet, *aching*. Not since he’d pinned me to the wall, his hands caging me in, his breath hot at my neck, his voice growling, “Then kill me after you come.”
And then—nothing.
He’d pulled away. Not violently. Not with a snarl. Just… stepped back. Like the kiss had burned him. Like *I* had burned him.
And now we were back in the West Spire, the Council’s verdict delivered, the trial passed, the bond still binding us. One mile. Thirteen days. Survive, or die.
And I still had the second scroll.
Hidden in my boot, beneath a false sole, just where Veylan hadn’t thought to look. He’d planted the fake one—accused me of treason, of leaking secrets—but he hadn’t found the real one. And he wouldn’t. Not unless he tore me apart stitch by stitch.
But after last night—after the kiss, after the way my body had betrayed me, after the way his had responded—I wasn’t sure what I wanted more.
Justice.
Or him.
And that terrified me more than any trial ever could.
I turned to the hearth, crouched, and fed a log into the embers. The flames flickered, then caught, casting jagged shadows across the stone floor. The Blood Moon had passed its peak, but its crimson glow still lingered in the corners of the room like dried blood. Outside, the wind carried the distant howl of wolves—some testing the moon’s pull, others marking territory. Inside, the silence was worse.
“You’re brooding,” Kaelen said, voice low, rough.
I didn’t look up. “You’re observant.”
“You’ve been staring at that fire for an hour.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how Veylan planted that scroll. How he’s trying to frame me. How he’s using the bond to discredit me, to make me look like a traitor, a seductress, a *liar*.” I stood, turning to face him. “And about how you defended me.”
He didn’t move. Just kept his back to me, his hands braced on the windowsill. “I didn’t defend you. I defended the bond. If you die, I die. Simple math.”
“Liar.”
He turned then, slow, deliberate. His amber eyes burned into mine, fierce, possessive, *hungry*. “You want the truth? Fine. I didn’t want you to die. Not because of some fake scroll. Not because of Veylan’s games. Because I need you.”
My breath caught.
“I need you to survive this,” he continued. “I need you to stay alive, to stay close, to stay *mine*—because if you don’t, the fever will take me. The magic will spiral. And I’ll lose control.”
“And then what?”
“Then I’ll kill someone. Maybe you. Maybe myself. Maybe both of us.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “The bond isn’t just a tether. It’s a *lifeline*. And right now, you’re the only thing keeping me from drowning.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
I *could* feel it—the way his pulse jumped when I shifted, the way his breath hitched when I moved, the way his cock had hardened when I’d stumbled in the trial, when he’d caught me against his chest, when my body had pressed into his, hot and trembling.
He wanted me.
Not just the bond.
Not just the magic.
*Me*.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Thunder cracked again, louder this time, shaking the walls. The torches in the sconces flickered, their flames turning crimson. The sigils along the walls pulsed in time with the Blood Moon, their glow intensifying.
And then—
The fever hit.
It wasn’t gradual. It wasn’t a slow burn.
It was a *scream*.
Fire ripped through my veins. My vision whited out. My body arched, my hands flying to my chest as agony tore through me—sharp, deep, *wrong*. I gasped, stumbling back, but the window was behind me, the glass cold against my spine.
“Misty.”
Kaelen was there in an instant, his hands on my arms, his face close, his eyes wide. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My heart pounded like a war drum. My skin burned, every nerve alight, every muscle trembling.
“It’s the moon,” he said, voice tight. “The bond’s reacting. The tincture’s wearing off. You need touch. Skin contact. It stabilizes the magic.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. He just moved—sliding one arm around my waist, the other under my knees—and lifted me off the ground.
I fought him. Kicked. Twisted. Slapped at his chest.
But he didn’t let go.
“Stop,” he growled. “You’ll make it worse.”
And he was right.
Every struggle sent another wave of fire through me. Every breath was a knife in my ribs. Every heartbeat echoed in my skull, too loud, too fast, *wrong*.
So I went still.
Let him carry me.
Let him press me against his bare chest, my legs dangling, my face inches from his throat. His scent enveloped me—male, musky, *his*—and it made my head spin. His heart pounded against my side, strong, steady, *his*. And the bond—oh, the bond—flared between us, a live wire, a pulse, a *connection* so deep it wasn’t just in my mind.
It was in my blood.
He laid me on the bed, his movements careful, controlled. Then he climbed in beside me, pulling me into his arms, my back to his chest, his body spooned against mine. His heat seeped into me, soothing the fire, calming the storm.
“Breathe,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “Just breathe.”
I did.
Slow. Deep. In. Out.
And with each breath, the pain lessened. The fire cooled. The bond settled, not gone, but *calm*.
But the visions didn’t stop.
They came without warning—flashes of heat, of touch, of *us*.
His mouth on my neck. My fingers in his hair. His hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my shirt aside, his thumb brushing my clit as I gasped, my body arching into his touch.
Me on my knees, his cock thick in my hand, his voice growling my name as I took him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around the head, my tongue tracing the vein beneath.
Me beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, my back arched, my mouth open on a cry as he thrust deep, magic spiraling around us, the Blood Moon blazing above. His teeth grazing my throat. My nails raking down his back. And then—his fangs sinking in, claiming me, as I came with a scream, my body clenching around him, my magic and mine merging into one.
It wasn’t just desire.
It was *completion*.
I gasped, my body arching, my core clenching, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. My skin burned where he touched me. My pulse thundered in my ears. My thighs trembled.
And Kaelen—
He felt it too.
His breath hitched. His arms tightened around me. His cock, hard and thick, pressed into the curve of my ass, throbbing against me with every heartbeat.
“You see it,” he murmured, voice rough, strained. “You see what we are.”
“It’s not real,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “It’s magic. Illusion.”
“Isn’t it?” He nuzzled my neck, his lips brushing my skin. “Or is it just the truth the bond won’t let us hide from?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
All I knew was that my body believed it. That my heart believed it. That every cell in my body was screaming for him—*for us*—in a way that had nothing to do with magic.
And then—
The vision changed.
Not sex. Not desire.
*Power*.
Me standing before the Council, the Blood Moon blazing behind me, my hands raised, magic spiraling from my fingertips like a storm. Kaelen at my side, not as my captor, not as my enemy—but as my *equal*. Our bond not a chain, but a crown. Our union not a curse, but a *reign*.
And then—
Me, kneeling in a circle of ancient runes, blood dripping from my palm, the sigils flaring to life as I spoke words I didn’t know, in a language older than the packs. Kaelen before me, his head bowed, his body trembling, not in pain—but in *worship*. And then—his hand closing over mine, our blood mingling, our magic merging, the bond *breaking*—not with death, but with *choice*.
I gasped, coming back to myself, my breath ragged, my body trembling. The fire still crackled. The Blood Moon still glowed. Kaelen still held me, his arms tight, his breath warm at my neck.
But everything had changed.
“You saw it,” he said, voice low. “The other vision. The one with the runes. The blood.”
I didn’t answer.
But he knew.
He could *feel* it.
“That’s not part of the trial,” I said. “That’s not part of the bond.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar.” He shifted, rolling me onto my back, his body caging me in, his hands braced on either side of my head. His amber eyes burned into mine, fierce, possessive, *hungry*. “You know exactly what it is. Elara told you. You’re a Blood Moon Heir. The ritual didn’t just bind you to me.”
“It awakened me,” I whispered.
“And you can break it.”
“Or control it.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at me, his chest rising and falling fast. “Then do it.”
“What?”
“Break it.” His voice was rough, raw. “If you can. If you *want* to. Prove you’re not mine. Prove you never were.”
My heart pounded.
This was my chance.
My power.
My freedom.
But as I looked into his eyes—into the fear, the hunger, the *need*—I realized something.
I didn’t *want* to break it.
Not yet.
Not until I had the truth.
Not until Veylan was exposed.
Not until my sister’s name was cleared.
And not until I knew—*really knew*—if the man above me was a monster…
Or the only one who’d ever seen me.
“I won’t,” I said, voice steady. “Not yet.”
His jaw tightened. “Then you’re mine.”
“No,” I said, lifting my hand, pressing my palm to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m *yours*—but only because I choose to be.”
He didn’t answer.
Just lowered his head—slow, deliberate—until his lips were a breath from mine.
And then—
Thunder cracked, shaking the spire.
The torches flared crimson.
And the bond *screamed*.
I woke gasping, my body drenched in sweat, my heart racing, my core aching.
The storm had passed. Dawn was breaking, pale light creeping through the arched windows. Kaelen was gone.
But his scent was still on the sheets.
And the vision—
It was still in my blood.
I sat up slowly, my limbs heavy, my mind reeling. That hadn’t been just a fever dream. That hadn’t been just magic.
It had been a *memory*.
Or a *prophecy*.
And the worst part?
I wanted it to be true.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching the cold stone. My body still hummed with residual heat, my skin sensitive, my nerves alive. I could still feel him—his hands on my waist, his breath at my neck, his cock pressing into me, thick and hard and *wanting*.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
This wasn’t weakness.
It was *awakening*.
And as I stood, my hand brushing the second scroll hidden in my boot, I knew one thing for certain.
The bond wasn’t my prison.
It was my weapon.
And I was going to use it.
“That wasn’t real,” I whispered, my voice raw.
Behind me, a low, rough voice answered—
“It will be.”