The air in the Fae High Court tasted like lies.
Not the usual kind—the quiet, velvet lies of politics, the honeyed whispers behind closed doors. No, this was something sharper. Fresher. A lie that had been dressed in silk and paraded through the halls like a prize, its scent clinging to the stone, the torchlight, the very breath of the court.
And I knew, before I even saw her, that it was Seris.
She arrived at dawn, slipping through the eastern corridor like smoke, her gown the color of dried blood, her silver hair coiled in an intricate braid that fell over one shoulder. She moved with the grace of a predator who already knew she’d won, her hips swaying just enough to catch the light, her lips curled in a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
And she was wearing his shirt.
Not just any shirt. Kaelen’s. The one he’d worn during the Trial of Blood—black, tailored, the silver clasp still fastened at the throat. The one he’d torn off after the ritual, the one he’d thrown into the fire, the one I’d watched burn to ash.
And yet, there it was. Draped over her shoulders like a trophy, the fabric clinging to her curves, the scent of pine and smoke rising from the collar as she passed.
My breath caught.
Not because I believed it.
But because I *wanted* to believe it.
Because for one wild, traitorous second, I let myself imagine it—Kaelen’s hands on her, his mouth on her neck, his fangs sinking into her skin as she moaned his name. I let myself feel the twist of jealousy, sharp and hot, like a knife between my ribs. I let myself wonder if I’d been a fool. If the bond meant nothing. If the visions were just magic, not truth. If he’d chosen her all along.
And then—
I crushed it.
I straightened my spine. I clenched my fists. I reminded myself who I was.
Misty Vale.
Daughter of a murdered mother.
Sister of a framed peace envoy.
Half-witch, half-human, and proud of neither.
I hadn’t come here to fall in love.
I’d come here to burn the Council to the ground.
And I wasn’t going to let a vampire in a stolen shirt derail me.
But the court wasn’t so disciplined.
Whispers followed her like a shadow. Fae lords leaned into each other, their voices low, their eyes gleaming. Vampire elders watched with cold amusement. Werewolves growled under their breath, their tails twitching with offense. Even the human servants paused in their duties, their gazes flickering between Seris and me with undisguised curiosity.
And then—
She saw me.
Her smile widened. Slow. Deliberate. A predator recognizing prey.
She turned, her gown swirling around her, and walked toward me, her boots silent on the stone. The scent of her—blood and roses—hit me before she did, cloying, invasive. My stomach twisted. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a low, insistent throb, but it wasn’t just the magic that made my pulse jump.
It was *her*.
“Misty,” she purred, stopping just inches away. “You look… tired.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at her, my expression blank, my hands at my sides.
“Long night?” she continued, tilting her head. “All that *blood-sharing*. Must have been… exhausting.”
My jaw tightened. “You have no idea what I’ve endured.”
“Oh, I think I do.” She reached up, fingers brushing the collar of Kaelen’s shirt. “He called my name last night. Over and over. Moaned it into my skin.”
“Liar.”
She laughed—soft, musical. “You don’t believe me?” She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “Ask him. Ask him if he remembers how I tasted. How I screamed when he bit me.”
My breath hitched.
Not because I believed her.
But because I *wanted* to.
Because for one wild, traitorous second, I let myself imagine it—Kaelen’s fangs in her neck, his hands on her hips, his voice growling her name as he claimed her. I let myself feel the twist of jealousy, sharp and hot, like a knife between my ribs. I let myself wonder if I’d been a fool. If the bond meant nothing. If the visions were just magic, not truth. If he’d chosen her all along.
And then—
I crushed it.
I stepped back. “You’re pathetic.”
“Am I?” She smiled. “Or am I just the truth you don’t want to face? He’s an Alpha, Misty. He needs a mate who can match him. A full-blood. A vampire. Not a half-breed witch who hides in shadows and leaks secrets.”
My blood ran cold.
The fake scroll.
Veylan’s trap.
She knew.
“You’re the one leaking secrets,” I said, voice low. “Spreading rumors. Trying to discredit me. But you’re not fooling anyone.”
“Aren’t I?” She glanced around, her smile widening. “Look at them. They believe me. They see you for what you are—a desperate woman using magic to bind a powerful Alpha. A seductress. A liar.”
And she was right.
I could feel it—the shift in the air, the way the court watched me now, not with curiosity, but with suspicion. The way their gazes lingered on my half-human features, my plain coat, my lack of glamour. The way they whispered, not about the bond, but about *me*.
She’s not his mate. She’s a witch-chain.
He’d never choose her.
She’s just using him.
And worse—
I could feel *him*.
Kaelen.
He wasn’t in the corridor. He wasn’t in the atrium. But I could feel him—his presence a weight, his breath a whisper at my neck. The bond pulsed between us, low and insistent, a tether wound tight around my ribs. And I knew, without seeing him, that he was close. That he was watching. That he could *feel* this—my jealousy, my fear, my doubt.
And that terrified me more than anything.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, voice low. “You don’t have to be his enemy.”
“I’m not his enemy,” she said, smiling. “I’m his past. His pleasure. His *release*.” She stepped closer, her lips brushing my ear. “And soon, I’ll be his future. Once he realizes you’re not enough.”
My hands clenched.
Not because I believed her.
But because I *wanted* to.
Because for one wild, traitorous second, I let myself imagine it—Kaelen turning away from me, choosing her, breaking the bond, walking away. I let myself feel the twist of loss, sharp and hot, like a knife between my ribs. I let myself wonder if I’d been a fool. If the bond meant nothing. If the visions were just magic, not truth. If he’d chosen her all along.
And then—
I crushed it.
I turned and walked away.
Not fast. Not slow.
Just steady. Controlled. Like I didn’t care.
But inside—
I was unraveling.
The corridors blurred. The torchlight flickered. The bond pulsed, a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that every step I took, he took with me. I could feel him—his awareness, his tension, the way his breath hitched when I passed a pool of still water and saw my reflection—pale, haunted, *changed*.
And then—
I stopped.
Not because I wanted to.
But because the bond *screamed*.
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 wall was behind me, the stone 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 proximity,” he said, voice tight. “The bond’s reacting. 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 in the West Spire, 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.”
I spun.
Kaelen stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the dim light of the corridor, his broad frame blocking the exit. His hair was damp, his chest bare, water droplets glistening on his skin from the bath he’d just taken. His amber eyes locked onto mine, sharp, assessing, *hungry*.
“You’re up early,” he said, stepping inside.
“So are you.”
He didn’t answer. Just walked toward me, his bare feet silent on the stone. His presence was a wall, his scent overwhelming—pine, smoke, male. My pulse jumped. My skin warmed. The bond flared, a low throb in my chest.
“You were dreaming,” he said.
“We both were.”
He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough that I could smell him. “You felt it.”
“I felt *nothing*.”
He stepped closer. “Liar.”
The bond flared—just a pulse, but enough to make my breath catch. My skin warmed. My pulse jumped. I could feel him more clearly now—the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breath, the way his wolf prowled just beneath his skin, restless, hungry.
“You felt it too,” I shot back. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
He didn’t deny it. Just crossed his arms, his gaze never leaving mine. “That vision wasn’t just magic. It was *inevitable*. The bond knows what we are. What we’ll become.”
“We won’t become anything.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
He took a step forward. The bond tightened, a physical pull in my chest. “Then why are you lying?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re tense. Your pulse is racing. Your scent—” He inhaled, slow, deliberate. “—is *drenched* in need.”
My face burned. I hated that he could read me like this. That the bond gave him access to my body, my reactions, my *truth*. That he could smell my arousal like it was his right.
“It’s the fever,” I said. “The proximity. It’s not *me*.”
“Isn’t it?” He took another step. Closer. “You want me. Not the bond. Not the magic. *Me*.”
“I want you *dead*.”
He smiled—cold, knowing. “Same thing, sometimes.”
I turned away, moving toward the door. “I’m going back to the spire. The trial’s over. We survived.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“I don’t think anything’s easy.” I reached for the door handle. “But I’m not staying here another second.”
He moved faster than I could blink.
One second, I was reaching for the door.
The next, I was pinned against the wall, his body pressing into mine, his hands caging me in, one on either side of my head. His heat seeped into me, his scent enveloping me, his breath hot at my neck.
“You don’t get to run,” he growled.
“Let me go.”
“No.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “You want to hate me? Fine. But don’t lie—you’re wet for me.”
My breath caught.
He was right.
I was.
And the worst part?
I didn’t care.
“I don’t want you,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Liar.”
He nuzzled my neck, his lips brushing my skin. “You want my teeth in your skin. You want my claim. You want to be the one who bears my mark.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
I was. My hands were shaking. My breath was ragged. My core was clenching, wet, *needy*.
And then—
I slapped him.
My palm cracked against his cheek, the sound sharp in the silent lodge. For a second, I thought he’d back off. That the Alpha would retreat.
He didn’t.
He caught my wrist before I could pull away, his grip like iron. His other hand gripped my hip, yanking me forward until our bodies were flush.
And then I felt it.
The full force of the bond.
Heat exploded between us—white-hot, uncontrollable. Magic surged, crackling in the air like lightning. My skin burned where he touched me. My breath came in gasps. My vision blurred.
And in that moment, I saw it again—the flash of us tangled together, his mouth on my neck, my fingers in his hair, our bodies moving in perfect, desperate rhythm.
It wasn’t a memory.
It was a *promise*.
He leaned down, his lips brushing mine. “You want to kill me?” he murmured. “Fine. But you’ll have to get close first.”
I didn’t answer.
Just tilted my head—slow, deliberate—and kissed him.
Not gentle. Not soft.
Hard. Desperate. Angry.
My teeth scraped his lip. My tongue pushed into his mouth. My hands fisted in his hair, yanking his head back as I took control, as I claimed *him*.
And he let me.
For a second.
Then he growled—a deep, feral sound—and flipped me, slamming me back against the wall, his body caging me in, his hands gripping my wrists, pinning them above my head.
“You don’t get to run,” he snarled.
“I’m not running,” I gasped, my hips arching into his. “I’m *fighting*.”
“Then fight.” He kissed me—hard, deep, possessive—his tongue tangling with mine, his fangs grazing my lip. “Fight me. Hate me. *Burn* with me.”
And I did.
I kissed him back with teeth and fire, my body arching into his, my core clenching, wet, *aching*. His free hand slid down my side, over my hip, under my shirt, his fingers burning a trail up my spine.
And then—
He paused.
His hand stilled. His breath hitched. His eyes—dark with something I couldn’t name—locked onto mine.
“I still want you dead,” I whispered, my voice raw.
He didn’t flinch.
Just leaned down, his lips brushing mine. “Then kill me after you come.”
And his fingers slipped under my shirt.