The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long, shifting shadows across the stone walls of our shared quarters. I stood by the window, back rigid, gaze fixed on the Blood Moon hanging like a wound in the sky. Outside, the spire’s battlements were silent, the wind carrying the distant howl of a lone wolf—some Beta testing the edge of the moon’s pull. Inside, the silence was worse.
She was awake.
I could feel her. Not just the bond—a constant, low thrum beneath my skin, a tether wound tight around my ribs—but her *presence*. The way her breath hitched when she thought I wasn’t listening. The way her pulse jumped whenever I shifted. The quiet rustle of fabric as she turned in her bed, refusing to sleep.
Good.
Let her lie there. Let her burn.
She’d come here to destroy me. To drag my name through the dirt and paint me a murderer. And now? Now she was bound to me by magic older than the packs, her fate tied to mine like a cursed oath.
Justice, maybe.
Or irony.
I didn’t care which.
All I knew was that every second she stayed near me, the wolf in me grew restless. Not with rage. Not with dominance.
With *hunger*.
It wasn’t just the bond. It was *her*. The way she held herself like a blade—cold, sharp, unyielding. The fire in her eyes when she looked at me, like she could carve the truth out of my bones. The scent of her—something clean and wild, like rain on stone, with an undercurrent of magic that made my gums ache.
And worse—the visions.
That flash when our hands brushed in the hall. Her on her knees, my hand in her hair, her mouth warm and wet around me, magic spiraling out of control as she took me deeper. I’d felt it—the heat, the pressure, the way my hips had twitched forward before I caught myself.
It wasn’t real.
It *couldn’t* be.
And yet, my body believed it.
I clenched my jaw, fists tightening at my sides. I was the Alpha of the Northern Packs. I’d crushed rebellions with a word. I’d stared down vampire kings and Fae lords and never flinched. I did not—*could not*—lose control.
Not for a witch.
Not for a half-blood with death in her eyes.
“You’re brooding,” she said, voice sharp in the dark.
I didn’t turn. “You’re observant.”
“You’ve been staring out that window for two hours. Either you’re plotting my murder, or you’re trying to will the moon to disappear.”
“Maybe I’m hoping it’ll curse someone else.”
She made a sound—half laugh, half scoff. “You think I wanted this? To be chained to a monster like you?”
I turned then.
She was sitting up in bed, the thin blanket pooled around her waist, her dark hair loose over her shoulders. She wore a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, collar open just enough to reveal the hollow of her throat. The locket—the one with her sister’s ashes—rested against her skin, cold silver catching the firelight.
And her eyes.
Gods, her eyes.
Gray, like storm clouds before a storm breaks. Hard. Defiant. But beneath it—something else. Fear? Pain? Or just the same fury that had brought her here?
I didn’t care.
“You think I’m a monster,” I said, stepping forward. “Fine. But don’t pretend you’re innocent. You came here to burn the Council down. To destroy me. You didn’t care who got caught in the flames.”
“My sister was *innocent*,” she snapped, voice cracking. “She was a peace envoy. Neutral. And you had her killed.”
“I didn’t.”
“Liar.”
“Believe what you want.” I crossed my arms. “But the bond doesn’t lie. And it chose *you*. Not some noble martyr. *You*. A half-blood witch with a vendetta and a death wish.”
Her breath caught.
I saw it—the flicker in her eyes. The way her fingers tightened on the blanket. She was used to being dismissed. Looked down on. Called weak.
And I’d just done it.
Good.
Let her hate me. Let her rage. Anger was clean. Predictable. It didn’t make your hands shake. It didn’t make your pulse race when she shifted in bed, the fabric whispering against her skin.
“You think that insults me?” she said, voice low. “Calling me a half-blood? I’ve heard worse. Done worse. I’ve killed men for less.”
“Then why haven’t you killed me yet?”
She didn’t answer.
And I knew why.
Because she couldn’t.
Not just because of the bond.
Because every time she looked at me, she saw something else. Not just the monster. Not just the Alpha.
She saw *him*.
The man in the vision.
The one who knelt over her, mouth at her throat, hands possessive, voice growling her name as she came apart beneath him.
And she wanted it.
As much as I did.
The bond flared—sudden, hot—a wave of heat rolling through my chest. I stepped back, jaw clenched. The fever was building. Proximity. Emotion. Desire. Riven had been right—every fight between us poured fuel on the fire.
“Stay away from me,” I growled.
“I’m not the one moving,” she shot back.
But she was wrong.
We both were.
The bond wasn’t just pulling us together.
It was *changing* us.
A knock at the door broke the tension.
Before I could answer, it opened.
Lord Veylan stood in the threshold, flanked by two Fae guards. His mask was gone, revealing sharp, ageless features, eyes like polished onyx. He smiled—a slow, serpentine thing that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Alpha. Miss Vale.” He stepped inside, the guards remaining in the hall. “I trust you’ve… adjusted to your new arrangement.”
I didn’t answer. Misty stayed silent, but I felt her tension like a live wire.
“The Council has convened,” Veylan continued. “The Blood Moon Trials must begin immediately. The first trial is set for dawn. You will face it together—or you will both die.”
“What is the trial?” Misty asked.
“That is for the moon to reveal.” He smiled again. “But know this—the trials test more than magic. They test loyalty. Desire. The strength of the bond.” His gaze flicked between us. “And the Council will be watching.”
He turned to go, then paused. “Oh. And one more thing.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a scroll—aged parchment sealed with red wax.
“This was found in your quarters, Misty Vale. A message, hidden in your coat lining. Addressed to a witch coven in Prague.” He held it up. “Shall I read it aloud?”
My head snapped toward her.
She went pale.
“It’s nothing,” she said, voice tight.
“It’s treason,” Veylan corrected. “An attempt to leak Council secrets. To incite rebellion.” He let the accusation hang. “The punishment is death.”
My gut twisted.
Not because she’d tried to betray us.
Because *I knew* she hadn’t.
The scroll was a setup. A trap. Veylan had planted it—just like he’d covered up her sister’s murder. Just like he’d let the Blood Moon Ritual activate, knowing it would bind us, discredit her, destroy her credibility.
He was cleaning house.
And she was in his way.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, voice low.
Veylan turned to me. “I don’t take orders from Alphas, Kaelen. Not even you.”
“She didn’t write that scroll.”
“Then who did?”
“You know who.”
His smile didn’t waver. “The evidence speaks for itself.”
“So does your guilt.”
The room went still.
Misty stared at me, stunned.
Veylan’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Alpha. You’re defending a traitor.”
“I’m defending the truth.”
“Truth is irrelevant. The Council has spoken. She will be held until the trial. If she survives… perhaps mercy will be considered.”
He nodded to the guards.
They stepped forward.
And something in me *snapped*.
I moved before I thought—shifting just enough to let the wolf rise, my canines lengthening, my voice dropping into a growl that shook the stones. “Touch her,” I said, “and I’ll rip out your throats.”
The guards froze.
Veylan didn’t flinch. But his eyes—just for a second—flickered with something like fear.
Good.
Let him be afraid.
“You would defy the Council?” he asked.
“I would defy *you*.”
He studied me, then slowly nodded. “Very well. She stays with you. But know this—any further attempts at sabotage, and the punishment will be shared.”
He turned and left, the door closing behind him.
Silence.
Misty stared at me, her chest rising and falling fast. “Why did you do that?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, turning back to the window. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for the bond. If you die, I die. Simple math.”
She didn’t answer.
But I felt her gaze on my back. Heavy. Searching.
And then—
“You didn’t kill her.”
I stilled.
“My sister,” she said. “You didn’t kill her.”
I didn’t turn. “I told you that.”
“But I didn’t believe you.”
“And now you do?”
“You just defended me. Risked your position. For someone you call a *witch-chain*.”
I finally turned.
She was standing now, barefoot on the stone, the firelight painting gold across her skin. Her eyes were wide, not with anger, but with something worse.
Hope.
And I hated it.
“Don’t,” I said, voice rough. “Don’t start believing in me. I’m not your savior. I’m not your ally. I’m the man who’s going to survive this bond—and walk away from you when it’s over.”
She took a step forward. “Then why do I feel like you’re already mine?”
The bond *screamed*.
Heat exploded between us—white-hot, violent. I gasped, staggering back as fire ripped through my veins. My vision blurred. My knees buckled.
And then—
The vision.
Not a flash this time.
A *memory*.
Her beneath me, legs wrapped around my waist, her back arched, her mouth open on a cry as I thrust deep, magic spiraling around us, the Blood Moon blazing above. Her fingers raked down my back. My teeth grazed her throat. And then—my fangs sinking in, claiming her, as she came with a scream, her body clenching around me, her magic and mine merging into one.
It wasn’t just desire.
It was *completion*.
I came back to myself on my knees, hands braced on the stone, breath ragged. Sweat dripped down my temples. My cock was hard, aching, straining against my pants.
And Misty—
She was on her knees too, one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide, her thighs clenched together, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
She’d felt it too.
Not just the magic.
The *need*.
“That’s not going to happen,” I growled, forcing myself up.
She didn’t answer.
But when she looked at me, I saw it—the same hunger, the same ache, the same *want*.
And for the first time since this nightmare began…
I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it.
The door opened again.
This time, it was Seris.
Vampire. Former lover. Political ally. A woman who’d once lain in my bed and whispered promises she never meant.
She stepped in, wearing a gown of black silk that clung to every curve, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder, her lips painted blood-red. Her eyes—sharp, knowing—flicked between us.
“Kaelen,” she purred. “I heard about the bond. How… tragic.”
I didn’t answer.
She walked past me, stopping in front of Misty. “You must be exhausted. Being claimed by an Alpha is… overwhelming.” She smiled. “I know.”
Misty didn’t flinch. “I’m not claimed.”
“Aren’t you?” Seris tilted her head. “The bond says otherwise. And so does your scent.” She leaned in, voice dropping. “You’re wet for him. I can smell it.”
Misty slapped her.
The sound cracked through the room.
Seris didn’t move. Just smiled, slow and cruel. “He likes it rough. Hope you can keep up.”
And then she turned to me, winked, and walked out.
I didn’t move.
But inside—
Something dark and possessive *roared*.
And I knew, with terrifying certainty—
If Misty wasn’t mine before…
She would be.
One way or another.