The morning light was a lie.
It crept through the high arched windows of the West Spire in thin, pale streaks, pretending at dawn, pretending at normalcy. But there was nothing normal about this place. Nothing natural about the way the air still hummed with residual magic, or how the Blood Moon’s crimson glow lingered in the corners of the room like dried blood. The fire in the hearth had burned low, embers pulsing like a dying heart. And Kaelen—Kaelen was gone.
I sat up slowly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders, my body stiff from a night spent half-awake, half-dreaming in flashes of teeth and heat and magic. My skin still tingled where the bond pressed against it, a dull ache beneath my ribs, a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone. That I hadn’t been, not since the ritual claimed us.
And then there was the vision.
Not a flicker this time. Not a tease.
A *consummation*.
Me beneath him, his body driving into mine, my back arched, my mouth open on a scream as he bit me—*claimed* me—while magic exploded around us like a storm. I could still feel it: the stretch, the fullness, the way my body had clenched around him as I came. I could still taste him—salt and fire and something wild, something ancient.
It hadn’t happened.
It *couldn’t* have.
And yet, my thighs were slick. My core ached. My nipples tightened against the fabric of my shirt with every breath.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands into them. This wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t surrender. It was the bond—twisting my body, my instincts, my *desire*, against me. Using my own flesh as a weapon.
But I wasn’t going to let it win.
I stood, my legs unsteady for just a second before I forced them to hold. I found my coat where I’d left it, draped over a chair near the hearth, and checked the inner lining—my fingers brushing the hidden pocket where I’d sewn the encrypted scroll. The one with the names. The dates. The proof that Lord Veylan had ordered my sister’s murder, that he’d framed Kaelen to destabilize the packs, that he’d buried the truth beneath layers of political lies.
The scroll was still there.
Good.
Veylan had planted that fake message last night—accusing 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.
I pulled the scroll free, rolling it between my fingers. I had one chance. One contact. Elara, the Fae duchess who’d whispered to me in the shadows last night—*You’re not weak. You’re a Blood Moon Heir. And they’re afraid.* She was my only ally in this den of vipers. And she was due to arrive at the summit’s outer gate in less than an hour.
I needed to get this to her.
Before the trials began. Before the Council had a chance to silence me permanently.
Before Kaelen could stop me.
I dressed quickly—black trousers, boots, a fitted tunic that allowed movement. I tucked the scroll into my boot, the leather snug against my ankle. The bond pulsed, a low throb in my chest, as if it sensed my intent. I ignored it. I wasn’t running. I wasn’t breaking the one-mile rule. I was *working*. Staying within the boundary, but moving toward the gate. Toward freedom. Toward justice.
The door opened.
Kaelen stepped in, silhouetted by the dim light of the corridor. He was dressed in dark leathers, his hair slightly damp—as if he’d washed, as if he’d tried to scrub the night from his skin. His amber eyes locked onto mine, sharp, assessing. He didn’t speak. Just stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding like a verdict.
“You’re up early,” I said, voice steady.
“So are you.” He walked toward the hearth, crouched, and fed a log into the embers. The flames flickered, then caught, casting jagged shadows across his face. “You were dreaming.”
It wasn’t a question.
“We both were.”
He glanced at me. “You felt it.”
“I felt *nothing*.”
He stood, slow, deliberate. “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 to the outer gate. Elara’s arriving. I need to speak with her.”
“Alone?”
“I’m not leaving the one-mile radius. You’ll feel it if I do.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I *do*.” He moved swiftly, intercepting me before I could reach the door. His body blocked my path, broad, imposing, radiating heat. “The Council’s watching. Veylan’s watching. If you try anything—”
“I’m not trying anything.”
“Then prove it.”
“By letting you shadow me like a guard dog?”
“By letting me *survive*.” He leaned in, his voice dropping, rough. “You forget, witch. If you die, I die. If you betray me, I die. So forgive me if I’m *particular* about who you speak to.”
I glared up at him. “You think Elara’s a threat?”
“I think anyone who gets close to you is a threat. To me. To this bond. To my control.”
“You don’t control me.”
“Not yet.”
The air between us crackled. The bond pulsed, hotter now, a live wire beneath my skin. My breath came faster. My body leaned into his heat without my permission. I could smell him—pine, smoke, male—and it made my head spin.
I stepped back. “Move.”
He didn’t.
Not at first.
Then, slowly, he shifted to the side. “You first.”
I didn’t thank him. I just walked out, my spine straight, my steps even. But I could feel him behind me—close, too close—his presence a weight against my back, his breath a whisper at my neck. The bond hummed, a constant reminder that we were tethered, that every step I took, he took with me.
The halls of the Fae High Court were quieter now, the grandeur stripped bare in the half-light. No torches burned. No courtiers whispered. Just the echo of our boots on stone, the distant howl of a wolf testing the moon’s edge. We passed through the central atrium, then down a series of winding corridors toward the outer gate.
And then—
Elara.
She stood at the threshold, wrapped in a cloak of midnight blue, her ageless face framed by silver hair. Her eyes—sharp, knowing—locked onto mine the moment I stepped into view. She didn’t smile. Didn’t bow. Just inclined her head, a silent acknowledgment.
“Misty Vale,” she said, voice like velvet over steel. “I see the moon has marked you.”
“Against my will.”
“And yet, you wear it well.” Her gaze flicked to Kaelen, then back to me. “The bond suits you. It’s already changing you.”
“It’s not permanent.”
“Nothing is.” She stepped forward, offering her hand. “May I?”
I hesitated—then extended my wrist.
Her fingers brushed my pulse point, light, cool. And then—
A spark.
Not pain. Not magic. Just a *recognition*, deep in my bones. A whisper of power, ancient and sleeping, stirring beneath my skin.
She smiled. “Yes. You’re one of us.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re not just a half-blood. You’re a Blood Moon Heir. The ritual didn’t just bind you to him.” She nodded at Kaelen. “It *awakened* you.”
Behind me, Kaelen stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
Elara ignored him. “You can break the bond, Misty. Or you can control it. But you have to choose—before the trials decide for you.”
My heart pounded. This was it. My chance. My power.
But I couldn’t tell her here. Not with Kaelen listening. Not with the Council watching.
So I did the only thing I could.
I reached for her hand—pretending to steady myself—and slipped the scroll from my boot into her palm, hidden in the fold of her cloak.
Her fingers closed around it. Just once. A silent promise.
“Thank you for coming,” I said, voice steady.
“Always.” She stepped back. “I’ll send word when I’ve reviewed your… *evidence*.”
Then she was gone, vanishing into the mist beyond the gate.
I turned to Kaelen. “Satisfied?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached into his coat—and pulled out an identical scroll.
My blood turned to ice.
“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he said, voice low. “The shift in your gait. The way you favored your right boot. The *scent* of ink and parchment on your skin.”
I said nothing.
He stepped closer. “You tried to leak evidence. To sabotage me. To destroy everything.”
“It’s not sabotage. It’s justice.”
“And what about *our* survival?” He crushed the scroll in his fist. “You think Veylan won’t use this to have us both executed? You think the Council will care about your sister when they can blame *you* for breaking the bond?”
“They already blame me.”
“Then stop making it worse.”
“I won’t stop until the truth is known.”
He grabbed my arm—hard—and yanked me forward until our bodies were flush. The bond *screamed*, heat exploding between us, magic crackling in the air. My breath came in gasps. My skin burned. My core clenched.
“You want the truth?” he growled, his mouth inches from mine. “Here it is. I didn’t kill your sister. I *liked* her. I respected her. And I know who did.”
My heart stopped. “Who?”
He didn’t answer.
Just held my gaze, his eyes blazing. “But if you keep playing this game, you’ll never live long enough to hear it.”
Then he released me, stepping back. “From now on, you stay in my wing. No more meetings. No more secrets. One mile, remember?”
He turned and walked away.
I stood there, trembling—not from fear, but from fury. From *powerlessness*.
He’d intercepted me. He’d taken the scroll. He’d *won*.
But he was wrong about one thing.
I wasn’t staying in his quarters.
And I wasn’t done.
That night, as the Blood Moon rose again, I sat by the hearth in the West Spire, pretending to read. Kaelen was across the room, sharpening a dagger, his movements precise, controlled. The bond hummed between us, a constant, maddening presence.
And in my other boot—hidden beneath a false sole—I rolled the second copy of the scroll between my fingers.
He’d taken one.
But he hadn’t found them all.
And next time, I wouldn’t be so careful.
Next time, I’d burn the whole damn court down.