The summons from the Moonveil Court had come at dawn—delivered not by courier, not by scroll, but by a single silver feather that had drifted through the cracked window of our chambers and landed on Kaelen’s palm as he slept. It shimmered with Fae magic, pulsing like a heartbeat, the words etched into its surface in flowing script: *“The balance falters. The bond fractures. Come, or be unmade.”*
I’d watched him read it, his crimson eyes narrowing, his jaw tightening. He hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t cursed. Hadn’t even looked at me. Just stood, dressed in silence, and left to prepare for departure.
And I—
I’d stayed behind.
Because the bond had screamed.
Not in warning.
In *pain*.
It started as a low throb beneath my skin, a dull ache in my chest, like my heart was being slowly squeezed. Then came the heat—rising from my core, spreading through my limbs, pooling low in my belly. My breath came faster. My pulse spiked. My wolf stirred, restless, agitated, pressing against my ribs like it wanted out.
And then—
The visions.
Kaelen’s face—pale, strained, blood on his lips—as he bit me, sealing the mating mark. His voice, rough and desperate: *“You’re mine.”* His hands on my waist, pulling me close. His lips brushing my neck. The scent of dark amber and old blood filling my lungs.
I gasped, clutching the edge of the obsidian bed. Sweat slicked my skin. My nightgown clung to me, damp and heavy. The mating mark on my neck pulsed, warm and insistent, a silver scar now, glowing faintly with every beat of my heart.
Bond fever.
It had finally come.
Not because I’d been poisoned.
Not because I’d been dying.
But because we were apart.
More than twenty-four hours. More than a mile. And the bond—this living, breathing, *needing* thing between us—was tearing itself apart.
I’d known it would happen. The Council had warned us. The elders had whispered about it in hushed tones. *“Separate a mated pair for too long, and the bond will punish you. Pain. Hallucinations. Uncontrollable desire.”*
I’d thought I could handle it.
I’d thought I was stronger than magic.
I’d thought I didn’t *need* him.
And now—
Now I was on my knees, trembling, my fingers clawing at the sheets, my body aching with a need so deep it felt like starvation.
I needed him.
Not just to survive.
But to *breathe*.
“No,” I gasped, pressing my forehead to the cool stone floor. “I don’t need him. I don’t *want* him.”
But my body disagreed.
My core clenched. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My wolf howled, not in defiance, but in *recognition*. The bond flared, a surge of heat that made me arch, made me moan, made me *beg*.
“Kaelen,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please—”
And then—
The door burst open.
He was there.
Kaelen.
Dressed in black, as always—tight sleeves, high collar, the fabric clinging to every lethal line of him. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it. His eyes—crimson, glowing—locked onto mine.
And then they dropped.
To my hands, clawing at the floor.
To my body, trembling, exposed.
To the mating mark on my neck, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
“Petunia,” he growled, crossing the room in three strides. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” I choked, trying to stand. My legs gave out. I collapsed back onto the floor. “I don’t need you.”
“Liar,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of me. His hands gripped my arms, pulling me up, his heat searing through the thin fabric of my nightgown. “You’re burning up. Your pulse is erratic. Your scent—” he inhaled sharply—“jasmine and *need*—it’s driving me insane.”
“Then leave,” I snapped, trying to pull away. “Go back to your war room. Go to the Moonveil Court. Go to *her*—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice rough. “Not while you’re like this.”
“I’m not *like* anything,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m just—”
And then the wave hit.
A surge of heat, of magic, of *desire* that ripped through me, wave after wave. My back arched. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. My core clenched, aching, *empty*. My wolf surged, pressing against my ribs, howling for release.
“Kaelen,” I gasped, my hands flying to his chest, clinging to him. “I can’t— I can’t *breathe*—”
“I know,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me into his chest. His heat seared through my skin. His scent filled my lungs. The bond flared, a surge of magic that made me shiver, made me moan, made me *melt*. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
“It hurts,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “It *hurts*.”
“I know,” he said, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. “But I can fix it.”
“How?” I asked, my breath coming fast. “How do you fix *this*?”
He didn’t answer.
Just looked at me—really looked at me—his crimson eyes searching mine. And then—
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Hard. Possessive. A claim.
His mouth crashed against mine, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands still gripping my arms. The bond *roared*, a surge of heat and magic and desire that ripped through me, wave after wave. My body arched into his, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My wolf calmed, not in submission, but in *recognition*.
This was right.
This was *truth*.
His scent filled my lungs. His heat seared my skin. His body—hard, strong, *mine*—pressed against me like he’d never let go.
And I—
I *melted*.
My lips parted, my tongue tangling with his, my hips grinding against his. A moan slipped from my throat, raw and desperate. My fingers twitched in his grip, aching to touch him, to pull him closer, to *claim* him back.
“Kaelen,” I gasped, breaking the kiss. “I—”
“Shh,” he murmured, his lips brushing my neck. “Let it in. Let *me* in.”
His fangs grazed my skin, just above my pulse. A shiver tore through me. My core clenched. My breath came fast.
He was going to bite me.
Not a warning. Not a taste.
A *claiming*.
And I—
I *wanted* it.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of magic.
But because it was *him*.
Because I was tired of fighting.
Tired of hating.
Tired of pretending I didn’t *want* this.
My body arched, offering my neck. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. My heart pounded.
“Do it,” I whispered. “Claim me.”
His fangs pressed into my skin—
And then—
He pulled back.
“No,” he said, his voice rough. “Not like this. Not while you’re fevered. Not while the magic is screaming. I want you *清醒*. I want you *aware*. I want you to *choose* me.”
My breath hitched.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I whispered. “You don’t get to decide *us*.”
“The bond did,” he said, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me closer. “And so did the Council. And so did *you*—every time you stayed. Every time you let me touch you. Every time you *didn’t* run.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I said, my voice trembling. “The bond—”
“The bond gives you an excuse,” he said, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “But you could have fought harder. You could have let the fever take you. But you didn’t.”
My chest tightened.
“And what if I *had*?” I snapped. “What if I’d let it break me? Would you have left me? Would you have let me die?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said, his voice rough, “you’re the only one who makes me feel *alive*.”
My breath caught.
And for the first time—
I saw it.
Not hatred.
Not fear.
But *doubt*.
He stepped back.
“Don’t say things like that,” I whispered. “Don’t use my own weakness against me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m telling you the truth. Something you’ve never heard from me before.”
He turned, walking toward the door.
I let him go.
But not far.
Because I knew—
He was unraveling.
And soon, he’d fall.
And when he did—
I’d be there to catch him.
––––––
Hours passed.
The fever didn’t break.
If anything, it worsened.
I tried to move. To fight. To burn off the excess magic, the restless energy, the *need*. I dragged myself to the training grounds, my legs unsteady, my vision blurred. I attacked the dummy—a flurry of slashes, kicks, spins. Fast. Brutal. Relentless. My dagger flashed in the fading light, slicing through straw and leather. I didn’t hold back. Didn’t think. Just moved.
But it wasn’t enough.
The bond screamed. The fever raged. My body ached with a need so deep it felt like starvation.
I collapsed.
On the stone. In the dirt. My chest rose and fell too fast. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My wolf howled, not in defiance, but in *pleading*.
And then—
He was there.
Kaelen.
Again.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t scold. Didn’t try to pull me up.
Just knelt beside me, his shadow falling over me like a shield. His hand brushed my cheek, his touch rough and warm. A jolt of heat tore through me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You’re supposed to be preparing. For the Moonveil Court. For the ritual. For—”
“You’re more important,” he said, his voice low. “And if you die, the bond dies with you. And I can’t survive that.”
My chest tightened.
“You don’t get to say things like that,” I whispered. “You don’t get to use my own weakness against me.”
“I’m not using it,” he said, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. “I’m *seeing* you. Not the hunter. Not the avenger. Not the hybrid with a grudge. But *you*. Petunia. The woman who bites back when she’s hurt. Who fights when she’s afraid. Who *loves* even when she says she doesn’t.”
“I don’t love you,” I said, my voice trembling.
He smiled—faint, knowing. “Liar.”
And then he lifted me, sweeping me into his arms like I weighed nothing. I gasped, struggling, but the fever was too strong, my body too weak.
“Put me down,” I choked.
“No,” he said, turning toward the keep. “You’re coming with me.”
“I said *no*—”
“You don’t get a choice,” he growled, his arms tightening. “The fever will kill you in hours. And if you die, the bond will tear me apart. So you’re going to accept this. You’re going to *live*.”
I wanted to fight. To scream. To claw at him until he let me go.
But I couldn’t.
The world spun. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. The bond—
It was *screaming*.
Not just from me.
From *him*.
I could feel his fear. His rage. His *need*.
And worse—
I could feel my own.
Not just for survival.
But for *him*.
His arms around me. His scent filling my lungs. The steady beat of his heart against my chest.
I hated that I wanted this.
Hated that I *needed* it.
But as the keep blurred around us, as his shadow-walking carried us through the halls in a rush of darkness, I stopped fighting.
And I *leaned* into him.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
––––––
He carried me to our chambers.
Not to the bed.
To the hearth.
The fire was already lit, the flames dancing in the obsidian pit. He set me down gently, then began to strip.
My breath caught.
He didn’t look at me. Just unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Then his boots. His pants. Until he stood before me, bare, his body a sculpture of muscle and scar, his fangs fully descended, his eyes blazing crimson.
“Take off your clothes,” he said, voice rough.
“No,” I whispered.
“You don’t have a choice,” he said, stepping closer. “The bond needs skin. Needs heat. Needs *contact*. And if you don’t do it, I will.”
My hands trembled as I reached for the hem of my nightgown. I pulled it over my head, letting it fall to the floor. My skin was on fire, my body aching, my core throbbing. The mating mark on my neck pulsed, warm and insistent.
He didn’t touch me.
Not yet.
Just knelt before the fire, then pulled me onto his lap, my back to his chest, his arms wrapping around me. His heat seared through my skin. His scent filled my lungs. The bond flared, a surge of magic that made me shiver, made me moan, made me *melt*.
“This isn’t sex,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “This is survival. This is *bonding*.”
“I know,” I whispered, my breath coming fast.
“And you’re not allowed to come,” he said, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me closer. “Not until the fever breaks. Not until the bond is stable.”
My core clenched.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I said, my voice trembling.
“I do,” he said, his fangs grazing my neck. “Because if you come, the magic will spiral. The bond will *claim* you. And I won’t be able to stop it.”
“And if you *don’t* stop it?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“Then you’ll be mine,” he said, his voice rough. “Completely. Irrevocably. And you’ll never be able to leave.”
My breath hitched.
“Isn’t that what you want?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just held me tighter, his heat searing through my skin, his breath warm against my neck. The bond pulsed, a deep, satisfied hum, as if it knew—
I wasn’t just here to burn him.
I was here to burn *with* him.
And for the first time—
I didn’t want to survive the fire.
I wanted to *live* in it.