The bond burned.
Not like a wound. Not like fire.
Like a second pulse, thrumming beneath my skin, synced to *his*. Every breath I took pulled in the scent of him—dark amber and old blood, laced with something deeper, something primal. My wolf stirred, restless, drawn to the rhythm of his heartbeat even though we were no longer in the same room. I could feel him. *Sense* him. Like a thread tied between our chests, taut and vibrating.
I was in the chamber they’d assigned me—*our* chamber, the servant had corrected with a smirk. Obsidian walls, black silk drapes, a bed wide enough for a king and his harem. The air was cool, but my skin was fever-hot. My veins hummed. My core ached.
And worst of all—*I liked it*.
I paced, bare feet silent on the cold stone. My stolen gown—ivory lace, meant to look innocent—clung to my sweat-slicked body. I wanted to rip it off. I wanted to claw the sigil on my palm until it bled. I wanted to run.
But the bond wouldn’t let me.
Every time I neared the door, the thread between us *pulled*, a sharp, electric tug that made my knees weak. The ritual had bound us not just politically, but *physically*. The Supernatural Council had decreed it—until the next Blood Moon, we were to co-anchor the Eastern Dominion. We shared power. We shared chambers. We shared *everything*.
And if we stayed apart too long? Bond fever. Pain. Hallucinations. Uncontrollable need.
I’d seen it happen once, years ago, in the Veil Market. A half-Fae couple, torn apart by war. They’d screamed for each other in the streets, tearing at their own skin, begging for touch. By dawn, one was dead. The other, catatonic.
I wouldn’t let that be me.
I *couldn’t*.
Not when I still had a mission.
Not when I still had to destroy him.
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I snapped, turning sharply.
The door opened, and *he* stepped in.
Kaelen.
Even now, my breath caught.
He wore black again—tight sleeves, high collar, the fabric clinging to the hard lines of his chest and arms. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it. His eyes—crimson, glowing—locked onto mine.
“You’re restless,” he said, voice low, smooth as velvet over steel.
“I’m *trapped*,” I corrected, crossing my arms. “You bound me to you in front of the entire Council. You think I’m just going to—what? Accept this?”
“I think,” he said, stepping forward, “that you’re feeling the bond. And it’s driving you mad.”
“It’s not driving me mad,” I lied. “I’m in control.”
He laughed—a dark, knowing sound. “You’re trembling.”
I wasn’t. I *wasn’t*.
But then I looked down.
My hands were shaking.
And my pulse—raging, uneven—was visible in the hollow of my throat.
Kaelen saw it too. His gaze dropped, lingered. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “The ritual demands balance,” he said. “We have to co-anchor the final alignment tomorrow night. Until then, the bond will grow stronger. Especially during twilight.”
“Twilight?” I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
“Because it’s when the veil between worlds is thinnest,” he said. “When magic is raw. And when *you*—” he stepped closer, “—are at your most powerful.”
My wolf surged, pressing against my ribs. My estrus cycle—tied to the lunar phases—was already spiking. The Blood Moon had triggered it. And now, with the bond feeding it, the heat was unbearable.
“Stay back,” I warned, backing toward the bed.
He didn’t stop. “You can’t fight it, Petunia. The bond recognizes what you are. What *we* are.”
“I’m not your mate,” I hissed. “That bond was forced. It means nothing.”
“It means *everything*,” he growled, closing the distance. “It means your body knows mine. It means your blood sings for me. It means—”
He reached out, his hand brushing my wrist.
And the world *ignited*.
Heat. Fire. A shock of pleasure so sharp it stole my breath. My knees buckled. His arm caught me, pulling me against him—hard chest, iron strength, heat radiating through the thin fabric of my dress.
“Kaelen—” I gasped, but the sound came out a moan.
His other hand slid to my waist, holding me upright. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, right over my pounding pulse. “You feel it,” he murmured, his voice rough. “The pull. The need.”
“It’s magic,” I choked. “It’s not *real*.”
“It’s as real as your heartbeat,” he said, his lips brushing my ear. “As real as the way your body arches toward mine. As real as the fact that you’re wet for me right now.”
I slapped him again.
Harder this time.
His head snapped to the side, but he didn’t let go. Slowly, he turned back, his eyes blazing, fangs fully descended. Blood welled at the corner of his lip—mine, from my ring.
“Hit me all you want,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “But you can’t deny what’s between us. The bond knows. Your body knows. And if you don’t learn to control it—”
He leaned in, his breath hot against my neck. “—you’ll burn alive.”
I shoved him back, stumbling away. “I don’t need you. I don’t *want* you.”
“Liar,” he whispered.
And then he was gone—vanishing into the shadows like smoke.
I collapsed onto the bed, trembling, my skin on fire.
I hated him.
I *hated* him.
So why did my body feel like it was dying without him?
––––––
The next night, I stood in the ritual chamber again.
The same obsidian floor. The same floating candles. The same council members, watching with cold, calculating eyes.
But this time, I wasn’t an intruder.
This time, I was *his*.
Co-anchor. Political mate. Bound by magic.
Kaelen stood across from me, dressed in ceremonial black, a silver pendant at his throat—the mark of the Eastern Dominion. His gaze was unreadable, but I could feel the bond humming between us, stronger now, more insistent.
The High Elder, a vampire with eyes like cracked ice, raised her hand. “The Blood Moon Ritual continues. The anchors must align. Join hands.”
My stomach twisted.
“No,” I whispered.
“Do it,” Kaelen said, his voice low, meant only for me. “Or the bond will punish you.”
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I raised my hand.
He did the same.
Our palms met.
And the magic *roared*.
It wasn’t like the first time—sudden, violent, overwhelming. This was slower. Deeper. A wave of heat that started in our joined hands and spread through our arms, our chests, our cores. My breath hitched. My knees weakened. My wolf howled, not in rage, but in *recognition*.
Kaelen’s grip tightened. His other hand slid to my waist, holding me up. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Let it in.”
“I don’t want to,” I gasped.
“You have to.”
The magic pulsed, syncing with our heartbeats. The sigils on our palms flared, glowing silver. The chamber trembled. The council chanted, their voices weaving into the spell.
And then—
His thumb brushed my lower lip.
Just a whisper of touch.
And I *melted*.
A moan slipped from my throat. My body arched toward him, my hands gripping his arms for balance. The heat between my thighs was unbearable, a throbbing, aching need. My scent—jasmine and wolf musk—filled the air.
And Kaelen—
He inhaled sharply.
His eyes darkened. His fangs lengthened. His grip on me turned possessive, desperate.
“Petunia,” he growled, his voice raw.
His head dipped.
His lips hovered over mine.
One breath away.
One heartbeat.
And then—
“My lord!”
A guard burst into the chamber, sword drawn. “Intruders in the east wing!”
The spell broke.
The magic snapped back like a rubber band, leaving me gasping, dizzy. Kaelen stepped back, his expression shuttered, but I saw it—*saw* the hunger in his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell too fast.
“Secure the perimeter,” he ordered, voice cold, controlled. “I’ll handle this.”
The guard bowed and left.
Silence fell.
The council watched. Waiting. Judging.
Kaelen turned to me. “The ritual is suspended. We’ll resume at twilight.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. “You felt it,” he said. “That wasn’t just magic. That was *us*.”
“It meant nothing,” I whispered.
“It meant *everything*,” he said, his thumb brushing my lip again—slow, deliberate. “And next time, no one will interrupt us.”
He turned and strode from the chamber, his cape swirling behind him.
I stood there, trembling, my lip still tingling from his touch.
I had come here to destroy him.
But every second I spent near him, I felt myself unraveling.
The mission. The revenge. The hatred.
It was all still there.
But so was *this*—this unbearable, forbidden heat.
And I wasn’t sure which one would consume me first.
––––––
Later, I found myself in the training grounds.
Hidden behind the east wing, a courtyard of packed earth and stone dummies. I needed to move. To fight. To burn off the excess magic, the restless energy, the *need*.
I’d changed into leather pants and a sleeveless tunic, my hair tied back. My dagger was in my hand, my claws pricking beneath my skin. I attacked the dummy—a flurry of slashes, kicks, spins. Fast. Brutal. Relentless.
But it wasn’t enough.
The bond still hummed. My estrus heat still pulsed. My body still *ached*.
“You’re holding back.”
I froze.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, watching me.
“I’m not,” I said, turning back to the dummy.
“You are,” he said, stepping forward. “You’re fighting like you’re afraid of your own power.”
“I’m not afraid,” I snapped, slashing the dummy’s throat.
“Then *use* it,” he said. “Stop holding back. Stop pretending you’re not what you are.”
I whirled on him. “And what am I, Kaelen? A monster? A traitor? Your *mate*?”
“You’re *powerful*,” he said, stepping closer. “A hybrid. A witch. A wolf. And mine.”
“I’m not yours,” I growled.
“Aren’t you?” He reached out, his hand brushing my waist—just above the scar from a childhood fight. “Your body knows the truth. Your magic knows it. Even your wolf knows it.”
I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
But he didn’t stop.
His hand slid to my hip, pulling me closer. “You want me to stop,” he said, voice low. “But you don’t *need* me to.”
My breath came fast. My pulse raced. The bond flared, a hot, electric thread between us.
“Kaelen—”
His other hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face up.
“Say my name again,” he murmured. “Like you did in the ritual. Like you *mean* it.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Liar,” he said, his lips brushing mine—just a whisper, a tease.
And then—
A horn sounded.
The call for twilight.
The ritual.
He pulled back, but his hand stayed on my hip. “We’re not done,” he said. “Not even close.”
I wanted to argue. To fight. To run.
But the bond pulled me forward, toward him, toward the chamber, toward the magic that would bind us again.
And as we walked side by side, I realized—
I wasn’t just here to burn him.
I was here to burn *with* him.
And that terrified me more than anything.