The bond still hummed beneath my skin like a live wire, raw and insistent, even as I paced the length of the east wing library the next morning. My body ached—not from the fight, not from magic—but from *him*. From the way he’d touched me last night. The way his mouth had claimed mine like I was already his. Like I’d begged for it.
I *hadn’t*.
Not really.
It had been bond fever. Hallucinations. Weakness.
And he’d used it.
Again.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. The sigil on my right hand pulsed faintly, a silver scar now, glowing with every beat of my heart. A constant reminder. A leash.
I couldn’t stay like this.
Trapped. Bound. Wanting.
I had come to Blackthorn Keep to expose Kaelen Duskbane, not to fall apart at his touch. To reclaim my mother’s grimoire, not to let him kiss me like I belonged to him. To avenge my parents, not to let their murderer cradle me like I was something *precious*.
And yet—
His words echoed in my skull.
“What if I said I took it to protect it—from them? From Malrik? From the Fae?”
I shook my head, hard. Lies. All of it. He was playing me, twisting the truth to make me doubt, to make me hesitate. A clever predator, using my own hunger against me.
But I wasn’t prey.
I was a hunter.
And I still had a mission.
The library was vast—towering shelves of blackened oak, books bound in leather, bone, even skin. Scrolls sealed with wax and blood. Maps of forgotten realms. Grimoires chained to desks. This was where Kaelen kept his secrets. Where he stored power.
And somewhere in here—somewhere—was my mother’s book.
The *Vale Codex*. A grimoire of bloodline magic, oath-breaking, and forbidden rituals. The one thing Kaelen couldn’t risk falling into the wrong hands. The one thing he’d stolen to keep for himself.
Or so I’d believed.
Now? I didn’t know what to believe.
But I knew where to start.
I moved to the far wall, where the oldest texts were kept. The air was thick with dust and decay, the scent of mildew and old ink. My fingers trailed over spines, searching for anything marked with the Vale sigil—a crescent moon wrapped in thorns. My mother’s mark. My bloodline.
Nothing.
I crouched, scanning lower shelves. My wolf senses flared—ears twitching at distant footsteps, nose filtering through layers of scent: parchment, candle wax, the faint metallic tang of dried blood. And beneath it all—*him*. Kaelen. His dark amber and aged wine, lingering like a stain.
I gritted my teeth. Even here, he was everywhere.
A glint caught my eye—a silver clasp on a book bound in obsidian leather. I pulled it free. The title was etched in Old Fae: “Blood Oaths and Their Breaking.”
My breath hitched.
This was it. This was *her* work. My mother’s research. The foundation of the Codex.
I flipped it open. The pages were filled with her handwriting—tight, precise, elegant. Diagrams of sigils. Notes on ritual components. And then—
A sketch.
Of the Codex itself.
Bound in wolf hide, clasped with silver, the Vale sigil embossed on the front. And beneath it, a single line in red ink:
“Hidden where the moon does not rise, beneath the hand of the betrayer.”
My pulse spiked.
Where the moon does not rise?
Beneath the hand of the betrayer?
Kaelen.
He had it. He *knew* where it was.
And he’d hidden it.
But why? If he’d stolen it for power, why leave a clue? Why not destroy it?
Unless… he hadn’t stolen it for power.
Unless he’d hidden it to *protect* it.
“Looking for something?”
I froze.
The voice was soft, melodic, laced with amusement. Fae.
I snapped the book shut and turned.
She stood in the doorway—tall, slender, dressed in a gown of liquid silver that clung to every curve. Her hair was moonlight, her skin porcelain, her eyes the color of frost. Lira Moonshadow. Kaelen’s rumored lover. The woman who’d whispered his name in passion, according to the court gossip I’d overheard.
And right now, she was smiling at me like I was a fly in her web.
“Just browsing,” I said, slipping the book back onto the shelf. “The Lord of the East has quite the collection.”
“He does,” she purred, stepping forward. Her bare feet made no sound on the stone. “Though I doubt he lets just anyone into his private library.”
“We’re *mates*,” I said, the word bitter on my tongue. “He doesn’t have a choice.”
She laughed—soft, tinkling, like wind chimes. “Mates? Is that what you’re calling it?” She tilted her head, studying me. “You smell like him. Like desperation. Like *need*.”
My spine stiffened. “And you smell like someone trying too hard.”
Her smile didn’t waver. “I don’t have to try. Kaelen knows what I am. What I *offer*.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, crossing my arms. “A pretty face and empty promises?”
“I offer *pleasure*,” she said, stepping closer. “I offer *truth*. I’ve tasted his blood. Felt his fangs in my throat. Heard him whisper my name in the dark.”
My stomach twisted.
“Liar,” I said. “The bond would know. I’d *feel* it.”
“Would you?” she asked, trailing a finger down my arm. Her touch was cold, like ice. “A blood bond isn’t the same as a *mating* bond. He drank from me. We shared a ritual. But he never *claimed* me.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked. “If he didn’t want you, why linger?”
“Because,” she said, leaning in, her breath cool against my ear, “he *does* want me. He just doesn’t know it yet. And you? You’re a distraction. A hybrid with a grudge. He’ll tire of you. And when he does—”
“He won’t,” I snapped.
She pulled back, laughing. “You’re *jealous*.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” she said, circling me like a predator. “You hate that I know him. That I’ve seen him lose control. That I’ve felt his hands on me, his mouth—”
“Stop.”
“Or what?” she asked, stopping in front of me. “You’ll slap me like you did him? Cute. But he *likes* it when you fight. Makes you more… *pliable*.”
Her fingers brushed my cheek.
I caught her wrist, hard. “Don’t touch me.”
She didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “You think you’re the first woman he’s marked? The first he’s bound? You’re not. You’re just the first he can’t control.”
My grip tightened. “And you’re the first I’ll break if you don’t leave.”
She laughed again, pulling her hand free. “Such fire. No wonder he’s obsessed.” She turned, gliding toward the door. “But remember, little wolf—Fae don’t lie. And I *will* have him. One way or another.”
And then she was gone.
I stood there, heart pounding, breath uneven.
Her words echoed in my skull.
“He’ll tire of you.”
“You’re not the first.”
“I will have him.”
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To tear the library apart until I found the grimoire and burned it in front of him.
But I didn’t.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to breathe.
She was playing me. Trying to make me doubt. To make me weak.
And it was working.
Because beneath the anger, beneath the hatred—
There was fear.
Fear that she was right.
Fear that I was just another conquest. Another pawn in his game.
Fear that the bond meant nothing. That my body’s reaction to him was just magic. That the way my pulse spiked when he touched me, the way my core clenched when he looked at me—none of it was real.
And worse—
Fear that it *was* real.
That I *did* want him.
That I was falling.
And if I fell, I’d lose everything.
––––––
I didn’t go back to our chambers.
Instead, I went to the training grounds.
I needed to move. To fight. To burn off the excess magic, the restless energy, the *need*.
The sun was setting, the sky streaked with violet and gold. The air was cool, but my skin was hot. My wolf paced beneath my ribs, restless, agitated. The bond pulsed, a low, steady throb, pulling me toward *him*.
I ignored it.
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 image of Lira—her silver gown, her frost-blue eyes, her knowing smile—flashed in my mind.
“He’s tasted my blood.”
“He whispered my name.”
“You’re not the first.”
I growled, driving my dagger into the dummy’s chest, splitting it down the middle.
“Having fun?”
I whirled.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, watching me.
As always, 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.
“What do you want?” I snapped, yanking my dagger free.
“You vanished after the council,” he said, stepping forward. “Silas said you were in the library. Then you weren’t.”
“I don’t report to you,” I said, turning back to the dummy.
“You do now,” he said. “We’re bound. If you suffer bond fever again, I’ll feel it.”
“Then don’t,” I said, slashing the dummy’s head off. “Stay away from me.”
He didn’t move. “You’re angry.”
“Shocking.”
“Was it Lira?” he asked, voice low. “Did she say something to you?”
I froze.
He *knew*.
“She was in the library,” I said, turning slowly. “Telling me how much you *love* her. How you’ve tasted her blood. How you whisper her name in the dark.”
His expression didn’t change. “And you believed her?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked. “She seemed… convincing.”
“Lira Moonshadow,” he said, stepping closer, “has wanted me for centuries. She’s tried every trick—seduction, manipulation, blood oaths. I’ve never fed from her. Never touched her. Never whispered her name.”
“Then why does she think you have?”
“Because,” he said, stopping inches from me, “I let her believe it. She’s useful. A pawn in the game. And sometimes, letting your enemies think they’ve won is the best way to trap them.”
My breath hitched.
“So you *lied* to her?”
“I let her lie to herself,” he said. “Just like Malrik thinks he’s winning. Just like the Fae think they’re waiting. They all believe what they want to believe—until it’s too late.”
I stared at him.
Was he telling the truth?
Or was this just another layer of the game?
“And the bond?” I asked. “If you never fed from her, why doesn’t it know?”
“Because,” he said, his voice dropping, “the bond only recognizes *truth*. Real blood. Real touch. Real *desire*.”
His hand lifted, brushing my cheek.
“And I’ve never desired her.”
My skin burned where he touched me.
“Then why do I?” I whispered. “Why do I want you? Why does my body betray me every time you’re near?”
His thumb traced my lower lip. “Because the bond knows what you are. What *we* are.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Mine,” he said, his lips brushing my ear. “And I am yours.”
The bond flared—a hot, electric thread between us.
My knees weakened.
And for the first time—
I didn’t fight it.
I leaned into him.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
His arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer. “You don’t have to understand it,” he murmured. “You just have to *feel* it.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Liar,” he said, his lips hovering over mine. “You’re the only one who burns me alive.”
And then—
A horn sounded.
The call for twilight.
The ritual.
He pulled back, but his hand stayed on my waist. “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.