I woke with his scent on my skin and a bite on my thigh.
Not a dream. Not a memory.
Real.
Sharp. Deep. A crescent of twin punctures just above my knee, still tender, still pulsing with warmth. The sheets beneath me were tangled, damp with sweat. My body ached—not from fighting, not from magic—but from *use*. Like I’d been claimed. Worn. Loved.
But I hadn’t.
Had I?
I sat up too fast, the room tilting. Black silk drapes. Obsidian walls. The scent of dark amber and old blood woven into the air. Kaelen’s chambers. *Our* chambers.
And I was in his bed.
Again.
My pulse spiked. The sigil on my palm flared, a low, insistent hum syncing with the beat of my heart. The bond was awake. Alive. And it *remembered*.
But I didn’t.
Not clearly.
The last thing I remembered was training with him—our bodies close, the bond flaring, his lips hovering over mine before the horn called us to twilight. Then the ritual. The magic. The heat. And after—
Nothing.
Just fragments. Shadows. A whisper of teeth. A moan that might have been mine. A voice, rough and possessive: *“You’re mine.”*
I pressed my fingers to the bite, and a jolt of heat shot through me, straight to my core. My breath hitched. My wolf stirred, not in warning—but in *recognition*.
No.
This wasn’t possible.
The bond didn’t allow full claiming without consent. Not legally. Not magically. A blood mark—a true mating bite—had to be given freely, witnessed, recorded. This? This was just a wound. A tease. A *test*.
But my body didn’t care about rules.
It *ached* for him.
I threw off the covers and stumbled to the bathroom, my legs unsteady. The mirror above the obsidian sink showed a woman with wild, dark hair, lips swollen, eyes heavy with sleep—and something darker. Hunger. Need. A flush high on her cheeks that had nothing to do with fever.
And the bite.
Low on my thigh, just where the curve of my leg met muscle. Perfect. Precise. Like it had been placed with reverence. Or possession.
My fingers trembled as I traced it.
Did he do this while I was unconscious?
Did I beg for it?
Was it real—or just another trick of the bond, another layer of his control?
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I said, voice raw.
The door opened, and *he* stepped in.
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 just woken. His eyes—crimson, glowing—locked onto mine in the mirror.
And then they dropped.
To my thigh.
His breath hitched—just a fraction. A tell. A crack in the mask.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice low, smooth as velvet over steel.
“What did you do?” I asked, turning to face him. “Last night. After the ritual. What happened?”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember fragments,” I said. “The magic was strong. The bond—it pulled. And then… nothing.”
“You collapsed,” he said. “After the alignment. The magic drained you. I carried you back here.”
“And the bite?” I demanded, pointing to my thigh. “Did you do that?”
He didn’t answer. Just watched me, his gaze burning.
“Did you *claim* me?” I hissed. “While I was unconscious? Was that your plan all along? To take what I wouldn’t give?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t claim you. Not fully. Not yet.”
“Then what is this?” I snapped, gesturing to the mark.
“A *warning*,” he said. “A reminder. The bond was screaming. You were slipping into fever. Your body was rejecting the magic. I had to ground you. To *anchor* you.”
“By biting me?”
“By *feeding* you,” he said. “A small exchange. A taste of my blood to stabilize yours. It’s not a mating mark. Not officially. But it *means* something.”
“It means you took advantage,” I said, backing away. “You touched me when I couldn’t stop you.”
“I saved you,” he said, voice hardening. “You were convulsing. Your wolf was tearing at your skin. The bond was *breaking*. If I hadn’t acted, you would have died.”
I froze.
That wasn’t possible.
Was it?
I searched his face—his sharp jaw, his cold eyes, the faint scar above his lip from my ring. And I saw it. Not cruelty. Not triumph.
*Fear*.
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
“Am I?” he asked, stepping closer. “Then why does your body know the truth?”
His hand lifted, brushing my cheek. A shock of heat tore through me. My breath came fast. My pulse roared.
“You can deny it all you want,” he murmured. “But your scent betrays you. You’re wet for me. Your heart races. Your wolf *wants* me.”
“It’s the bond,” I choked. “It’s not real.”
“It’s as real as the bite on your thigh,” he said, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “As real as the way you called my name in your sleep.”
My stomach dropped.
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” he said, stepping closer, his body a breath from mine. “Over and over. ‘Kaelen. Kaelen. *Kaelen.*’ Like a prayer. Like a plea.”
I shoved him back. “Liar.”
He didn’t move. Just watched me, his eyes blazing. “Hit me again if it makes you feel better. But it won’t change what happened. What *is* happening.”
“I came here to destroy you,” I said, my voice raw. “To expose you. To make you pay.”
“And you will,” he said. “But not before you *want* me.”
“Never.”
“Liar,” he whispered.
And then he was gone—vanishing into the shadows like smoke.
I stood there, trembling, my skin on fire.
I hated him.
I *hated* him.
So why did my body feel like it was dying without him?
––––––
I avoided him the rest of the morning.
Washed the scent of him from my skin. Changed into leather pants and a high-collared tunic. Tied my hair back tight. Tried to pretend the bite didn’t ache. That my body didn’t *thrum* with need.
But the bond didn’t let me forget.
Every time I passed a room he’d been in, the air thickened with his scent. Every time I touched the sigil on my palm, it pulsed like a second heartbeat. And every time I closed my eyes, I saw *him*—above me, fangs bared, voice rough: *“You’re mine.”*
I went to the library.
Not the east wing—too dangerous. Too many memories of Lira’s icy smile, her frost-blue eyes. Instead, the private study adjacent to our chambers. Smaller. Secure. Filled with maps, ledgers, and books on blood oaths and political treaties.
If Kaelen had hidden the grimoire, it would be somewhere only he could access. Somewhere he wouldn’t expect me to look.
I started with the desk.
Locked. Of course.
But I was a witch. And witchcraft ran in my blood.
I pressed my palm to the lock, whispering the incantation my mother had taught me: *“Sanguis aperit. Veritas revelat.”* Blood opens. Truth reveals.
The lock clicked.
Inside—stacks of correspondence. Council decrees. Financial records. And one folder, sealed with black wax and the Duskbane crest.
I opened it.
And froze.
Photographs.
Of me.
Dozens of them. Taken over the years. In the Veil Market, haggling for charms. In Ashen Hollow, training with the younger wolves. In Prague, slipping into a black-market spell shop. All dated. All annotated.
And one, circled in red ink: *“Petunia Vale. Last seen: Veil Market. Status: Fugitive. Objective: Monitor. Do not engage.”*
My hands shook.
He’d been watching me.
For *years*.
Before the ritual. Before the bond. Before I’d ever set foot in Blackthorn Keep.
Why?
Was I just another threat to monitor?
Or something more?
“Looking for secrets?”
I slammed the folder shut, spinning around.
Kaelen stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me.
“You’ve been spying on me,” I said, voice cold.
“I’ve been *protecting* you,” he said, stepping forward. “Malrik has eyes everywhere. If he’d known who you really were, he would have had you killed before you reached the gates.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I kept you off his radar,” he said. “Until the ritual chose you. Until the bond made you *mine*.”
“I’m not yours,” I said, backing away.
“Aren’t you?” he asked, stopping inches from me. “You’re in my bed. My bite is on your skin. My scent is in your lungs. And you *still* haven’t left.”
“Because I can’t,” I snapped. “The bond—”
“The bond gives you an excuse,” he said, his hand lifting to my cheek. “But you could have fought harder. You could have run. You could have let the fever take you. But you didn’t.”
My breath hitched.
“Because I’m not done with my mission,” I whispered.
“And what if your mission changes?” he asked, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “What if the truth isn’t what you think?”
“Then I’ll face it,” I said. “But not with you whispering in my ear. Not with your hands on me. Not with your *bite* on my skin.”
His eyes darkened. “You want me to stop?”
“Yes.”
“Liar,” he said.
And then he was gone.
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.
––––––
That night, I dreamed of him.
Not a memory. Not a vision.
A *hunger*.
I was on the bed, naked, my body arched, my hands gripping the sheets. Kaelen loomed above me, his eyes blazing, his fangs descended. His hands pinned my wrists. His mouth hovered over my neck.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never,” I gasped.
He laughed—low, dark, knowing. “You already have.”
And then he bit me.
Not on the thigh.
On the neck.
A mating mark.
Pain. Pleasure. Fire. A scream tore from my throat as ecstasy ripped through me, wave after wave, until I was nothing but sensation, nothing but *his*.
I woke with a gasp, my body drenched in sweat, my core throbbing, my fingers tangled in the sheets.
The bond hummed, a deep, satisfied pulse.
And from the shadows, a voice:
“You called for me in your sleep.”
I turned.
Kaelen stood by the window, watching me, his eyes glowing in the dark.
“Get out,” I whispered.
“You were dreaming of me,” he said, stepping forward. “Of the bite. Of the claiming.”
“It was a nightmare.”
“Liar,” he said, stopping at the edge of the bed. “Your scent says otherwise.”
I pulled the covers up, hiding my body. “Leave me alone.”
“You don’t want me to,” he said, his hand brushing my ankle, just above the bite. “You want me to finish what I started.”
My breath came fast. My pulse roared.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said, his thumb tracing the mark. “But you’ll still burn for me.”
And as he stood there, his touch burning through the sheets, I realized—
I wasn’t just here to burn him.
I was here to burn *with* him.
And that terrified me more than anything.