I don’t sleep.
Not after Kaelen leaves. Not after his words echo in my skull like a curse: “You felt it. That moan wasn’t magic. It was you.”
Liar.
It was the bond. The ritual. The forced proximity and supernatural coercion. It wasn’t me—not my will, not my desire. My body is a traitor, yes, but it’s been trained to survive. To endure. To use every weapon at its disposal. And if arousal is one of them, then so be it. I’ll wield it like a blade.
But I won’t feel it.
I pace the room—ten steps one way, ten back. The walls are obsidian, the floor polished black stone. No windows. No weak points. Just a single door, sealed, guarded. I’m a prisoner, not a diplomat. A pawn in a game I didn’t agree to.
Kaelen thinks he owns me.
He doesn’t.
I have a mission. A vow. A dagger hidden in the lining of my boot. And I will see it through—no matter how many wolves stand in my way.
The sun hasn’t risen when the door hisses open again.
Riven steps in, silent as shadow. Cold as steel. His dark eyes scan me—assessing, calculating. He doesn’t speak. Just holds out a folded black garment.
“Council summons,” he says. “Now.”
“I’m not dressed for ceremony.”
“You are now.”
I take the garment. It’s a dress—long, sleeveless, cut high in front, low in back. The fabric is a deep charcoal, threaded with silver that catches the light like starlight. Elegant. Deadly. Just like everything in this cursed court.
“Where’s my silk dress?”
“Burned.”
My blood runs cold. “Why?”
“Contaminated.”
“With what?”
He meets my gaze. “Your blood.”
Of course. The ritual. The nick on my neck. They’ve analyzed it. They know.
But do they know what I am?
“I’ll change,” I say, voice flat.
He turns. “I’ll wait outside.”
When the door closes, I strip quickly, my fingers trembling only once. The tactical gear goes into the disposal chute. The knife I tuck into the new dress—slid between the inner seam and the fabric, just above my thigh. The dagger from my mother stays strapped to my boot.
The dress fits perfectly. Too perfectly. Like it was made for me. Like they’ve been watching. Waiting.
My reflection in the polished wall is a stranger—sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, hair like spilled ink. I look like a queen. A weapon. A lie.
Good.
I open the door.
Riven doesn’t react. Just nods and falls into step beside me as we move through the Spire’s corridors. The air is colder here, the walls lined with ancient runes that pulse faintly. Werewolf territory. I can smell them—muscle and fur and dominance. And beneath it all, the faintest trace of him.
Kaelen.
His scent lingers everywhere. Like he’s marked the entire court.
We reach the Council Chamber faster than I expect. The doors part silently. Inside, the dais is already occupied—twelve figures in ceremonial robes, seated in a half-circle. Vampires, werewolves, Fae, and two hybrids I don’t recognize. At the center, on a raised throne of black stone, sits Kaelen.
He’s not wearing armor today. Just a tailored black coat over a dark shirt, silver cuffs at his wrists. His hair is slicked back, his jaw clean-shaven. He looks like power. Control. A king.
And when his eyes find mine, they burn.
I don’t look away.
Riven guides me to the center of the chamber, to the spiral sigil etched into the floor—the same one from last night. The bond sigil.
“Celeste Vale,” the vampire Elder intones, voice echoing. “You have been bound to Kaelen Varek by blood and oath. The bond is active. The magic confirmed.”
I keep my face blank. “I’m aware.”
“Awareness is not compliance.”
“I complied last night.”
“Compliance is not commitment.”
I don’t answer.
The Elder leans forward. “The packs grow restless. The vampires suspect betrayal. The Fae whisper of war. The bond between you is the only thing holding the Accord together.”
“Then let it hold.”
“It must be seen. It must be proven.”
My stomach drops. “Proven how?”
“By public union. By mating claim.”
“No.”
“It is not a request.”
Kaelen stands. “She’s not ready.”
“She is,” the Elder counters. “The bond is active. The signs are clear. If you do not claim her within the week, the Council will assume the bond is false—and dissolve it by force.”
“And if I refuse?”
“War,” a Fae woman says, her voice like wind through leaves. “The packs will revolt. The vampires will strike. And you, Celeste, will be tried for deception. Punishable by death.”
Silence.
My pulse hammers. My hands clench at my sides. They’re boxing me in. Trapping me. Using the bond as a weapon.
But I already knew that.
“What kind of claim?” I ask, voice steady.
“A political mating,” the Elder says. “A binding contract. Public. Irrevocable. You will pose as mates—share chambers, attend events, uphold the illusion of unity.”
“Illusion?”
“Until the bond is consummated,” a hybrid male adds, “it remains vulnerable. Doubt spreads. Rumors grow. The packs need certainty.”
“So I have to pretend?”
“For now,” Kaelen says. “Until the threat passes.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you die,” the Elder says simply. “And the war begins.”
I look at Kaelen. His expression is unreadable. But his eyes—gold, fierce—hold something else. Not triumph. Not cruelty.
Regret.
He didn’t want this either.
But he’ll use it.
Just like I would.
“How long?” I ask.
“Until the next Blood Moon,” the Elder says. “Three weeks. If peace holds, the claim may be dissolved. If not—consummation becomes mandatory.”
My breath catches.
Three weeks to play his loyal mate. To smile at his side. To let him touch me in public. To pretend I don’t want to slit his throat.
And if war comes—
I have to sleep with him.
My body betrays me again—heat pooling low, a traitorous throb between my thighs. I crush it. I crush everything.
“I accept,” I say.
The chamber exhales.
Kaelen steps down from the dais. Moves toward me. His boots echo on the stone. His presence swallows the space.
“Extend your hand,” he says.
I do.
He takes it. And from his pocket, he pulls a pair of silver cuffs—delicate, engraved with Lupine runes. Not for restraint. For ceremony.
He snaps one around my wrist. Then his own. Links us.
“By blood and bond,” he says, voice low, “we stand as one.”
The sigil beneath us flares—violet, then gold. The bond surges, stronger now, deeper. A current of heat and energy that arcs between us. My breath hitches. His eyes flare.
He leans in. His lips brush my ear. “You don’t have to like it,” he murmurs. “But you do have to play the part.”
“I’m a good actress,” I whisper back.
“Then act.”
He pulls me forward, into his chest. One arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The other lifts our cuffed hands high.
“The bond is sealed,” he declares. “She is mine. I am hers. Let the Accord bear witness.”
The Council murmurs. Some nod. Some scowl. The Fae woman smiles, slow and knowing.
And I—
I smile too.
Perfect. Cold. Deadly.
The ceremony ends. The cuffs stay on. Kaelen doesn’t release me as we walk from the chamber. His grip is firm, possessive. His thumb brushes my wrist, just once—over the pulse point.
“You didn’t have to agree,” he says, once we’re alone in the corridor.
“I had to.”
“You could have fought.”
“And died. Or started a war you’re not ready to win.”
He stops. Turns me to face him. “You think I don’t want peace?”
“I think you want control.”
“And you don’t?”
I don’t answer.
“You could have refused,” he says. “Let them kill you. Let the war come. But you didn’t.”
“Because I have a mission.”
“And it still matters more than your life?”
“It is my life.”
He studies me. “Then let me help you.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what Lysandra took.”
My breath stops. “What?”
“Your blood. Three vials. Stolen from the Blackthorn Sanctuary.”
I freeze. “How do you—”
“I know a lot of things.” He leans in. “I know you’re not just a witch. I know you’re not just Celeste Vale. I know you’re Celeste Thorne.”
My heart slams.
He knows.
“And I know,” he whispers, “that you came here to kill her.”
I don’t move. Don’t blink.
“So let me ask you,” he says. “Do you want justice? Or do you want revenge?”
“They’re the same thing.”
“No. Justice is law. Revenge is blood.”
“And which do you serve?”
“Both.”
He steps back. “Three weeks, Celeste. Play the part. Stay alive. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll help you burn her to the ground.”
Then he walks away, leaving me standing in the corridor, cuffed to his absence, my pulse screaming.
He knows.
And worse—he understands.
I don’t go to my room. I can’t. It’s not mine anymore. Kaelen leads me through the Spire to the West Wing—Alpha’s quarters. Bigger. Darker. Warmer. A fortress within a fortress.
“This is yours now,” he says, keying in the code. “Until the claim is dissolved.”
The door opens.
One bedroom. One bed. Huge. Canopy. Black silk sheets.
My stomach twists.
“You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
“We’re not actually mates.”
“We have to look like we are.”
“Then get a second bed.”
“There’s only one.”
“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He turns. “You’ll sleep in the bed. Or you’ll sleep in chains. Your choice.”
I glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
We stand there, locked in silence, the air between us thick with tension. Not just anger. Not just power.
Heat.
The bond hums. A low, constant thrum beneath my skin. My body remembers his touch. My neck still aches where his fangs grazed me. My thighs press together, just once, to ease the ache.
He sees it.
Of course he does.
“You don’t have to like me,” he says, softer now. “But you do have to survive. And that means playing the game.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll make you.”
“You think you can?”
He steps forward. Slow. Deliberate. His hand lifts. Not to touch me. To the cuffs. He unclips them—one from his wrist, one from mine. Then he takes my hand. Laces our fingers together.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he says. “I want to stand with you.”
“Liar.”
“Believe what you want.” He pulls me toward the bed. “But tonight, you sleep here. With me. Not because I own you. But because if you don’t, they’ll know the bond is weak. And they’ll kill you.”
He lets go. Steps back.
“The bathroom’s through there. I’ll give you space to change. When you’re ready, come to bed.”
Then he turns and walks into the study, closing the door behind him.
I stand there, trembling.
Not from fear.
From rage.
And something else.
Something I refuse to name.
I go to the bathroom. Lock the door. Strip. Wash my face. My neck. Avoid the mirror.
When I come out, I’m in a black silk nightgown—left on the bed. Not mine. But I wear it anyway. Because I have to.
The bed is turned down. Kaelen is already in it, on his side, back to me. Shirt off. Skin like carved marble. Tattoos—Lupine runes—snaking down his spine.
“Lights off,” he says.
I don’t argue. I hit the panel. The room goes dark.
I slide into bed. Stay on the edge. Far from him.
“You’re tense,” he says.
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“You are.”
“Not like that.”
“No. Not like that.”
He rolls over. Faces me. Even in the dark, his eyes glow faintly. “But we’re bound. And the bond… it needs closeness. Or it punishes us.”
“Punishes how?”
“Fever. Pain. Weakness. If we’re apart too long, we’ll both suffer.”
I don’t answer.
“So move closer,” he says. “Or we’ll both be useless by morning.”
I hesitate.
Then, slowly, I shift toward the center.
Not close. But closer.
He does the same.
Now, only a hand’s width between us.
“Better,” he murmurs.
“This changes nothing.”
“I know.”
“I still hate you.”
“I know.”
“And I’m still going to kill Lysandra.”
“I know.”
He reaches out. Not to grab. Just to touch. His fingers brush my wrist—over the pulse.
“But until then,” he whispers, “you’re mine.”
And the bond flares—hot, deep, undeniable.
I close my eyes.
Not to sleep.
To plan.
Three weeks.
Three weeks to play his mate.
Three weeks to get close to Lysandra.
Three weeks to find the Blood Codex.
And when the time comes—
I’ll make them all pay.
Even him.
Especially him.
I don’t know how long I lie there, rigid, listening to his breathing—slow, steady, controlled. My body aches. Not from exhaustion. From need. The bond hums, a constant thrum, pulling me toward him like gravity.
I shift. Just once.
And his arm snakes out—gentle, firm—and pulls me against him.
My breath catches.
His chest is warm against my back. His arm heavy around my waist. His leg hooks over mine.
“Stop fighting it,” he murmurs into my hair. “Just sleep.”
I don’t answer.
But I don’t pull away.
And when his heartbeat lulls me into unconsciousness, I don’t dream of fire.
I dream of fangs.
And for the first time in ten years—
I don’t wake up screaming.