The keep breathed like a wounded beast—slow, labored, each exhalation laced with tension. Dawn had come and gone, bleeding into a gray sky that pressed down on Blackmire like a shroud. The city below stirred—smoke curling from chimneys, the clang of weapons being sharpened, the low growl of werewolf sentries changing shifts—but the fortress above remained still. Silent. Waiting.
For what, I didn’t know.
War? Betrayal? Redemption?
Or something worse.
Something softer.
I stood at the war room window, my coat whispering against the stone, my hands clasped behind my back. The obsidian table behind me was littered with maps, scrolls, blood-ink ledgers—records of border skirmishes, supply shortages, vampire enforcer rotations. But I wasn’t seeing any of it.
I was seeing *her.*
Crimson.
Her storm-colored eyes, sharp as a blade. Her lips, still swollen from my kiss. Her body, trembling beneath my touch. The way she’d gasped when I touched her, the way her hips had ground against my hand, the way her nails had dug into my shoulders as she came.
And then—her whisper, raw, broken: *“Why does that terrify me?”*
Because she cared.
And gods help me, so did I.
The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, steady rhythm, like a second heartbeat I couldn’t silence. It had been screaming for days—since the ritual, since the theft, since the poisoning. But now? Now it was calm. Not because the danger had passed. Not because the lies had ended.
Because she’d *felt* me.
And I’d felt her.
And in that moment, when her hands pressed to my chest and her magic flared, when our memories tangled in the fire of the bond, when I saw the dagger in her boot and the vow to kill me—she hadn’t pulled away.
She’d *kissed* me.
Not out of duty. Not out of magic.
Out of *want.*
And that—more than any victory, more than any throne—was the one thing I couldn’t survive.
—
She entered just after midday.
No knock. No announcement. Just the soft click of boots on stone, the whisper of silk against skin. I didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Just watched the city below, my expression unreadable, my body a wall.
But I felt her.
The bond flared—a hot pulse beneath my skin, like a star collapsing in my chest. Her breath hitched. Just a fraction. Just enough.
“You’re avoiding me,” she said, voice low.
“I’m working,” I said.
“And yet,” she said, stepping closer, “you haven’t moved in an hour. You haven’t touched a single scroll. You’ve just been standing there, staring at nothing.”
“I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“The next move.”
She didn’t rise to the bait. Just crossed her arms, her storm-colored eyes sharp, assessing. “Vexis won’t stop. Nyx is in the high cell, but Lyra’s still free. The Council’s enforcers are watching. And now, after the poisoning, they’ll use it as proof you’re compromised. That you’re ruled by desire, not duty.”
“Let them,” I said. “I don’t care what they think.”
“But you should,” she said. “Because if they strip you of power, if they dissolve the bond, if they drag me back to Nocturne—then everything we’ve fought for collapses.”
I turned then, slowly, my gaze locking onto hers. “And what have we fought for?”
She didn’t flinch. Just lifted her chin. “Justice. Truth. Survival.”
“And love?” I asked, voice low.
Her breath caught. The bond flared—a surge so intense I swayed, my hands flying to the windowsill for balance.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say that word like it means something.”
“And if it does?” I challenged. “If I look at you and see more than a weapon? More than a mission? More than a bond?”
“Then you’re weak,” she said. “And in this world, weakness gets you killed.”
“And what if I don’t care?” I said, stepping closer. “What if I’d rather die with you than live without you?”
She didn’t back down. Just held my gaze, her pulse jumping at her throat, her hands clenched into fists. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to *want* me and then pretend it doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything,” I said, my voice rough. “But not the way you think.”
“Then how?” she demanded.
“Because now,” I said, stepping closer, my presence pressing against her, “I don’t just fight for power. I fight for *you.* And if that makes me weak in their eyes, then let them come. Let them try to take you from me. Let them burn the world to ash. I’ll stand in the fire and laugh as it consumes them.”
The bond flared—a hot spike of awareness that made her skin tighten. Her breath came fast. Her body arched toward me, just a fraction, just enough.
She saw it.
And she *hated* it.
“You don’t get to do this,” she said, voice breaking. “You don’t get to say these things and then expect me to—”
“To what?” I asked, stepping closer. “To trust you? To stay? To *love* you?”
She slapped me.
The sound cracked through the room like thunder. My head turned, but I didn’t release her. Didn’t flinch. Just slowly turned back, a thin line of blood at the corner of my lip.
She touched it with her thumb, then brought it to her mouth, tasting. “You taste like defiance,” I murmured. “And I’m going to devour every drop.”
And then—my hands were on her.
Not gentle. Not careful.
*Possessive.*
One hand fisted in her hair, the other sliding to her waist, pulling her against me. Her breath hitched. The bond *screamed,* a wave of heat that stole my breath, pooled low in my belly.
My mouth crashed down on hers—hard, desperate, *needing.* Not a kiss. A *claim.* My tongue slid against hers, my body pressing her into the war table, the maps scattering, the inkwells tipping. The world spun. The bond roared, a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to keep her at arm’s length.
She should have pushed me away.
Should have fought.
But instead, her hands flew to my chest, not to push me away, but to hold on. Her body arched into mine, her breath hot against my lips. The bond screamed, a surge so intense I thought I’d combust. My hands slid down, over her hip, her thigh, then under her gown, fingers brushing the inside of her leg, slow, deliberate, *teasing.*
She gasped, her body arching, her hands flying to my shoulders for balance.
“You don’t get to touch me,” she hissed.
“I already do,” I said, my thumb circling, slow, torturous. “And you? You *crave* it.”
My breath came fast. My skin burned. Her core clenched, *aching* for more.
And then—my fingers brushed her clit, slow, deliberate, through the fabric.
She *screamed.*
Not in pain.
In *pleasure.*
Sharp, blinding, *unbearable.* Her back arched, her hips grinding against my hand, her body trembling. The bond *screamed,* a surge so intense I thought I’d die. My vision blurred. My heart pounded. Her core clenched, *aching* for more.
“You don’t get to want me,” she hissed, her voice breaking. “You don’t get to *touch* me.”
“I already do,” I said, my fingers circling, slow, torturous. “And you? You *crave* it.”
She slapped me again.
I didn’t stop.
Just laughed—a low, dark sound—and pressed harder.
She came.
Shuddering, gasping, *breaking.* Her body convulsed, her thighs clamping around my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders. The bond *screamed,* a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to keep her at arm’s length.
And when it was over, she collapsed against me, her breath ragged, her skin burning.
I didn’t let go.
Just held her, my arms tight around her waist, my face buried in her neck. “You’re already mine,” I murmured, my voice rough, my breath warm against her skin. “Even if you don’t know it yet.”
She didn’t answer.
Just clung to me, her fingers digging into my coat, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
She wasn’t here to destroy me.
She was here to *save* me.
And I’d let the world try to break her.
—
The door opened.
We didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stayed where we were—her body pressed to mine, my hand still between her thighs, her breath hot against my neck.
Then—
“I’ll come back,” Riven said, voice low.
I didn’t turn. Just nodded. “Close it.”
The door clicked shut.
Still, we didn’t move.
“You’re not supposed to want me,” she whispered, her voice raw.
“And yet,” I said, my thumb brushing her jawline, “I do. Every second. Every breath. Every heartbeat.”
“And what if I don’t want you back?”
“Then you’re lying,” I said. “Because your body knows the truth. Your blood knows it. Your *bond* knows it.”
She didn’t answer. Just lifted her head, her storm-colored eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did,” I said. “The moment our hands touched. The moment the bond ignited. The moment you saved me.”
Her breath caught. “I didn’t save you.”
“You did,” I said. “Not just from the poison. From myself. From the century of silence. From the weight of rule. From the fear of loving someone who could destroy me.”
She stared at me. The air between us crackled, thick with unsaid things, with heat, with *hunger.*
And then—her lips brushed mine.
Not a kiss.
A *promise.*
And gods help me, I answered it.
My mouth crashed down on hers—hard, desperate, *needing.* Not to dominate. Not to possess.
To *connect.*
Her hands flew to my hair, not to push me away, but to hold on. Her body arched into mine, her breath hot against my lips. The bond roared, a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to keep her at arm’s length.
But this wasn’t just desire.
This was *surrender.*
I broke the kiss, my forehead resting against hers, my breath ragged. “Tell me to stop,” I breathed. “And I will.”
She didn’t.
Just stared at me, her eyes burning, her pulse jumping at her throat.
And then—softly—she said, “Don’t stop.”
—
I lifted her onto the war table.
Maps scattered. Scrolls unfurled. Inkwells spilled black across the stone. But I didn’t care. Just pressed her back, my body between her thighs, my hands sliding under her gown, over the curve of her ass, pulling her against me. She gasped, her back arching, her nails scraping over my coat.
My mouth moved to her neck, my teeth grazing her pulse point, my tongue tasting the salt of her skin. She moaned, low and rough, her hips grinding against mine. The bond *screamed,* a surge so intense I thought I’d die. My erection pressed against her, thick and insistent, aching to be free.
“You don’t get to want me,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I already do,” I said, my hand sliding up, over her stomach, her ribs, then to her breast, my thumb circling her nipple through the fabric. She gasped, her body arching, her breath hot against my ear. “And you? You *crave* it.”
My fingers found the laces of her gown, pulling them open, baring her skin to the cold air. Her breath hitched. Her nipples hardened. I leaned down, my mouth closing over one, sucking, biting, licking. She cried out, her hands flying to my head, her fingers tangling in my hair.
“Kael,” she moaned.
Just my name.
One word.
And it shattered me.
My hand slid down, over her hip, her thigh, then beneath her gown, fingers brushing the wet heat between her legs. She was soaked. Ready. *Mine.*
I circled her clit, slow, deliberate, watching her face—her lips parting, her eyes fluttering shut, her breath coming fast. Then—two fingers, sliding inside her, deep, slow, *teasing.*
She screamed.
Not in pain.
In *pleasure.*
Sharp, blinding, *unbearable.* Her body convulsed, her thighs clamping around my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders. The bond *screamed,* a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to keep her at arm’s length.
“You don’t get to touch me,” she hissed, her voice breaking.
“I already do,” I said, my fingers curling, pressing against her sweet spot, my thumb circling her clit. “And you? You *crave* it.”
She came again.
Shuddering, gasping, *breaking.* Her body trembled, her breath ragged, her skin burning. I didn’t stop. Just kept moving, my fingers deep inside her, my mouth on her neck, my body pressed to hers.
And then—
Her hand moved.
Not to push me away.
Not to fight.
To *my* belt.
Her fingers fumbled with the buckle, her breath hot against my ear. “Don’t make me ask,” she whispered.
I didn’t.
Just freed myself, my cock thick and heavy, aching for her. She reached for me, her hand wrapping around my length, stroking, slow, deliberate. I groaned, my head falling back, my hips thrusting into her grip.
“You don’t get to want me,” I growled.
“I already do,” she said, her voice rough. “And you? You *crave* it.”
And then—she guided me to her entrance.
Hot. Wet. *Ready.*
I pressed forward.
Just the tip.
Just enough to make her gasp.
“Tell me to stop,” I breathed.
She didn’t.
Just lifted her hips, her eyes locking onto mine. “Don’t you dare.”
And then—I thrust.
Deep. Hard. *Claiming.*
She screamed.
Not in pain.
In *pleasure.*
Sharp, blinding, *unbearable.* Her body arched, her nails digging into my back, her thighs clamping around my waist. The bond *exploded,* a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to keep her at arm’s length.
And I didn’t stop.
Just moved, slow at first, then faster, deeper, harder, my body slamming into hers, the table shaking beneath us, the maps scattering, the inkwells spilling. Her breath came in gasps, her moans low and rough, her body trembling with every thrust.
“You don’t get to want me,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I already do,” I said, my mouth crashing down on hers, my tongue sliding against hers, my body pressing her into the table. “And you? You *crave* it.”
She came.
Again.
And again.
And when I finally followed, my release tearing through me like a storm, I didn’t pull out.
Just stayed inside her, my body pressed to hers, my face buried in her neck, my breath hot against her skin.
“You’re already mine,” I murmured. “Even if you don’t know it yet.”
She didn’t answer.
Just held me, her fingers digging into my coat, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
She wasn’t here to destroy me.
She was here to *save* me.
And I’d let the world try to break her.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She didn’t move. Just stayed in my arms, her breath warm against my neck.
And then—softly—she said, “Prove it.”
—
Later, in the quiet, I held her.
Not on the table. Not in the war room.
In my chambers. On the bed. Her body curled against mine, her head on my chest, her breath steady. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.
Not a leash.
Not a curse.
A *promise.*
“You were right,” I said, voice low. “And I don’t know if I can trust you either.
But I know this—I can’t live without you.”