The morning after the Unity Festival, the estate was quiet—too quiet. No Enforcers patrolling the halls. No witches weaving illusions in the foyer. No Fae nobles drifting like smoke through the air. Just silence. And tension.
I stood at the window of my chamber, staring out over the cliffs, the Undercity spread below like a living shadow. The amphitheater still smoldered with the echoes of last night—roars, whispers, the scent of blood and roses clinging to the air. The dance. The kiss. The way Ebony had looked at me—her dark eyes wide, her lips swollen, her body arched into mine—not with defiance, but with *want*.
She hadn’t pretended.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any curse, any lie.
Because I was starting to believe it.
That she *wanted* me.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the contract.
But because of *us*.
A knock at the door.
“Come in,” I said, voice low.
Riven stepped inside, his expression grim. He held a sealed scroll in his hand—black wax, the Fae crest pressed into the seal. My stomach tightened.
“Orlanth,” I said.
He nodded. “He’s summoned you. Both of you. To the Bathhouse of Reflections. At sundown.”
I turned. “For what?”
“A diplomatic ritual. To verify the bond’s stability. To ensure there’s been no… deception.”
I clenched my jaw. “There’s been no deception.”
“He doesn’t believe that. Not after the near-marking. Not after the kiss. He thinks she’s manipulating you. That the bond is being *forced*.”
“He’s wrong.”
“Then prove it.”
I exhaled sharply. “What does the ritual entail?”
“Partial nudity. Skin contact. Truth-testing. The bond will react if either of you lies.”
My wolf growled—*danger, threat, *protect*—but I held it back. The Bathhouse of Reflections was sacred ground. No violence. No dominance. Only truth. And if we refused, Orlanth could declare the bond unstable. Exile. Or worse.
“Tell Ebony,” I said. “She needs to be ready.”
“She’s not going to like it.”
“She doesn’t have to like it. She has to *survive* it.”
Riven hesitated. “She’s stronger than you think.”
“I know.”
But I also knew what Orlanth would see.
What *I* was starting to see.
The way her sigils pulsed when she came. The way her magic bent to the bond. The way her body *responded*—not just to me, but to *truth*.
And the way she carried herself—like a queen. Like a weapon. Like something *more*.
She wasn’t just a witch.
She was Fae-touched.
And if Orlanth sensed it—
He’d kill her.
I found her in the training hall, sparring with two younger wolves. She moved like fire—fast, precise, deadly. Her hair was pulled back, her skin glistening with sweat, her black training gear clinging to every curve. One wolf lunged. She sidestepped, twisted, disarmed him with a flick of her wrist. The other charged. She dropped low, swept his legs, and pinned him with a knee to his chest.
“Yield,” she said, voice cold.
He gasped. “Yield.”
She stood, wiping sweat from her brow, her chest rising and falling. Then she saw me.
And her expression shifted—just slightly. Not fear. Not hatred.
*Recognition*.
“Alpha,” she said, nodding.
“Ebony.”
She turned to the wolves. “Dismissed.”
They bowed and left, casting nervous glances at me as they passed.
“You’re here early,” she said, stepping closer. “Come to watch me fight?”
“I came to prepare you.”
“For what?”
“Orlanth has summoned us. To the Bathhouse of Reflections. At sundown.”
Her breath caught. “The Bathhouse?”
“A diplomatic ritual. To verify the bond’s stability.”
“And what does that entail?”
“Partial nudity. Skin contact. Truth-testing.”
She went still. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“So he wants to *inspect* us?”
“In a way. The bond will react if either of us lies. If we’re faking it, it’ll burn. If we’re not—”
“Then we pass.”
“And if Orlanth senses something… *else*?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “I know what you are, Ebony. Fae-touched. The bond reacts to your blood. Your magic. Your *truth*. And if Orlanth sees it—”
“He’ll kill me.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t flinch. Just stared at me, her jaw clenched. “And you’re telling me this *now*?”
“Because I’m not letting that happen.”
“And how do you plan to stop it?”
“By controlling the narrative. By making sure the bond stays stable. By making sure *you* stay safe.”
“You don’t get to protect me.”
“I do,” I growled. “Because you’re *mine*. And I don’t lose what’s mine.”
She stepped back. “Don’t use the bond as an excuse to control me.”
“This isn’t about control,” I said, stepping closer. “It’s about *survival*. If you lie during the ritual, the bond will flare. If it flares too much, Orlanth will suspect deception. And if he suspects deception, he’ll dig deeper. And if he digs deeper—”
“He’ll find the truth.”
“Yes.”
She exhaled sharply. “Then I won’t lie.”
“Good.”
“And if he asks about my bloodline?”
“Then you tell him it’s none of his business.”
“And if he presses?”
“Then I’ll intervene.”
She studied me. “You’d do that? For me?”
“I’ve already done it.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned and walked to the weapon rack, grabbing a cloth to wipe her hands. Her movements were sharp, controlled. But I saw it—the slight tremor in her fingers. The way her breath came fast. The sigils on her wrist—*glowing*.
“You’re afraid,” I said.
“I’m not afraid of Orlanth.”
“Then why is the bond flaring?”
She clenched her fist. “Because I hate being used as a pawn.”
“You’re not a pawn.”
“Then why do I keep getting dragged into *your* wars?”
“Because you’re in this with me. Whether you like it or not.”
She turned, her eyes blazing. “I didn’t ask for this bond. I didn’t ask for *you*.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer. “But you’re *choosing* it now. Every time you don’t run. Every time you don’t fight. Every time you let me touch you.”
Her breath hitched.
“You feel that?” I murmured, my hand lifting, hovering over the sigil on her wrist. “That’s not hate. That’s *need*. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“I hate you,” she whispered.
“Then why are you *wet*?”
My hand slid down her side, my thumb brushing the curve of her hip, then lower—between her thighs. She gasped, her body arching, her core clenching around nothing.
“You feel that?” I murmured, my mouth at her ear. “That’s not hate. That’s *truth*. And the bond knows it.”
She shoved me. Hard.
I didn’t move. Just stood there, my jaw clenched, my eyes blazing.
“You don’t get to *control* me,” she hissed.
“I’m not trying to,” I said. “I’m trying to *save* you.”
She stared at me—her pupils blown, her lips swollen, her body trembling.
And then—
She turned and walked out.
I didn’t follow.
Let her think. Let her feel. Let her *want*.
Because I knew the truth.
And so did she.
The Bathhouse of Reflections was carved into the cliffs beneath the estate—a hidden chamber of black stone and silver veins, its domed ceiling painted with constellations of dead Fae. Steam rose from a circular pool in the center, its water clear and still, reflecting the torchlight like a mirror. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and salt, the silence broken only by the soft drip of water.
Ebony stood at the edge of the pool, wrapped in a black silk robe, her hair loose, her face unreadable. She looked like a queen. Or a sacrifice.
Either way, she was ready.
Orlanth stood at the opposite side, dressed in white silk, his pale eyes fixed on us. Lucien was there too, smirking, his glass of bloodwine in hand. Riven stood by the door, his stance rigid, his eyes sharp.
“Remove your robes,” Orlanth said, voice echoing.
Ebony didn’t move. Just stood there, her jaw clenched.
“The ritual requires skin contact,” Orlanth said. “Partial nudity. If you refuse, the bond is deemed unstable.”
I stepped forward, untying my robe. It fell to the floor, revealing my bare chest, my scars, the thick muscle of my shoulders. I didn’t look at Ebony. Just waited.
Slowly, she untied her robe.
>It slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.She stood before us in nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties, her skin pale and flawless, her body curved and strong. The sigils on her arm glowed faintly, pulsing in time with her breath. Faint, silvery lines traced her ribs—old scars. Witch sigils, etched in blood and pain. And between her breasts, just above her heart, a small, crescent-shaped birthmark. Like a moon. Like the bond.
Beautiful.
*Mine.*
Orlanth stepped closer, his eyes scanning her. “Enter the water,” he said.
We stepped into the pool, the water warm against my skin. It rose to our waists, the surface still, reflecting our faces like a mirror. The bond hummed—low, steady, *alive*.
“Place your hands on each other,” Orlanth said. “Skin to skin. Truth to truth.”
I reached for her.
She didn’t pull away.
My hands slid to her waist, my thumbs brushing the curve of her hips. Her breath hitched. Her body arched slightly. The sigils on her wrist glowed brighter.
“Now,” Orlanth said. “The first question. Why did you come to Avalon, witch?”
Ebony didn’t hesitate. “To expose Lucien D’Vaire for murdering my mother.”
The bond pulsed—warm, steady. No flare. No punishment. *Truth.*
“And?” Orlanth pressed.
“To destroy him.”
Again, the bond pulsed. *Truth.*
“And?”
“To avenge her.”
The bond hummed—steady, satisfied.
Orlanth’s eyes narrowed. “And why did you agree to the bond?”
“Because I had no choice.”
The bond flared—golden light racing up her arms. *Lie.*
She gasped.
“You *did* have a choice,” I said, my voice low. “You could’ve fought it. You could’ve run. You didn’t.”
She turned to me, her eyes dark. “I stayed because I needed you.”
The bond pulsed—warm, steady. *Truth.*
Orlanth stepped closer. “And why do you need him?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at me, her breath shallow, her body trembling.
“Answer,” he said. “Or the bond will burn you.”
“Because—”
Her voice broke.
“*Because?*”
“Because I *want* him.”
The bond *screamed*.
Not in punishment.
In *pleasure*.
Golden light exploded across her skin, racing up my arms, my chest, my spine. Magic crackled between us, raw and wild. Her body arched, her core clenching, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
Orlanth’s eyes narrowed. “And why do you want him?”
She went still.
Her breath caught. Her body tensed.
“Answer,” he said, stepping closer. “Or the bond will burn you.”
“Because—”
Her voice broke.
“*Because?*”
“Because he makes me *feel*.”
Fire.
Light.
*Ecstasy.*
Her body convulsed, her back arching, her hands gripping my arms, her thighs squeezing mine. The sigils glowed so bright they lit the chamber, casting shadows on the walls.
And then—
She *came*.
Not from touch. Not from penetration.
From *truth*.
The bond accepted it. Celebrated it. And her body—her traitorous, beautiful body—*responded*.
Orlanth stepped back, his expression unreadable. “The bond is stable,” he said. “For now.”
“Then we’re done here,” I said, pulling Ebony closer, my hands still on her waist.
“Not quite.” Orlanth turned to her. “You are not pure. Your blood is tainted. And the bond should not accept you.”
My wolf snarled—*protect, claim, *kill*—but I held it back.
Ebony lifted her chin. “Then why does it?”
“Because you are Fae-touched,” he said. “And that is forbidden.”
“Then kill me,” she said. “Or accept it.”
A ripple through the chamber. Lucien smirked. Riven tensed.
Orlanth studied her. “You are dangerous,” he said. “And you will be watched.”
“Good,” I said, stepping in front of her, my body shielding hers. “Because she’s *mine*. And if you touch her, I’ll tear your heart out.”
He didn’t flinch. Just turned and walked out, his robes whispering against the stone.
Lucien followed, his smirk fading.
And then—
We were alone.
The water was warm. The air thick. Her body pressed to mine, her breath hot against my neck. The sigils on her wrist glowed, pulsing in time with our hearts.
“You came,” I murmured.
“From the truth.”
“And you said it.”
“That I want you.”
“And that I make you feel.”
She looked up, her eyes dark, wet. “I meant it.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I did the only thing I could.
I kissed her.
Soft. Deep. *Final*.
Her mouth opened under mine, her tongue meeting mine, her hands flying to my hair, pulling me closer. The bond flared—golden light wrapping around us, binding us, *consuming* us.
And for the first time—
I didn’t care who saw.
Because I knew the truth.
And so did she.
I wasn’t just her Alpha.
I was her *mate*.
And she was mine.