The morning after Orlanth’s ultimatum, I didn’t wake in Kaelen’s arms.
I didn’t wake at all.
Not really.
I existed in a hollowed-out version of myself—eyes open, breath steady, pulse thready—moving through the estate like a ghost. The bond still hummed beneath my skin, a low, insistent thrum, but it felt wrong. Distant. Like a memory of warmth in a frozen room. My sigils pulsed faintly, gold bleeding through my veins like dying embers, but they didn’t flare. Didn’t respond. Not even when I passed Kaelen in the corridor, his golden eyes burning into mine, his voice rough as he said, “We need to talk.”
I didn’t answer.
Just kept walking.
Because I couldn’t.
Not after what Orlanth had said.
The bond was a trap. Crafted to kill me. And if I didn’t break it, it would consume Kaelen too.
Lies.
They had to be lies.
But what if they weren’t?
What if the truth I’d spoken in the Bathhouse—the truth that had made me come from words alone—was just another kind of magic? What if the way my body arched into his touch, the way my core clenched at the sound of his voice, the way my breath caught when he looked at me like I was something worth saving—what if it wasn’t desire?
What if it was just the curse?
I reached my suite and closed the door behind me, the click echoing like a gunshot in the silence. The room was cold—too cold. No fire in the hearth. No warmth from the furs. Just stone and shadow and the scent of pine and iron that clung to me no matter how many times I washed.
I stripped off the black silk robe, letting it pool at my feet, and stepped into the bath. The water was ice-cold, a shock to my skin, but I didn’t care. I needed to feel something. Anything. Not the bond. Not the hunger. Not the *need*.
Just pain.
I sank into the tub, the water rising over my thighs, my stomach, my chest. My breath came short. My skin burned. My core clenched.
And the bond—
It *flared*.
Not with heat. Not with desire.
With *pain*.
Golden light exploded across my skin, racing up my arms, my spine, my chest. My magic crackled in the air. The sigils on my wrist flared—crimson and gold, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I gasped, my back arching, my hands gripping the edges of the tub. The water trembled. The candles flickered.
Bond-sickness.
Denial.
Separation.
It wasn’t just a threat.
It was real.
And it was killing me.
I stayed in the water until my lips turned blue, until my fingers wrinkled, until the pain in my chest dulled to a constant, throbbing ache. Then I climbed out, wrapped myself in a towel, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door.
Waiting.
Not for Kaelen.
For the knock.
For the demand.
For the threat.
But it didn’t come.
Hours passed.
The sun—if it existed above Avalon—didn’t rise. The torches in the corridor flickered, casting long shadows on the stone. The estate was quiet—too quiet. No Enforcers patrolling. No witches weaving illusions. No Fae nobles drifting like smoke.
Just silence.
And then—
A knock.
Not hard. Not demanding.
Soft.
Respectful.
“Ebony?” Riven’s voice, low. “Can I come in?”
I didn’t answer.
Just sat there, my hands clenched at my sides, my breath shallow.
The door opened slowly, and Riven stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He held a tray—steaming tea, fresh bread, a vial of dark liquid. My breath caught.
“What’s that?” I asked, voice raw.
“Pain suppressant,” he said, setting the tray on the table. “For the bond-sickness. Kaelen made it.”
My stomach dropped.
“I don’t want it.”
“You need it.”
“I don’t need anything from him.”
Riven didn’t flinch. Just studied me, his dark eyes sharp. “You’re lying to yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He stepped closer. “The bond is unstable. You’re radiating pain. If you don’t stabilize it, it’ll burn you alive.”
“Then let it.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t tell me what I mean.”
“I’m not,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m telling you what the bond means. It’s not just magic. It’s *truth*. And right now, it’s screaming that you’re hurting. That you’re afraid. That you’re *alone*.”
My breath caught.
“And Kaelen,” he said, voice low. “He’s not sleeping. He’s not eating. He’s not speaking. He’s just… waiting. For you.”
“Then he can wait forever.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I do.”
“Liar.”
The word hit me like a slap. And then—
The bond *flared*.
Heat flooded my core. My skin burned. My nipples tightened beneath the towel. The sigils on my wrist *glowed*, bright enough that I saw it reflected in his eyes.
Riven didn’t move. Just stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. “You feel that,” he said, voice rough. “That’s not hate. That’s *need*. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“I’m not—”
“Liar.”
I shoved him. Hard.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, solid, unyielding. “You don’t get to *control* me,” I hissed.
“I’m not trying to,” he said. “I’m trying to *save* you.”
“From what?”
“From yourself.”
And then—
He was gone.
Just like that.
Door closed. Silence returned.
I didn’t touch the tea. Didn’t eat the bread. Didn’t drink the suppressant.
Just sat there, my hands clenched at my sides, my breath shallow, my body humming with pain and rage and *need*.
And then—
I screamed.
Not a cry. Not a sob.
A scream—raw, guttural, primal. I screamed until my throat was raw, until my breath came in ragged gasps, until my body trembled with exhaustion.
And then—
I stood.
I didn’t care about Orlanth.
I didn’t care about the curse.
I didn’t care about the *choice*.
But I cared that Kaelen hadn’t denied it.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Because it meant I was already losing.
And the worst part?
I didn’t know if I wanted to win anymore.
I found him in the war room, standing over the map of Avalon, his back to the door, his shoulders tense. He didn’t turn when I entered. Just stood there, silent, his hands clenched at his sides.
“You were right,” I said, voice low.
He didn’t answer.
“About Seraphine. About the mark. About the robe.”
Still nothing.
“But you didn’t tell me. You didn’t trust me.”
He turned slowly, his golden eyes blazing. “You didn’t trust me either.”
“I do now.”
He stepped closer. “Why?”
“Because I found Mira’s journal.”
His breath caught. “What?”
“She left me the truth. About Lucien. About the research. About *you*.”
His eyes narrowed. “What about me?”
“You’re half-Fae,” I said, stepping closer. “Your mother was Orlanth’s sister. And the curse that binds you—the one that makes your wolf rage—is Fae-made. Not werewolf.”
He went still.
His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.
“And Lucien,” I said, stepping closer. “He didn’t just kill Mira to steal her research. He killed her because she discovered the truth. That the Fae-binding ritual can break curses. And that only a Fae-touched witch can activate it.”
“And you’re that witch,” he said, voice rough.
“Yes.”
“And you can break the curse.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at me, his eyes searching mine. “And you’re telling me this… why?”
“Because you’re not my enemy,” I said, stepping closer. “Not really. And I’m not yours.”
“Then what are we?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I know I want to find out.”
The bond flared—golden light racing up my arms, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My skin burned. My core clenched. My breath came short.
He saw it. And he *smiled*.
“You feel that,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s the bond. And it’s not just magic. It’s *truth*. You want me. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“I’m not lying anymore,” I said, stepping closer. “I *want* you. I *need* you. And I’m not running from it.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for me.
And this time, I didn’t pull away.
His hands slid to my waist, pulling me against him. Our bodies aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. Heat flooded between us. The sigils on my wrist burned against his skin. My breath hitched. My core clenched.
“You’re not cold after all,” I murmured.
“Neither are you,” he said, his mouth at my ear.
And then he kissed me.
Not hard. Not claiming.
Soft.
Deep.
Final.
His mouth moved over mine, slow and sure, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me into him. The bond flared—golden light wrapping around us, magic crackling in the air. The candles in the chamber roared. The sigils on our skin pulsed.
But he didn’t take it further.
No hands under my robe. No thrust of his cock. No demand for truth.
Just the kiss.
And the touch.
And the us.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark. “You’re not leaving me,” he said, voice low. “Not ever.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my forehead to his, my hands sliding to his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart.
And for the first time—
I believed him.
“We need to move,” I said, stepping back. “Lucien knows we’re close. He’ll try to stop us.”
“Then let him,” Kaelen said, stepping closer. “I’m not afraid of him.”
“I am,” I said. “Not for me. For *us*.”
He stilled. His eyes searched mine. “You care.”
“I do,” I said. “And I’m not hiding it anymore.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into his arms, holding me against his chest, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed between us, warm and steady, no longer screaming, no longer demanding.
Just being.
And for the first time—
I didn’t want to run.
I just wanted to stay.
And when he whispered, low and final:
“You’re mine,”
I didn’t argue.
I just nodded.
Because I already was.
And I didn’t hate it.
I just wanted him.
And I was going to save him.
Even if it destroyed me.
The days blurred.
One after another, each colder, heavier, more suffocating than the last.
I didn’t see Kaelen.
Not really.
We passed in the corridors—me wrapped in black silk, him in tailored black, our eyes locking for a second before we looked away. We attended Council meetings—me silent, him commanding, our hands never touching, our bond humming beneath the surface like a live wire. We slept in separate chambers—me in mine, him in his, the distance between us a chasm no magic could bridge.
And the bond—
It *screamed*.
Not in pleasure. Not in truth.
In *pain*.
Golden light exploded across my skin, racing up my arms, my spine, my chest. My magic crackled in the air. The sigils on my wrist flared—crimson and gold, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I gasped, my back arching, my hands gripping the stone, my breath ragged.
Bond-sickness.
Worse than before.
Because now, it wasn’t just denial.
It was *choice*.
I chose to stay away.
I chose to suffer.
I chose to *break*.
And each time, the bond punished me.
I started dreaming.
Not of fire. Not of Mira screaming.
Of *him*.
Kaelen.
His hands on me. His mouth at my neck. His cock buried deep, his fangs grazing my pulse as he came inside me. I’d wake trembling, my thighs slick, my core clenching, my breath ragged. The sigils on my wrist glowing, pulsing, *demanding*.
And I’d press a hand between my legs, fingers sliding through wetness, and whisper his name.
Not in hate.
In *need*.
In *want*.
In *truth*.
And each time, the bond flared—golden light racing up my arms, my spine, my chest. Magic crackled in the air. The candles roared.
And I’d come—hard, deep, *broken*—from just the thought of him.
And then—
Nothing.
No comfort. No release. No peace.
Just pain.
And silence.
And the echo of his voice—You’re mine—ringing in my ears.
Riven came again.
Every day.
Tray in hand. Tea. Bread. Suppressant.
“You’re getting worse,” he said, setting it down. “The bond-sickness. It’s spreading.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Why? So I can be his pet? His weapon? His *mate*?”
“So you can *live*,” he said, voice low. “Because if you keep this up, you’ll die. And he’ll die with you.”
“Then let him.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Liar.”
The bond flared—hot, violent. Golden light exploded across my skin, racing up my arms, my spine, my chest. My magic crackled in the air. I gasped, my back arching, my hands gripping the stone.
“You feel that?” he said, stepping closer. “That’s not hate. That’s *need*. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“I’m not—”
“Liar.”
I shoved him. Hard.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, solid, unyielding. “You don’t get to *control* me,” I hissed.
“I’m not trying to,” he said. “I’m trying to *save* you.”
“From what?”
“From yourself.”
And then—
He was gone.
Just like that.
Door closed. Silence returned.
I didn’t touch the tea. Didn’t eat the bread. Didn’t drink the suppressant.
Just sat there, my hands clenched at my sides, my breath shallow, my body humming with pain and rage and *need*.
And then—
I screamed.
Not a cry. Not a sob.
A scream—raw, guttural, primal. I screamed until my throat was raw, until my breath came in ragged gasps, until my body trembled with exhaustion.
And then—
I stood.
I didn’t care about Orlanth.
I didn’t care about the curse.
I didn’t care about the *choice*.
But I cared that Kaelen hadn’t denied it.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Because it meant I was already losing.
And the worst part?
I didn’t know if I wanted to win anymore.
I found him in the war room, standing over the map of Avalon, his back to the door, his shoulders tense. He didn’t turn when I entered. Just stood there, silent, his hands clenched at his sides.
“You were right,” I said, voice low.
He didn’t answer.
“About Seraphine. About the mark. About the robe.”
Still nothing.
“But you didn’t tell me. You didn’t trust me.”
He turned slowly, his golden eyes blazing. “You didn’t trust me either.”
“I do now.”
He stepped closer. “Why?”
“Because I found Mira’s journal.”
His breath caught. “What?”
“She left me the truth. About Lucien. About the research. About *you*.”
His eyes narrowed. “What about me?”
“You’re half-Fae,” I said, stepping closer. “Your mother was Orlanth’s sister. And the curse that binds you—the one that makes your wolf rage—is Fae-made. Not werewolf.”
He went still.
His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.
“And Lucien,” I said, stepping closer. “He didn’t just kill Mira to steal her research. He killed her because she discovered the truth. That the Fae-binding ritual can break curses. And that only a Fae-touched witch can activate it.”
“And you’re that witch,” he said, voice rough.
“Yes.”
“And you can break the curse.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at me, his eyes searching mine. “And you’re telling me this… why?”
“Because you’re not my enemy,” I said, stepping closer. “Not really. And I’m not yours.”
“Then what are we?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I know I want to find out.”
The bond flared—golden light racing up my arms, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My skin burned. My core clenched. My breath came short.
He saw it. And he *smiled*.
“You feel that,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s the bond. And it’s not just magic. It’s *truth*. You want me. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“I’m not lying anymore,” I said, stepping closer. “I *want* you. I *need* you. And I’m not running from it.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for me.
And this time, I didn’t pull away.
His hands slid to my waist, pulling me against him. Our bodies aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. Heat flooded between us. The sigils on my wrist burned against his skin. My breath hitched. My core clenched.
“You’re not cold after all,” I murmured.
“Neither are you,” he said, his mouth at my ear.
And then he kissed me.
Not hard. Not claiming.
Soft.
Deep.
Final.
His mouth moved over mine, slow and sure, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me into him. The bond flared—golden light wrapping around us, magic crackling in the air. The candles in the chamber roared. The sigils on our skin pulsed.
But he didn’t take it further.
No hands under my robe. No thrust of his cock. No demand for truth.
Just the kiss.
And the touch.
And the us.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark. “You’re not leaving me,” he said, voice low. “Not ever.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my forehead to his, my hands sliding to his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart.
And for the first time—
I believed him.
“We need to move,” I said, stepping back. “Lucien knows we’re close. He’ll try to stop us.”
“Then let him,” Kaelen said, stepping closer. “I’m not afraid of him.”
“I am,” I said. “Not for me. For *us*.”
He stilled. His eyes searched mine. “You care.”
“I do,” I said. “And I’m not hiding it anymore.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into his arms, holding me against his chest, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed between us, warm and steady, no longer screaming, no longer demanding.
Just being.
And for the first time—
I didn’t want to run.
I just wanted to stay.
And when he whispered, low and final:
“You’re mine,”
I didn’t argue.
I just nodded.
Because I already was.
And I didn’t hate it.
I just wanted him.
And I was going to save him.
Even if it destroyed me.