The silence in the war room after Ebony left was worse than a scream.
Not empty. Not still. But charged—thick with the scent of her, with the echo of her voice, with the ghost of her fingers on my chest, the way her breath had hitched when I pulled her close, the way her body had arched into mine before she turned and walked away. Again.
She hadn’t stayed.
She never did.
Not since Orlanth.
Not since the truth.
Not since she’d looked at me and whispered, “You knew… not all of it,” and then walked out like I was already dead to her.
I stood over the map of Avalon, my hands clenched at my sides, my wolf pacing beneath my skin, snarling, danger, threat, *protect*—but there was nothing to fight. No enemy in the room. No blade at her throat. No fire at her heels.
Just me.
And the bond.
And the silence.
It hurt.
Not the way a wound hurts. Not the way a blade cuts.
This was deeper. Older. A slow, gnawing ache in my chest, in my bones, in my blood. The bond was screaming—not in pleasure, not in truth—but in loss. Denial. Separation.
And it was tearing me apart.
I hadn’t slept in three days.
Not since she’d locked herself in her suite, refusing the pain suppressant, refusing my presence, refusing me. I’d sent Riven with food. With tea. With the vial I’d brewed from moonroot and wolf’s bane, strong enough to dull the sharpest bond-sickness. She refused it all.
And every refusal was a knife in my gut.
Because I knew what she was doing.
She was punishing herself.
For wanting me.
For needing me.
For loving me.
And I couldn’t stop her.
Because she wouldn’t let me.
I turned from the map, my boots heavy on the stone, and walked to the window. The estate loomed below—its spires piercing the twilight sky, its torches burning red, the Undercity sprawling in shadows beneath. The air was thick with the scent of blood and roses, of magic and decay. Avalon. My city. My burden. My prison.
And now—hers.
Whether she wanted it or not.
My hand lifted, pressing against the cold glass. The sigils on my wrist pulsed faintly—gold bleeding through my veins, weak, dying. The bond was fading. Not breaking. Not yet. But weakening. With every hour she stayed away, every breath she took without me, every heartbeat that didn’t echo mine—the bond frayed.
And so did I.
My vision blurred. My knees buckled. I caught myself on the edge of the table, my breath ragged, my chest tight. The pain was worse now—deep, pulsing, like my heart was trying to claw its way out of my ribs. My skin burned. My muscles twitched. My wolf howled—mate, find her, claim her, *keep her*—but I held it back. Not yet. Not like this.
Not until she chose me.
“Alpha.”
Riven’s voice. Low. Calm. But I heard the tension beneath it.
I didn’t turn. “What.”
“She’s worse.”
My head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“The bond-sickness. It’s spreading. Her magic’s unstable. The sigils flare without trigger. She’s dreaming of you.”
My breath caught.
“Dreaming?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer, his dark eyes sharp. “She wakes trembling. Her thighs are slick. She whispers your name.”
My wolf snarled—mine, *mine*—and I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms.
“And she still refuses the suppressant?”
“Yes.”
“And the food?”
“She eats nothing. Drinks nothing. Just sits. Stares. Suffers.”
My jaw clenched. “Then I’ll go to her.”
“She’ll push you away.”
“Let her.”
“And if she doesn’t stop? If the bond-sickness consumes her? If she—”
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I turned to him, my golden eyes blazing. “Because she’s not weak. She’s not broken. She’s mine. And I’m not letting her die.”
Riven studied me. Then nodded. “Then I’ll prepare the enforcers.”
“No.” I stepped past him, my boots heavy on the stone. “This is between us.”
He hesitated. “And if she attacks you?”
“Then let her.”
Because I deserved it.
For not telling her the truth.
For not fighting harder.
For not *protecting* her.
I walked through the estate—past silent Enforcers, past flickering torches, past the grand staircase where Seraphine had kissed her cheek, where I’d pinned her to the wall, where she’d shoved me, screamed at me, kissed me. The air was thick with memory. With scent. With her.
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. I gasped, my back arching, my hands gripping the wall. The torches dimmed. The sigils on my wrist flared—crimson and gold, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Bond-sickness.
Worse than before.
Because now, it wasn’t just denial.
It was *choice*.
She chose to stay away.
And I chose to let her.
Because I was afraid.
Afraid that if I forced her, if I took her, if I *claimed* her—she’d hate me forever.
But now—
She was dying.
And I was too late.
I reached her door and didn’t knock.
Just opened it.
The room was dark—no fire in the hearth, no candles lit, no warmth from the furs. The air was cold, thick with the scent of pine and iron and her. Ebony sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a black silk robe, her hair loose, her face pale. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her breath shallow, her body trembling.
She didn’t look at me.
Just sat there, silent, like a ghost.
“Ebony,” I said, voice low.
She didn’t answer.
“You’re hurting.”
Still nothing.
“The bond is unstable. You’re radiating pain. If you don’t stabilize it—”
“Then let it kill me,” she whispered.
My breath caught.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Liar.”
The word hit her like a slap. And then—
The bond flared—hot, violent. Golden light exploded across her skin, racing up her arms, her spine, her chest. Magic crackled in the air. She gasped, her back arching, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. The sigils on her wrist flared—crimson and gold, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
And then—
She screamed.
Not a cry. Not a sob.
A scream—raw, guttural, primal. She screamed until her throat was raw, until her breath came in ragged gasps, until her body trembled with exhaustion.
And then—
She collapsed.
Not from pain.
From *loss*.
I was at her side in an instant, catching her before she hit the floor, pulling her into my arms, her head against my chest, her breath hot against my neck. The bond screamed—golden light wrapping around us, binding us, consuming us.
“You feel that?” I murmured, my mouth at her ear. “That’s not hate. That’s need. And it’s not going to be denied.”
She didn’t answer. Just lay there, her body trembling, her breath ragged.
“You’re not weak,” I said, my hands cradling her face. “You’re not broken. You’re mine. And I’m not letting you go.”
Her eyes fluttered open—dark, wet, broken. “You don’t get to *control* me,” she whispered.
“I’m not trying to,” I said, brushing the hair from her face. “I’m trying to *save* you.”
“From what?”
“From yourself.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to be saved.”
“Too bad,” I said, standing, lifting her into my arms. “Because I’m not letting you die.”
She didn’t fight. Just lay there, limp, her head against my chest, her breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed—warm, steady, alive—but beneath it, something darker pulsed. A warning. A premonition.
I carried her through the estate—past silent Enforcers, past flickering torches, past the grand staircase. No one stopped me. No one spoke. Just watched.
And then—
I was in my chamber.
The private one. The one with the black furs, the stone walls, the fire in the hearth. I laid her on the bed, the furs soft beneath her, the fire warm against her skin. She didn’t move. Just lay there, silent, her eyes closed, her breath shallow.
I stripped off my shirt, the fabric rough against my skin, and climbed onto the bed beside her, pulling her into my arms, her back pressed to my chest, my arm around her waist. The bond flared—golden light racing up my arms, my spine, my chest. My magic crackled in the air.
“You’re not leaving me,” I murmured, my mouth at her neck. “Not ever.”
She didn’t answer. Just lay there, trembling, her breath ragged.
And then—
She slept.
Not peacefully. Not deeply.
But she slept.
And I didn’t.
I lay there, holding her, my body tense, my wolf pacing beneath my skin, my heart pounding. The pain was worse now—deep, pulsing, like my bones were trying to crack apart. My vision blurred. My breath came short. My muscles twitched.
But I didn’t let go.
Not for hours.
Not for days.
Just held her, my arms around her, my breath warm against her neck, my heart beating against her back.
And then—
I dreamed.
Not of fire. Not of war.
Of her.
Ebony.
Her hands on me. Her mouth at my neck. Her core clenching around me as I thrust deep, her nails raking my back, her fangs grazing my pulse as she came. I’d wake gasping, my cock hard, my body aching, 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 her 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 her.
And then—
Nothing.
No comfort. No release. No peace.
Just pain.
And silence.
And the echo of her voice—I hate you—ringing in my ears.
On the third night, I didn’t wake.
Just dreamed.
And this time—
She was there.
Naked. On the bed. Her skin pale and flawless, her body curved and strong. The sigils on her wrist glowing, racing up her arms, her spine, her chest. Her dark eyes blazing. Her lips swollen. Her hair tangled.
“You’re mine,” I growled, climbing onto the bed, caging her in.
She didn’t answer. Just looked at me, her breath shallow, her core clenched.
“Say it,” I demanded. “Say you want me.”
She didn’t speak. Just arched into my hand as I slid it between her thighs, finding her slick, hot, ready.
“Say it,” I growled again, pressing two fingers inside her. “Or I walk away. Right now.”
She gasped, her back arching, her hands flying to my shoulders, her nails raking my skin.
And then—
“I want you,” she whispered.
And I thrust.
Deep. Hard. Complete.
She cried out, her back arching, her nails raking down my back. Her core clamped around me, hot and tight and perfect. The bond screamed—golden light exploding between us, magic crackling, the witch-fire orbs roaring.
I didn’t move.
Just stayed buried inside her, our bodies fused, our breaths tangled, our hearts pounding as one.
“You feel that?” I murmured, my mouth at her ear. “That’s not just the bond. That’s us.”
She didn’t answer.
Just wrapped her legs around me and pulled.
And I fucked her.
Hard. Fast. Feral.
Every thrust drove the truth deeper—into her body, into her soul, into the bond. She met me, her hips lifting, her hands gripping my ass, her mouth at my neck, bite. Not to hurt. To claim.
And when she came—screaming my name, her body convulsing around me—I didn’t hold back.
I came with her.
Hot. Thick. Mine.
I collapsed on top of her, my face buried in her neck, my breath ragged, my body still inside hers. The bond hummed—warm, steady, satisfied. The sigils on our skin dimmed, the golden light fading to a soft glow.
She didn’t push me away.
Didn’t speak.
Just lay there, her hands resting on my back, her breath slow, her body soft.
And then—
I whispered, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it:
“I love you.”
She didn’t answer.
Just pressed her forehead to mine, her lips curved—just slightly.
And I smiled.
Because I knew the truth.
And so did she.
And neither of us was lying anymore.
I woke with a gasp, my body drenched in sweat, my cock hard, my breath ragged. The bond screamed—golden light racing up my arms, my spine, my chest. My magic crackled in the air. The torches roared.
Ebony stirred in my arms, her breath warm against my neck, her body soft against mine. She didn’t wake. Just murmured something, her hips shifting, her core brushing my cock.
And then—
She came.
Not from touch. Not from penetration.
From dream.
Her body convulsed, her back arching, her hands gripping my arms, her thighs squeezing mine. The sigils on her wrist flared—golden light racing up her arms, her spine, her chest. Magic crackled in the air.
And I knew.
She’d dreamed of me.
Of us.
Of the truth.
And her body—her traitorous, beautiful body—responded.
I didn’t move. Just held her, my breath warm against her neck, my heart beating against her back. The bond hummed—warm, steady, alive—but beneath it, something darker pulsed. A warning. A premonition.
And then—
She woke.
Slowly. Groggily. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and wet, broken. She didn’t look at me. Just lay there, silent, her breath ragged, her body trembling.
“You dreamed of me,” I said, voice low.
She didn’t answer.
“You came in your sleep. From just the thought of me.”
Still nothing.
“You feel that?” I murmured, my mouth at her neck. “That’s not hate. That’s need. And it’s not going to be denied.”
She turned in my arms, her eyes locking on mine, dark and fierce. “Then prove it,” she whispered. “Prove you’re not just using me.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I did.
I kissed her.
Not soft. Not deep.
Claiming.
My mouth crashed against hers, my tongue forcing her lips apart, my hands gripping her face, holding her in place. The bond screamed—golden light exploding between us, magic crackling, the torches roaring.
And then—
She broke.
Not from the kiss.
From the truth.
She shoved me, hard, her hands flying to my chest, her nails raking my skin. “You don’t get to control me!” she screamed. “You don’t get to lie and expect me to trust you! You don’t get to use me and then pretend you care!”
I caught her wrists, pinning them above her head, pressing her into the furs. Our bodies aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip. Heat flooded between us. The sigils on her wrist burned against my skin. My breath hitched. My core clenched.
“I do care,” I growled. “And you know it. The bond knows it. Your body knows it.”
“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 need. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“Prove it,” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Prove you’re not just using me.”
I leaned in—so close our lips almost touched. Her breath was hot on my mouth. Her eyes burned into mine.
“Or prove you care,” I whispered.
And then—
She did.
She kissed me.
Hard. Deep. Desperate.
Her mouth opened under mine, her tongue meeting mine, her hands gripping my hips, pulling me against her. The bond screamed—golden light wrapping around us, binding us, consuming us.
And for the first time—
I didn’t hate it.
I just wanted.
And when she lifted me, my legs wrapping around her waist, her core grinding against my cock, I didn’t stop her.
Because I knew the truth.
And so did she.
I didn’t care about Orlanth.
I didn’t care about the curse.
I didn’t care about the choice.
But I cared that she 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.
She broke the kiss slowly, reluctantly, her breath hot against my lips. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Don’t stop.”
I exhaled, a low, pained sound. “If I don’t, I won’t be able to.”
“Then don’t.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.”
“No. You don’t.” My voice dropped, rough. “I’m an Alpha. I don’t just f*ck. I claim. And if I mark you—if I bite you during climax—it’s forever. Legally. Politically. There’s no undoing it.”
Her breath caught.
Marking. A bite during climax. Permanent bond. Marriage. War.
She should’ve pulled away. Should’ve shoved me back, spat venom, reminded me that she came here to destroy me, not become my mate.
But she didn’t.
Because for the first time, the thought of being mine didn’t feel like a prison.
It felt like home.
And that terrified her more than any blade, any curse, any lie.
She stared at me. Her heart pounded. Her core clenched. The sigils on her wrist burned.
And then—
“I want you,” she whispered.
I didn’t move. Just watched her, searching her face for the lie.
But there wasn’t one.
Not this time.
So I kissed her again.
Hard. Deep. Claiming.
My hands slid under her robe, gripping her bare ass, lifting her higher. She wrapped her legs around me, her core grinding against my cock, the thin fabric between us no barrier at all. The bond screamed—golden light wrapping around us, magic crackling in the air. The candles on the dais flared. The contract scroll pulsed.
And then—
She froze.
Her body went rigid. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.
“Kaelen—”
“What?”
“The bond—”
And then—
It hit me.
A wave of pain—sharp, violent, unbearable.
I gasped, my back arching, my hands gripping the furs. The sigils on my wrist flared—crimson and gold, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My magic crackled in the air. The torches dimmed.
Bond-sickness.
But worse.
Because this wasn’t just denial.
This was rejection.
And it was killing me.