The silence after Kaelen collapsed was worse than the scream.
Not empty. Not still. But charged—thick with the scent of sex and wolf and almost, with the ghost of his mouth on mine, his hands on my hips, the way my body had arched, begged, broken for him. I knelt beside him on the furs, my breath ragged, my hands trembling, my core still pulsing with need. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, but the heat didn’t reach me. Nothing did. Not anymore.
Because I wasn’t just almost his.
I was his.
And I’d let him see it.
My breath came short, ragged. My hands clenched at the edges of the fur, the fabric rough against my skin. I could still feel the weight of his body over mine, the way his mouth had hovered at my neck, his fangs grazing my pulse. The way he’d made me say it—I want you, I’m yours—over and over, until the words weren’t lies, until they were truth, until they were mine.
And then the bond had turned.
Not in pleasure. Not in truth.
In pain.
One second, we were fused—mouths locked, bodies aligned, magic crackling between us. The next, he was gasping, his back arching, his golden eyes wide with agony. The sigils on his wrist flared—crimson and gold, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His 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 him.
“Kaelen,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Kaelen, look at me.”
He didn’t. Just lay there, his chest heaving, his fangs bared, his wolf roaring beneath his skin. His hands clawed at the furs, his muscles twitching, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. The pain was deep, pulsing, like his bones were trying to crack apart. His skin burned. His eyes were glassy, unfocused.
“I’m here,” I said, my hands flying to his face, cradling it. “I’m not leaving. I’m here.”
He turned his head slightly, his golden eyes locking on mine—dark, wet, broken. “You have to,” he gasped. “You have to go. Before it gets worse.”
“No.” I pressed my forehead to his, my breath warm against his skin. “I’m not running. Not this time.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice rough. “If you stay—if the bond keeps pulling—if I can’t control it—”
“Then what?” I snapped. “You’ll lose control? You’ll shift? You’ll hurt me?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at me, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing.
And I knew.
He was afraid.
Not of me.
Of himself.
Of the wolf. Of the curse. Of the bond. Of the way his body arched into mine, the way his breath hitched when I touched him, the way his heart pounded when I whispered his name.
He was afraid of wanting me.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any curse, any lie.
“I’m not weak,” I said, my voice low. “And I’m not fragile. I’ve survived fire. I’ve survived lies. I’ve survived you. So don’t you dare try to protect me by pushing me away.”
He closed his eyes. “I’m not trying to protect you. I’m trying to save you.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I did the only thing I could.
I kissed him.
Not soft. Not deep.
Claiming.
My mouth crashed against his, my tongue forcing his lips apart, my hands gripping his face, holding him in place. The bond screamed—golden light exploding between us, magic crackling, the torches roaring. His body arched, his hands flying to my waist, pulling me against him. The sigils on my wrist flared—golden light racing up my arms, my spine, my chest. My magic crackled in the air.
And then—
The pain lessened.
Not gone. Not healed.
But less.
Like a fever breaking. Like a wound closing. Like a curse recoiling.
He gasped, his body relaxing slightly, his breath slowing. His golden eyes opened, blazing into mine. “You feel that?” he murmured, his mouth at my ear. “That’s not hate. That’s need. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“I know,” I whispered. “And I’m not running from it.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into his arms, holding me against his chest, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed—warm, steady, alive—but beneath it, something darker pulsed. A warning. A premonition.
And then—
He spoke.
Low. Rough. Final.
“We need to break the curse.”
My breath caught.
“Not just for me,” he said, his hand sliding to my wrist, his thumb brushing the sigils. “For us. Because if we don’t—if the bond keeps pulling, if the pain keeps growing, if the rejection keeps coming—we’ll both die. And I’m not letting that happen.”
“But how?” I whispered. “Mira’s journal said the ritual requires blood. Emotion. Sexual energy. Orgasm can fuel spells. But I don’t know the words. I don’t know the sigils. I don’t—”
“The bond will guide you,” he said, stepping closer. “Because it’s not just magic. It’s truth. And you’re not alone anymore.”
My eyes burned. I blinked back the tears. I didn’t cry. Not since the fire. Not since I watched Mira scream and burn. But my hands trembled. My core clenched. The sigils on my wrist flared—golden light bleeding through the air.
He saw it. And he smiled.
“You feel that,” he murmured, his mouth at my ear. “That’s not hate. That’s need. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“I’m not—”
“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 fabric of my robe. The sigils on my wrist glowed, bright enough that I saw it reflected in his eyes.
He didn’t touch me. Just stood there, his heat seeping into me, the pull of the bond tightening like a vice. “You want me,” he said, voice rough. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Then why are you wet?”
His hand slid down my side, his thumb brushing the curve of my hip, then lower—between my thighs. I gasped, my body arching, my core clenching around nothing.
“You feel that?” he murmured, his breath hot on my neck. “That’s not hate. That’s truth. And the bond knows it.”
I shoved him. Hard.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing.
“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 him.”
And then—
He was right.
Lucien.
He wasn’t just a murderer.
He wasn’t just a traitor.
He was a coward.
And he was still out there.
With Mira’s research.
With the truth.
With the power to destroy us both.
I stepped back, my hands clenched at my sides. “We need to move,” I said, voice low. “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 break the curse.
Even if it destroyed me.
We stood in the war room—me in black silk, him in tailored black, the map of Avalon spread between us, marked with red ink tracing Lucien’s movements, his alliances, his threats. The air was thick with tension, with scent, with truth. We didn’t touch. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, silent, our eyes locked, our bond humming beneath the surface like a live wire.
And then—
“We need a plan,” I said, voice low.
He nodded. “One that gets us the research. Breaks the curse. Exposes Lucien.”
“And survives Orlanth.”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer, my fingers tracing the map. “He’ll be watching. Waiting. Testing.”
“Then we give him a show,” Kaelen said, stepping beside me. “A distraction. While we move in the shadows.”
“Like what?”
“A public fight,” he said, turning to me. “You accuse me of hiding evidence. I deny it. You storm out. I chase you. The Council sees us divided. Weak. Unstable.”
“And while they’re distracted—”
“We infiltrate the D’Vaire archives,” he said. “Find the research. Break the curse.”
My breath caught. “You’re letting me in?”
“I’m not letting you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m taking you. Together. Because if Lucien has the research, he’ll have hidden it where only I can access it. And if he hasn’t—”
“Then it’s still there.”
“Yes.”
I didn’t hesitate. Just nodded. “Then let’s go.”
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 break the curse.
Even if it destroyed me.
The plan was simple.
Public fight. Private alliance. Infiltrate the archives. Break the curse. Expose Lucien. Survive Orlanth.
And if we failed?
We died.
But for the first time—
I didn’t care.
Because I wasn’t alone.
And I wasn’t running.
And I wasn’t lying.
And when Kaelen reached for my hand—his fingers lacing with mine, his grip strong, his heat seeping into me—I didn’t pull away.
I just squeezed back.
And whispered:
“One step at a time.”
He smiled.
“But no more lies.”