The Unity Festival loomed like a storm on the horizon—three nights of forced proximity, public performance, and political theater, all under the watchful eyes of the Supernatural Council and the High Fae Magistrate himself. Orlanth. Just the name sent a cold ripple down my spine. The Fae didn’t care about justice or truth. They cared about balance, oaths, and the purity of their bloodlines. And if they ever discovered I was half-Fae—tainted, diluted, *aberrant*—they wouldn’t exile me.
They’d erase me.
But the bond didn’t care about Fae purity. It only cared about *him*.
Kaelen.
Three days had passed since the Council meeting. Three days of silence between us, broken only by the hum of the bond—a constant, low thrum beneath my skin, like a second heartbeat. It flared when he was near, pulsed when I thought of him, burned when I dreamed of his hands on me, his mouth at my neck, his fangs grazing my pulse.
I hadn’t slept.
Not really.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Seraphine’s smirk, her gloating eyes, the fake bite mark on her throat. And worse—I saw Kaelen’s face when I asked him why it hurt to see her wearing his ring.
He hadn’t denied it fast enough.
And I’d felt it—the hitch in his breath, the flicker in his golden eyes. Not guilt. Not shame.
*Hunger*.
He wanted me to care. He *needed* me to care. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
I stood in front of the mirror in my suite, adjusting the high collar of my black gown. It was tight, restrictive, the fabric clinging to my body like a second skin. I’d chosen it deliberately—no cleavage, no slit, no temptation. I wasn’t here to seduce. I was here to survive.
And to steal.
The Unity Festival was a masquerade of unity, but beneath the glitter and the speeches, it was a battlefield. And tonight, during the diplomatic dinner, I would make my move. Kaelen would be distracted—hosting dignitaries, playing the gracious Alpha. And in that moment, I’d slip away, find the vault, and take the key.
Not the ancestral vault—the one in the Council chambers. The one that held the records of every supernatural transaction in Avalon for the past century. The one that might hold proof of Lucien’s crime.
I didn’t need Kaelen’s help.
I didn’t need his protection.
I didn’t need *him*.
The bond flared—hot, sudden—as if mocking me. I clenched my jaw, pressing a hand to the sigil on my wrist. It pulsed beneath my fingers, warm and alive. I’d tried everything to suppress it—warding spells, blood sigils, even a stolen vial of werewolf suppressant from Riven’s supply. Nothing worked. The bond wasn’t just magic. It was *alive*. And it was getting stronger.
A knock at the door.
“Come in,” I said, voice steady.
The door opened, and Riven stepped inside. He was dressed in formal black, a silver pin at his collar marking his rank as Beta. His expression was neutral, but his eyes—dark, observant—flicked to my wrist, then back to my face.
“You’re not ready,” he said.
“I’m ready.”
“The bond’s acting up.”
“It’s fine.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped aside. “Alpha wants you in the hall. In five minutes.”
“Tell him I’ll be there when I’m ready.”
“He said not to make him come get you.”
I met his gaze. “And if he does?”
“Then you’ll be carried.”
I exhaled sharply. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not supposed to.” He paused. “But I will say this—don’t push him too far tonight. The bond’s unstable. The Council’s watching. And if you trigger a reaction—”
“I know,” I snapped. “The bond will flare. People will notice. Scandal. Exile. I’ve heard it all.”
“Not just that,” he said quietly. “If the bond spikes during a lie, your magic will react. Sigils will glow. Blood will heat. And if someone *notices*—”
My breath caught. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying be careful what you say. And who you say it to.”
Then he turned and left.
I stared at the door, my pulse quickening. *The bond reacts to lies.* I hadn’t known that. Kaelen hadn’t told me. But it made sense—Fae contracts were built on truth. Oaths. Blood. If I lied while bound, the magic would know.
And it would *show*.
I touched the sigil on my wrist. It pulsed, warm and insistent. I could feel him now—close. Near. *Coming*.
I didn’t wait.
I stepped into the hall, my heels clicking against the stone. The estate was alive tonight—Enforcers in black uniforms patrolled the corridors, witches wove illusion spells in the grand foyer, Fae nobles drifted through the air like smoke. The scent of blood and roses hung thick in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of magic.
And then I saw him.
Kaelen.
He stood at the top of the grand staircase, tall and commanding, his golden eyes scanning the room. He wore black again, but this time with a blood-red tie, the color stark against the monochrome of his suit. His sleeves were rolled, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the faint scars from old battles. He looked like a warlord. A king.
And when his eyes found me, they *burned*.
I didn’t look away.
I climbed the stairs slowly, deliberately, my back straight, my chin high. I wouldn’t be cowed. I wouldn’t be controlled. I was Ebony Vale. I was a witch. I was a hunter.
And I was *not* his.
“You’re late,” he said as I reached the top.
“I’m on time.”
“I said five minutes ago.”
“You said *don’t make you come get me*,” I corrected. “I’m here. Aren’t I?”
His jaw tightened. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I’ve been playing with fire since the day I was born.”
He stepped closer, close enough that I felt the heat of his body, the pull of the bond. “Then don’t be surprised when you get burned.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“No,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “You’re afraid of *this*.” His hand lifted, not to touch me, but to hover over the sigil on my wrist. “The truth. The need. The way your body *aches* for me, even when your mind screams to run.”
My breath hitched. The sigil flared—golden light bleeding through the fabric of my glove. I clenched my fist, hiding it.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know *this*,” he said, stepping even closer. Our bodies were inches apart. His scent—pine, iron, wolf—flooded my senses. “I know the way your pulse jumps when I’m near. The way your magic bends to the bond. The way you *leaned in* in the garden.”
“That meant nothing.”
“Liar.”
The word hit me like a slap. And then—
The bond *screamed*.
Heat flooded my core. My skin burned. My nipples tightened against the fabric of my dress. The sigil on my wrist *glowed*, bright enough that I saw it reflected in his eyes.
He saw it too.
And he *smiled*.
“You feel that,” he said, voice rough. “That’s the bond. And it’s not just magic. It’s *hunger*. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“I’m not yours,” I hissed.
“You will be.”
Then he turned and walked into the ballroom, leaving me standing there, trembling, my body betraying me.
The dinner was a blur of faces, names, and lies.
I smiled. I nodded. I played the dutiful wife, the neutral envoy, the grieving daughter. I lied about my past, my magic, my intentions. And every time I did, the bond *reacted*.
My sigils flared. My blood heated. My skin prickled with magic. I had to clench my hands under the table, press my thighs together, fight to keep my breathing steady.
Kaelen watched me. Not openly. Not obviously. But I felt his gaze—hot, possessive, *knowing*. He saw every flicker of the sigil, every hitch in my breath, every time I lied and the bond punished me for it.
And he *liked* it.
By the end of the meal, I was on edge—my nerves frayed, my body humming with suppressed magic. The vault was just down the hall. One corridor. One guard. One moment of distraction.
I could do it.
I *had* to do it.
When the guests began to mingle, I made my move.
I slipped away from Kaelen’s side, weaving through the crowd, my heart pounding. The corridor was dimly lit, the air cooler. The vault door was ahead—black iron, etched with runes. The keyhole was shaped like a wolf’s head.
And the guard—Enforcer Varek—stood at attention, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the hall.
I didn’t hesitate.
I stepped forward, smiling. “Varek. Alpha needs you in the east wing. Now.”
He frowned. “I didn’t get the call.”
“It’s urgent,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Something about the Fae envoy. He said to come immediately.”
The bond *flared*—golden light bleeding through my glove. *Liar.*
Varek’s eyes flicked to my hand. “Your sigil—”
I didn’t let him finish.
I lunged, pressing a vial of sleep-dust into his nostril. He gasped, eyes widening, then collapsed.
I caught him, lowering him silently to the ground. My hands were shaking. The sigil on my wrist burned like fire.
But I didn’t care.
I turned to the vault.
And then—
“Looking for something?”
I froze.
Slowly, I turned.
Kaelen stood in the doorway, arms crossed, golden eyes blazing. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t shouting.
He was *amused*.
“I should’ve known you’d try this,” he said, stepping forward. “You’re too much like your mother.”
My breath caught. “Don’t talk about her.”
“She tried to steal from me too. Right before she died.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He stepped closer. “She came to me the night she died. Asked for protection. Said Lucien was after her research. I told her to stay. But she didn’t listen.”
“And you let her walk into a trap.”
“I didn’t *know* he’d kill her.”
“Liar.”
The bond flared—hot, violent. My sigils glowed, crimson and gold, racing up my arms. My magic crackled in the air.
And then—
He moved.
Fast. Inhumanly fast.
One second he was across the room. The next, he had me pinned against the wall, his body hard against mine, one hand gripping my wrist, the other sliding up my side.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he growled.
“Go to hell.”
“Not yet.”
His hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my waist. Fire erupted. My breath hitched. My back arched. The sigils flared, magic sparking between us.
“You feel that?” he murmured, his mouth at my ear. “That’s the bond. And it *hates* lies. Especially when they’re about *us*.”
“There is no *us*.”
“There will be.”
His hand moved higher, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. I gasped, my body arching into his touch, my core clenching.
And then—
“Scent-marking ritual,” he said, voice low. “You’ve triggered it. And now, you’re going to *complete* it.”
My blood ran cold. “No.”
“Yes.”
He lifted me, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. I kicked, twisted, but the bond held me—pulled me to him, made me *want* him.
He carried me down the hall, past silent Enforcers, through a hidden door, into a chamber I’d never seen before.
Dark stone. Candles. A low bed covered in black furs.
A ritual room.
He set me down gently, but didn’t let go. His hands stayed on my waist. Our faces were inches apart. His breath was warm on my lips.
“This is how it works,” he said. “Skin to skin. Truth to truth. The bond demands honesty. And if you lie—”
“I’ll burn,” I finished.
“Yes.”
“And if I tell the truth?”
“Then the bond stabilizes. For a while.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then the bond-sickness takes you. Fever. Hallucinations. Pain.”
He stepped closer. “So. Do you want to lie? Or do you want to *survive*?”
My heart pounded. My skin burned. My body *ached*.
And then—
I did the only thing I could.
I reached up, gripped the collar of his shirt, and *pulled*.
Buttons popped. Fabric tore. His chest was exposed—hard, scarred, *hot*.
And I pressed my palm to his skin.
The bond *screamed*.
Fire. Light. Magic.
And then—
“I hate you,” I whispered.
But my body said something else entirely.
And he *knew* it.
“Prove it,” he murmured, his hands sliding up my sides. “Say it again. And mean it.”
I opened my mouth.
But no words came.
Because the truth—
Was that I didn’t.