The morning after the scent-marking ritual, I woke with Kaelen’s arm slung heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. My body ached—deep, delicious, *used*—and the golden sigils on my wrist pulsed softly, like a heartbeat synced to his. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just lay there, caught between the memory of what we’d done and the horror of what it meant.
We’d fucked.
Not just touched. Not just kissed. *Fucked.* Hard, feral, *truthful*. I’d come from his words, his fingers, his cock buried inside me. I’d screamed his name. I’d bitten him—hard enough to draw blood—when I climaxed. And when he came, it wasn’t just release.
It was *claiming*.
And I’d let him.
No—worse. I’d *pulled* him deeper.
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to the furs beneath me. The scent of sex and wolf clung to the air, thick and inescapable. My skin still burned where he’d touched me, where he’d gripped, where he’d *claimed*. And worse—my body *wanted* it again.
I hated that.
I hated *him*.
But not enough to push him away.
He stirred behind me, his arm tightening, his lips brushing the nape of my neck. “Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
I didn’t answer. Just lay there, rigid, my breath shallow.
He chuckled—low, knowing. “You can pretend all you want. But your body remembers.”
“My body’s cursed,” I snapped, finally rolling away from him. The cold air hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps. I reached for the torn remains of my gown, but it was beyond repair. I grabbed a black robe from the foot of the bed instead, tying it tightly around my waist.
Kaelen sat up slowly, the furs slipping down to his hips, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the scars, the thick muscle of his shoulders. He was beautiful. Dangerous. *Mine.*
No.
Not mine.
I turned away before I could look too long. “What now?”
“Now?” He stood, completely unselfconscious in his nudity, his cock half-hard, thick and heavy between his thighs. My breath caught. I hated that it did. “Now we face the Council. The ritual stabilized the bond—for now. But they’ll want proof. A public appearance. A show of unity.”
“Of course,” I said, voice flat. “Because nothing says unity like a forced marriage between enemies.”
“It’s not just marriage,” he said, stepping into his pants, pulling them up over his hips. “It’s survival. If the bond destabilizes again, the Council will exile us. And you’ll lose your shot at Lucien.”
“And if I don’t play the devoted wife, I’ll burn.”
“Yes.”
I turned to him. “Then I’ll burn.”
He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. His scent—pine, iron, *him*—filled my lungs. His golden eyes burned into mine. “You won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you care.”
“I don’t.”
“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 the robe. The sigils on my wrist glowed faintly, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Kaelen 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 hate you,” I whispered.
“Then why does your body respond when I touch you?”
He didn’t touch me. Didn’t have to. Just stood there, close enough that I felt the heat of his body, the pull of the bond, the *need* coiling low in my belly.
I turned away. “I’m not playing your games.”
“This isn’t a game,” he said. “It’s war. And you’re on my side now—whether you like it or not.”
I didn’t answer. Just walked to the door, my bare feet silent on the stone.
When I reached the corridor, I heard him say, low and final:
“You’re not leaving me, Ebony. Not ever.”
I didn’t look back.
The estate was quiet—too quiet. No Enforcers in the halls. No witches weaving illusions. No Fae drifting like smoke. Just silence. And tension.
I found Riven in the training hall, sparring with two younger wolves. He saw me first—stopped mid-motion, his eyes narrowing. The others turned.
“Ms. Vale,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re up early.”
“I don’t sleep much,” I said, stepping inside. The scent of blood and sweat hung thick in the air. “Where’s Kaelen?”
“Meeting with the Council. Lucien’s pushing for a vote on the Unity Festival reforms.”
“Of course he is.”
Riven studied me. “You look… different.”
“I feel like hell.”
“The bond?”
“It’s stable. For now.”
He nodded. “Good. Because you’re going to need it.”
“Why?”
Before he could answer, the doors burst open.
And *she* walked in.
Seraphine.
She wore a silk robe—*Kaelen’s* robe—draped loosely over one shoulder, the fabric slipping to reveal the curve of her breast, the faint, glowing bite mark on her collarbone. Her hair was tousled, her lips swollen, her skin flushed. She looked like she’d just been *fucked*.
And she was smiling.
“Ebony,” she purred, stepping forward. “I was *just* thinking about you.”
My breath caught.
Behind me, Riven went still. “Seraphine. You’re not allowed here.”
“I was invited,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “By *Kaelen*.”
“Liar,” I said, voice low.
She laughed—soft, intimate. “Am I? Ask him. Ask him if he didn’t spend the night in my bed. If he didn’t *mark* me. If he didn’t whisper your name while he came inside me.”
My stomach dropped.
“You’re pathetic,” I said, stepping forward. “You think a glamour bite and a stolen robe make you his?”
“I think the proof is on my body,” she said, turning her head, tilting her neck. The bite mark glowed faintly—*real* this time. Not a glamour. “And in his bed. And in his *mouth*.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her—vanilla, sex, *him*. “Then why does he still taste like me?”
And then—
She leaned in and *kissed* me.
Not on the lips.
On the cheek.
But it was worse. Intimate. *Mocking*.
Her lips were warm. Her breath sweet. And when she pulled back, she whispered:
“He likes it rough. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you how he *bites*?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But inside, something *shattered*.
Jealousy. Hot. Vicious. *Unwanted*.
It clawed at my chest, twisted in my gut. I didn’t *care* if Kaelen had slept with her. I didn’t *care* if he’d bitten her. He was the enemy. A means to an end.
But my body—my traitorous, bond-cursed body—reacted.
My skin burned. My breath came short. My core *clenched*.
And the sigils on my wrist—*glowed*.
Riven saw it. “Seraphine,” he said, voice sharp. “Leave. Now.”
She smiled. “Or what? You’ll throw me out? After everything I’ve shared with your Alpha?”
“You’ve shared *nothing*,” I said, my voice breaking. “He was with *me* last night. Not you.”
“Was he?” She turned her head slightly, showing the bite mark again. “Then why does he have *my* blood on his sheets? Why does he still carry my scent?”
“Because he’s a liar,” I said. “And you’re a fool for believing him.”
She laughed. “We’ll see.”
Then she turned and walked out, her hips swaying, the robe slipping from one shoulder.
Silence.
I didn’t look at Riven. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, heart pounding, hands shaking.
“She’s lying,” he said.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Kaelen was with you. I felt the bond stabilize. It wouldn’t have if he’d been with someone else.”
“Then why does she have a real bite mark?”
“Because she’s desperate. Because Lucien’s using her to destabilize the bond. To make you doubt him. To make you *leave*.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you lose. And so does he.”
I turned to him. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’ve never seen him like this,” he said quietly. “Never seen him hesitate. Never seen him laugh. Never seen him *beg*.”
My breath caught.
“He’s falling for you, Ebony. And if you walk away now, you’ll destroy him.”
I didn’t answer. Just walked out, my body trembling, my thighs slick with need.
I didn’t care about Seraphine.
I didn’t care about her lies.
I didn’t care about her *proof*.
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 Kaelen in the Council chamber, standing by the glowing contract scroll, his back to the door. He didn’t turn when I entered. Just stood there, silent, his shoulders tense.
“She was in your room,” I said, voice flat.
He didn’t answer.
“She was wearing your robe. She had a bite mark. She said you spent the night with her.”
Still nothing.
“*Answer me*.”
He turned slowly, his golden eyes blazing. “You don’t believe her.”
“Do you deny it?”
“I don’t have to. The bond would know. If I’d been with her, it would reject you. It would burn. But it doesn’t. It *wants* you. Only you.”
“Then why does she have a real bite mark?”
“Because I let her.”
My breath caught. “*What?*”
“Not like that,” he snapped. “She came to me last night—after the ritual. Said Lucien was threatening her. Said she needed protection. I gave her a *defensive* mark. A ward. Not a mating bite. Not a claim.”
“And the robe?”
“She stole it.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to *trust* me.”
“After everything? After Lucien? After the vault? After you *let* her wear your scent?”
“I did it to protect the pack,” he said, stepping closer. “To keep Lucien from using her against us. You think I *wanted* her in my bed? You think I *wanted* her blood on my sheets?”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d react like this.”
“Like *what*?”
“Jealous.”
The word hit me like a blade.
“I’m not jealous.”
“Liar.”
The bond *flared*—hot, violent. My sigils glowed, crimson and gold, racing up my arms. My magic crackled in the air.
And then—
I shoved him.
Hard.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing.
So I did it again.
And again.
Until I was screaming, my fists pounding his chest, my voice raw. “You don’t get to *control* me! You don’t get to *lie* and expect me to trust you! You don’t get to *use* me and then pretend you care!”
He caught my wrists, pinning them above my head, pressing me against the wall. Our bodies aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip. Heat flooded between us. The sigils on my wrist burned against his skin. My breath hitched. My core clenched.
“I *do* care,” he growled. “And you know it. The bond knows it. Your body knows 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 mouth at my ear. “That’s not hate. That’s *need*. And it’s not going to be denied.”
“Prove she’s lying,” I demanded, my voice breaking. “Prove you didn’t want her.”
He leaned in—so close our lips almost touched. His breath was hot on my mouth. His eyes burned into mine.
“Or prove you care,” he whispered.
And then—
I did.
I kissed him.
Hard. Deep. *Desperate*.
His mouth opened under mine, his tongue meeting mine, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him. 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 he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist, his cock hard against my core, I didn’t stop him.
Because I knew the truth.
And so did he.
I didn’t care about Seraphine.
I didn’t care about her lies.
I didn’t care about her *proof*.
But I cared that Kaelen hadn’t denied it fast enough.
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.