I woke to the scent of him.
Not pine. Not iron. Not the cold, sharp tang of werewolf alpha that clung to Frostfen like frost on stone.
Blood.
Warm. Rich. Metallic.
Riven’s blood.
It coated my lips. My tongue. My teeth. Thick, coppery, impossible to ignore. My eyes snapped open, my body jolting upright, my breath ragged as if I’d been drowning and only just broken the surface. The suite was dark, the fire reduced to embers, the silver-lined walls blocking any trace of magic. Moonlight cut through the high window, painting the floor in pale stripes. And beside me—
Riven.
He lay on his back, one arm flung over his face, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. His tunic was open at the collar, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscrossed his ribs. His skin was warm gold in the dim light, dusted with silver hair that trailed down his abdomen. His scent—his arousal—still clung to the air, sharp and sweet and unmistakable.
And his wrist—
His wrist was bandaged.
Wrapped in white linen, stained with a dark, spreading bloom.
Blood.
My stomach dropped.
I touched my lips. My fingers came away red.
“No,” I whispered.
But the taste was real. The scent was real. The memory—
There was no memory.
Just fragments. Flashes. Heat. Hunger. The press of his body against mine. The sound of his breath, ragged and broken. The way my magic surged, wild and electric, coiling low in my belly, pulling me toward him like gravity.
And then—
Darkness.
“Kael,” I said, voice raw. “Kael!”
The door burst open.
He stood there, his Beta instincts on high alert, his sword drawn, his eyes scanning the room for threats. When he saw me—sitting up, trembling, blood on my lips—his expression didn’t change. But his grip on the hilt tightened.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“What happened?” I demanded. “Last night. The bond. The blood. Did I—”
He didn’t answer.
Just stepped inside. Closed the door.
And then—
“You were screaming his name,” he said.
My breath caught.
“What?”
“All night,” he said. “Moaning. Crying out. Begging. You were—”
“I didn’t,” I snapped. “I wouldn’t.”
“You did,” he said. “And he answered. Every time. Held you. Touched you. Whispered to you. And when you bit him—”
My stomach twisted.
“I didn’t bite him.”
“You did,” Kael said. “On the wrist. Deep. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t pull away. Just let you feed. Let you take what you needed.”
“It wasn’t me,” I said, voice breaking. “It was the bond. The heat. The magic. I wasn’t in control.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “The pack heard. The sentinels saw. Lyria’s vial of his blood was found in your chambers. And now—”
“Now what?”
“Now,” he said, “they think you’ve claimed him. That you’ve taken what was never yours to take.”
I stared at him. At the truth in his eyes. At the way his jaw clenched, like he was holding back words he didn’t want to say.
“And Riven?” I asked. “What does he say?”
Kael hesitated. “He doesn’t remember.”
My breath caught.
“The bond,” he said. “It’s not just magic. It’s not just fate. It’s a weapon. And last night—”
“Last night, it broke us,” I finished, voice hollow.
He didn’t deny it.
Just looked at me. Really looked.
And I saw it—the pity. The doubt. The unspoken accusation.
You’re the enemy.
You brought the blood.
You’re poisoning the King.
“I need to see him,” I said, swinging my legs over the edge of the cot.
“He’s still asleep,” Kael said. “And the pack is gathering. Thorne’s men are stirring. They’re calling you a thief. A liar. A vampire-blooded hybrid who used the bond to steal the King’s strength.”
“And you?” I asked. “Do you believe them?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stepped aside.
Let me pass.
—
The great hall was chaos.
Every sentinel, every soldier, every elder stood in rigid formation, their eyes forward, their expressions unreadable. The air was thick with tension, with the scent of pine and sweat and something darker—betrayal. Mira watched from the back, her face calm, her hands folded. The two fae were absent—likely still under guard, still unwelcome in the inner sanctum.
And in the center—
Lyria.
She stood beside the long stone table, her dark hair coiled like a serpent, her eyes gleaming with triumph. But it wasn’t her presence that froze the room.
It was what she was holding.
A vial.
Small. Glass. Labeled in delicate script.
Riven.
And inside—
Blood.
Dark. Thick. Unmistakable.
“You see?” she said, her voice carrying. “She’s not just a hybrid. Not just an abomination. She’s a leech. A blood-drinker. She fed from him in the night. Took his strength. Claimed him while he slept.”
Murmurs rose from the crowd.
“She’s lying,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was steady, cold. “I didn’t claim him. I didn’t feed from him. The bond—”
“The bond?” Lyria laughed. “The bond doesn’t make you bite. Doesn’t make you scream his name. Doesn’t make you beg for him.”
My breath caught.
“Kael heard you,” she said. “The sentinels saw you. And now—”
She held up the vial.
“Now we have proof. His blood. In your chambers. On your lips. In your veins.”
“You planted it,” I said. “You left it there. You’ve been waiting for this.”
“And why would I?” she asked, smiling. “I loved him. I wore his ring. I shared his bed. But you—”
She stepped closer.
“You’re nothing. A half-breed. A monster. And you think you can just take him?”
“I didn’t take him,” I said, voice low. “He’s not yours to lose.”
“He was,” she said. “Until you poisoned him. Until you used the bond to weaken him. To control him.”
“Enough,” a voice said.
Riven.
He stood in the archway, his tunic open at the collar, his bandaged wrist at his side, his pale gold eyes blazing. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at Lyria. Just stepped forward, his presence like a storm held at bay.
“You’re out of line,” he said to Lyria. “You have no authority here. No claim. No right.”
“But I have the truth,” she said. “And the pack knows it. They saw you. They heard you. They know she took what was never hers.”
“And what do you know?” Riven asked, stepping closer. “You, who stole my ring? Who spread lies about us? Who tried to bind me with forged memories?”
She didn’t flinch. “I know what I saw. What I heard. What I smell.”
“And what’s that?”
“Her arousal,” she said. “Sharp. Sweet. Unmistakable. She wanted you. Needed you. And she took you while you slept.”
The pack stilled.
And I—
I stood there, frozen, my heart shattering like glass.
Because it didn’t matter that I hadn’t meant to.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t remembered.
It didn’t matter that the bond had broken us, that the magic had taken control.
Because the truth was written in the scent in the air, in the blood on my lips, in the way my body still ached for him.
And worse—
He hadn’t stopped me.
He hadn’t pulled away.
He’d let me feed.
Let me take what I needed.
And if he hadn’t wanted it—
Why hadn’t he fought back?
—
Later, in the suite, I stood at the window, the bond humming between us, the memory of the night before still burning in my veins.
He didn’t speak. Just stood behind me, his presence like a storm held at bay. His breath moved with mine. His scent surrounded me. And the bond—oh, the bond—pulsed like a live wire, thrumming through every nerve.
“You don’t remember,” I said, voice low.
“No,” he said. “Just flashes. Heat. Hunger. The way you felt against me. The way your magic surged. The way you—”
He stopped.
“You didn’t stop me,” I said.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “The bond—it wasn’t just you. It was me too. I wanted it. Needed it. And when you bit me—”
“You let me.”
“Yes,” he said. “Because it felt like truth. Like surrender. Like the only thing that’s ever felt real in ten years of lies.”
My breath caught.
“And now?” I asked.
“Now,” he said, stepping closer, “I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what they say. I don’t care if you took me in the night. Because I’d give myself to you in the light.”
I turned.
Looked at him. Really looked.
And then—
“Prove it,” I said.
“How?”
“By standing with me,” I said. “By trusting me. By letting me see the man behind the king.”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached up.
His fingers brushed my lip—where his blood had been.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said.
“Neither are you,” I whispered.
And as the storm raged outside and the fire died to embers, I stood there, heart pounding, breath unsteady, and wondered—
Who was really trapping whom?
And worse—
Did I even want to escape?
—
That night, I stood in the bathing chamber, the water steaming in the iron basin, my reflection fractured in the ripples. I stripped off my tunic, my fingers trembling, and stepped in.
The heat soothed my muscles, but not my mind.
Outside, the fortress was silent. The pack was in chaos. Thorne had vanished. Lyria had disappeared into the night. Riven had issued a decree—anyone found aiding them would be executed.
But none of it mattered.
Because I’d seen the truth.
Not in the scroll.
Not in the key.
But in the way his body had responded to my bite.
And I knew—
If I stayed, I’d lose myself.
If I fought, I’d break.
And if I loved him—
I’d burn.
I dipped under the water, letting it swallow me, the silence pressing in, the heat searing my skin.
And in that moment, I made a decision.
I would not be used.
I would not be played.
I would not be hers.
And if Riven couldn’t choose me—
Then I’d choose myself.
Even if it meant burning this place to the ground.