The echo of Riven’s words clung to me like smoke. *You’re mine now.* They coiled around my ribs, tightened with every breath. I stood frozen in the Chamber of Echoes, still pressed against him, our hands fused by heat and magic, the air thick with the scent of ozone and something darker—*him*. Pine and iron and the raw edge of a storm about to break.
The Council was in chaos. The High Witch staggered back, her hands raised in warding. “Fated bond,” she whispered, eyes wide. “It’s ignited. Spontaneously. Uncontrollably.”
“Impossible,” hissed the vampire delegate, her voice like cracked glass. “He’s never had a mate. The records are clear.”
“The records,” snapped the fae noble, his voice dripping with amusement, “are written by wolves. And wolves lie.”
Riven didn’t react. His grip on my waist was iron, unyielding. His breath still scorched my neck. I could feel the thunder of his heart against my sternum, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric of my tunic. My own pulse hadn’t slowed. It raced, erratic, trapped between fury and something else—something low and molten that pooled in my belly and made my skin hum.
I forced my head up. Looked into his eyes.
Gold. Pale, predatory. But beneath the dominance, something flickered—*confusion*. Maybe even fear. Not of me. Of *this*. Of the bond that had just exploded between us like a landmine buried in our blood.
Good.
Let him be afraid.
I wrenched my hand free. The separation sent a jolt through me—pain, sharp and sudden, like a nerve ripped from bone. I bit back a gasp, straightened. My knees threatened to buckle, but I locked them. I would not fall in front of him.
“That was a malfunction,” I said, voice steady, cold. “The ritual failed. I’m not his mate.”
“The bond doesn’t lie,” the High Witch said. “It recognizes blood. Destiny.”
“Destiny?” I laughed, sharp and brittle. “You mean a biological glitch. A curse disguised as fate.”
Riven’s hand shot out, fast as a viper, and gripped my wrist. His fingers were hot, calloused. “You felt it,” he said, low, rough. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
I yanked my arm. He didn’t let go.
“I felt *magic*,” I snapped. “Unstable, uncontrolled. Just like your pack.”
His eyes narrowed. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You’re staying.”
“I have diplomatic immunity. I’m not your prisoner.”
“You’re not leaving,” he said, stepping closer. His scent wrapped around me—wild, masculine, dangerous. “Not until this is stabilized. Not until the Council decides what to do with you.”
“Then let the Council decide *now*.”
“They can’t,” the human delegate said, voice trembling. “The bond’s too volatile. If they separate—bond sickness. Fever. Hallucinations. They could die.”
My stomach dropped.
Riven’s lips curled. “So you see, *Lira*,” he said, dragging out the false name like a threat, “you’re not going anywhere.”
—
They took me to a wing of the palace I hadn’t seen before—cold stone corridors lit by flickering sconces, the air thick with the scent of damp and old blood. Two sentinels escorted me, silent, their eyes forward. I didn’t resist. Not yet. I needed information. I needed to breathe.
The room they shoved me into was small, circular, with no windows. A single door, reinforced with silver bands. A low cot. A basin. No mirror. No weapons. No escape.
“You’ll remain here until further notice,” one sentinel said.
“And the king?” I asked.
“He’ll be joining you.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
“Council order,” the other said. “To stabilize the bond. Twelve hours of forced proximity. No separation.”
I stared at them. “You’re locking us in a room together?”
“To prevent bond sickness,” the first repeated, as if that explained everything.
It didn’t.
It explained *nothing*.
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.
I was alone.
For now.
I paced. Once. Twice. My fingers twitched toward the dagger at my thigh—still there, thank the tides. Mira had enchanted it. Silver wouldn’t touch it. Neither would magic. It was the one thing I could trust.
I stopped in front of the cot. Sat. My hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From *him*.
The bond still pulsed in my veins, a low, insistent throb. Every nerve was alive, hypersensitive. The rough weave of my tunic against my skin felt like sandpaper. The scent of the stone—damp, mineral—was overwhelming. And beneath it all, a whisper of *pine and iron*, clinging to me like a second skin.
I pressed my palms to my temples. *Focus. Think.*
The ritual had failed. The bond had ignited. Riven was bound to me—whether he wanted it or not. The Council was scared. They didn’t know what to do with a fated bond between a pureblood alpha and a hybrid they all believed was an abomination.
But *I* knew what to do.
I would use this.
He thought he had me trapped.
He had no idea who he was dealing with.
A key turned in the lock.
I stood.
The door opened.
Riven filled the frame.
He’d shed his ceremonial armor. Wore only black trousers and a sleeveless tunic that clung to the hard planes of his chest and arms. His silver-streaked hair was loose, falling over his shoulders. His eyes—still that pale, unsettling gold—locked onto me.
He stepped inside.
The door shut. Locked.
We were alone.
“You’re not staying,” I said.
He didn’t answer. Walked to the center of the room. Scanned it—cold, assessing. Then turned to me. “Sit down. You’re pacing like a caged animal.”
“Funny. That’s exactly what I am.”
He exhaled, slow. “This is temporary. Twelve hours. Then we’ll be separated. The bond will stabilize. You’ll go back to your little pack. I’ll go back to mine.”
“And the bond?”
“It’ll fade.”
I almost laughed. “You don’t believe that.”
His jaw tightened. “It has to.”
“Why?” I stepped closer. “Afraid of what people will say? That the great King Riven, the purifier of hybrids, is bound to one?”
His eyes flashed. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Then prove it.” I reached into my sleeve. Pulled out a vial—clear liquid, shimmering faintly. “Drink this.”
He didn’t move. “What is it?”
“A truth serum. Fae-made. One drop, and you’ll answer any question I ask. Honestly.”
“You think I’d drink poison from your hand?”
“It’s not poison.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?”
“You don’t have to trust me,” I said, stepping closer. “You just have to want the truth.”
He stared at me. At the vial. Then at my face. “Why do *you* want the truth?”
“Because I want to know why you killed my mother.”
The words hung in the air.
His expression didn’t change. But something in his eyes—something dark and wounded—flickered.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, voice low.
“I know she was burned alive by her own pack. I know you led the coup. I know you took the throne.”
“I didn’t—”
“Drink it,” I said, holding the vial out. “Prove you’re not a murderer.”
He didn’t take it.
Instead, he moved.
Fast.
One second he was across the room. The next, he was in front of me, his hand closing around my wrist, the vial trapped between us. His grip was crushing. I gasped, tried to twist free, but he was too strong.
“You think I’m going to let you poison me?” he growled, his face inches from mine. “You think I don’t know what you are?”
“Let go of me!” I snapped, yanking back.
He didn’t. His other hand shot out, caught my other wrist. Now both of my arms were pinned, held above my head against the stone wall. His body pressed against mine, hard and unyielding. I could feel every ridge of muscle, every beat of his heart.
“I know you’re not Lira Voss,” he said, voice a whisper. “I know you’re not from the Delta Reaches. I know you’re lying. And I know you’re dangerous.”
My breath came fast. “Then kill me. If I’m so dangerous, end it now.”
His eyes burned into mine. “I should.”
“Then do it.”
He didn’t move.
The air between us crackled. The bond pulsed, hotter now, a live wire under my skin. My body—traitorous, treacherous—responded. My nipples tightened. My breath hitched. A low, aching heat coiled in my belly.
And I saw it in his eyes—*he felt it too*.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. Just for a second. But it was enough.
I jerked my knee up.
He twisted, blocked it with his thigh. But the movement threw him off balance. I twisted my wrist, broke one hand free, and slammed my palm into his chest—hard.
He staggered back.
I didn’t wait. I lunged for the vial I’d dropped. Scooped it up. Turned—
And he was on me.
One arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me back against him. The other hand caught my wrist again, pinning it behind my back. I struggled, kicked, but he was too strong. He lifted me off my feet, carried me across the room, and threw me onto the cot.
I rolled, came up fast—
And he was there, looming over me, his shadow swallowing the room.
“Stop fighting me,” he said, voice rough.
“Or what?” I spat. “You’ll lock me in a room? Oh wait—you already did.”
He stepped closer. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“By imprisoning me?”
“By keeping you close. The bond—it’s unstable. If we’re apart too long, it’ll make us sick. Maybe kill us.”
“So this is *protection*?” I laughed, bitter. “You call this protection?”
“I call it survival.”
“And what happens when the twelve hours are up? When the bond *doesn’t* fade? When it gets stronger?”
He didn’t answer.
But I saw it—the flicker in his eyes. The doubt. The fear.
Good.
Let him be afraid.
I stood slowly. Walked past him. To the basin. Poured water. Washed my face. Tried to steady my breathing, my pulse, the fire in my veins.
When I turned, he was watching me.
Not with hatred.
With something else.
Something that made my skin burn.
“Sit,” he said. “We’re not getting out of this room until morning. Might as well not waste the time.”
I didn’t move.
“Sit,” he said again, softer this time.
Slowly, I walked to the cot. Sat on the edge.
He didn’t sit beside me. Sat on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out. A few feet between us. Not close. Not far.
“Tell me your real name,” he said.
I didn’t answer.
“I know it’s not Lira.”
“And I know you didn’t kill my mother,” I said quietly.
He stilled. “What?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me. Not with hate. With… something else. Confusion. Regret. You didn’t burn her. Someone made you think you did.”
His breath came sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I turned to him. “Then tell me. Who did?”
He didn’t answer.
The silence stretched. The bond pulsed between us, a slow, steady thrum. The heat in the room climbed. Or maybe it was just me.
I stood. Walked to the other side of the room. Needed space. Needed air.
But the room was small. There was no space.
I turned—and he was behind me.
Close.
So close I could feel the heat of his body, the rough fabric of his tunic against my arm.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Or what?” he said, echoing my words from earlier. “You’ll fight me? You’ll run?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t.”
“Watch me.”
But I didn’t move.
Neither did he.
The air between us was thick, charged. The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I gasped. My back arched. My hands flew to the wall for support.
And then—
His hand brushed my waist.
Just a touch. Light. Barely there.
But it burned.
I froze.
He didn’t pull away.
His fingers—warm, calloused—curved against my side, just above the flare of my hip. His thumb moved, once, slow, across the thin fabric of my tunic.
My breath caught.
“You feel it too,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t lie.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because he was right.
I did.
And it terrified me.
Slowly, he stepped back.
I turned.
He was watching me. Not with triumph. Not with cruelty.
With something that looked like *hunger*.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Silverhold, I wasn’t sure who the predator was.
Or who the prey.
—
We didn’t speak again.
I sat on the cot. He sat on the floor. The space between us hummed with tension, with the unspoken, with the bond that pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Hours passed.
The torches burned low.
I closed my eyes. Tried to sleep. Tried to shut out the heat, the scent of him, the way my body still ached from that single, devastating touch.
And then—
I felt it.
His breath.
On my neck.
Warm. Controlled.
Dangerous.
My eyes flew open.
He was behind me. Kneeling. Close enough that his chest nearly touched my back. His hands were braced on either side of me, caging me in.
“You’re not sleeping,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“Neither are you,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just stayed there.
Watching.
Breathing.
And I knew—
He wasn’t sleeping.
He was waiting.
For what, I didn’t know.
But I could feel it coming.
Like a storm.
Like fate.