The summons came at dawn.
Not a scroll. Not a whisper. Not even a knock.
It was the bond.
A low, insistent throb beneath my skin, like a second heartbeat gone wrong. A pulse of heat that flared from my wrist, spreading up my arm, coiling around my ribs, pooling low in my belly. I woke gasping, drenched in sweat, my sheets tangled around my legs, my dagger clutched in my hand like a lifeline.
But it wasn’t fear that had woken me.
It was need.
For him.
For Kaelen.
I pressed my palm to the mark on my wrist. It pulsed beneath my skin, hot and angry, like it was being starved. Like it was being torn apart. And then—
A whisper.
Not from the shadows.
Not from the wind.
From the bond.
Low. Ancient. Female.
“Sable of the Hybrid Tribes,” it intoned. “You have been severed from your mate for twenty-three hours, fifty-seven minutes. The bond is destabilizing. The fever is rising. Return to him. Or break.”
My breath caught.
Twenty-four hours.
That was the rule. The ancient law etched into the Codex Sanguis, whispered in the corners of the Spire, feared by every bonded pair: stay apart too long, and the bond turns against you. Pain. Hallucinations. Weakness. Madness. Death.
And I’d been apart from him for nearly a full day.
Since the Council chamber. Since I’d bitten him. Since he’d said, “I’d give up everything.”
I’d stayed in my chambers. Refused his visits. Refused his messages. Refused even to look at the door when his shadow passed beneath it. I’d told myself it was strength. Independence. Control.
But now—
Now I knew the truth.
I was breaking.
And the bond wasn’t just warning me.
It was punishing me.
—
The fever hit fast.
Not like a human illness. Not like heat or chills or weakness. It was magic. Raw. Unstable. A surge of power that twisted inside me, clawing at my ribs, burning through my veins. I staggered to my feet, my boots slipping on the stone, my vision blurring at the edges. The room tilted. The torches flickered, their flames turning blue, then black, then gone.
And then—
He was there.
Kaelen.
Standing at the foot of my bed, dressed in black, his coat open, his fangs just visible when he spoke. His eyes burned into mine—dark, hungry, knowing.
“You’re late,” he said, voice low.
“I’m not—”
But he wasn’t real.
He flickered. Like a shadow. Like a memory. And then—
He was gone.
I gasped, clutching my chest, my fingers digging into my skin. The pain flared—sharp, deep, like a knife twisting in my ribs. I dropped to my knees, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my magic sparking at my fingertips, uncontrolled, wild.
And then—
Another vision.
This time, it was my mother.
Standing in the doorway, dressed in silver and emerald, her hair long and dark, her eyes sharp with intelligence. She looked at me—her gaze soft, sad—and whispered, “You’ve forgotten me.”
“No,” I choked. “I haven’t.”
“You have,” she said. “You’ve chosen him over me. Over your mission. Over your people.”
“I haven’t—”
And then—
She was gone.
And I was alone.
Alone and burning.
The pain flared again—worse this time. My muscles seized. My vision blurred. I could feel the bond tearing at me, not just my body, but my mind, my soul, my will. It wanted him. Needed him. And it would destroy me to get him.
I crawled.
Not with dignity. Not with pride.
With my hands and knees, my dagger dragging behind me, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I reached the door. Fumbled with the latch. Fell into the corridor.
And then—
Darkness.
Not the absence of light.
The absence of everything.
No sound. No scent. No magic. Just silence. And cold. And pain.
I was dying.
Not from a blade.
Not from poison.
From the bond.
From the magic that had claimed me. That had chosen me. That had made me his.
And I couldn’t fight it.
Not anymore.
Because I didn’t want to.
Because I needed him.
—
I don’t know how long I lay there.
Minutes? Hours? Days?
Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Just the pain. The cold. The silence.
And then—
A sound.
Boots.
Clicking against stone.
Fast. Hard. Unstoppable.
And then—
A voice.
Not a whisper. Not a dream.
Real.
“Sable.”
I tried to speak. To call out. To say his name.
But my throat was raw. My lips were cracked. My voice was gone.
And then—
Hands.
Strong. Calloused. His.
Lifting me. Cradling me. Pulling me against a chest that didn’t beat but was warm. Alive. Mine.
“I’ve got you,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
I wanted to fight. Wanted to shove him away. Wanted to prove I wasn’t weak.
But I couldn’t.
Because I was.
And because I didn’t want to.
I buried my face in his coat, breathing him in—cold stone, iron, that dark hunger that had haunted me since the moment I saw him. And then—
He carried me.
Not to his chambers. Not to the war room. Not to the healing halls.
To the forgotten chamber.
The one with the shattered pedestal. The torn tapestries. The dagger on the floor.
The one where it had all begun.
—
He laid me on the bed—rough, cold, unfamiliar—and knelt beside me, his dark eyes burning into mine. His wrist—where I’d bitten him—was still bleeding, dark blood soaking the cuff of his coat, dripping onto the stone. But he didn’t wipe it. Didn’t hide it.
Just let it fall.
Like an offering.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low.
I tried. But my vision was blurring. My body was shaking. The pain was flaring—worse than before.
“Sable.” His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Look at me.”
I did.
And then—
He bit me.
Not on the neck.
Not on the wrist.
On the breast—just above the heart.
Sharp. Hot. Mine.
I screamed, my body arching, my magic exploding in a surge of light and power that made the chamber tremble, the runes flare gold, the air crackle with magic. Blood—dark, ancient, his—filled my mouth, coated my tongue, poured down my throat.
And then—
The fever broke.
Not slowly. Not gradually.
In an instant.
The pain vanished. The cold vanished. The silence shattered. And then—
Heat.
Not pain.
Not magic.
Need.
For him.
For his voice. His hands. His fangs on my skin.
For the way his body pressed against mine, hard and ready, his breath hot against my neck, his blood roaring in his veins. For the way my thighs clenched around his hip, my hands dug into his shoulders, my mouth opened under his like I was starving.
And worse—
I didn’t want to hate it.
I didn’t want to fight it.
I wanted to go back.
To that moment.
Before I pulled away.
Before I said I can’t.
Before I lied.
Because I could.
I could.
And I wanted to.
—
I reached for him.
Not with hesitation. Not with fear.
With hunger.
My hands found his coat, yanked it open, tore at his shirt. Buttons flew. Fabric ripped. And then—
Skin.
Hard. Pale. Perfect.
I pressed my palms to his chest, feeling the heat, the strength, the way his fangs lengthened when I touched him. And then—
I kissed him.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Angry. Desperate.
My lips crushed his, my teeth nipping, my tongue demanding. He groaned, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer, his body responding, his blood roaring. The bond flared, a surge of heat and power that made the runes on the walls flare, the torches flicker, the air crackle with magic.
He broke the kiss, just enough to speak, his breath hot against my lips. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you need me.”
“I don’t—”
He kissed me again, deeper, harder, his tongue sliding against mine, his body grinding against mine. I moaned, my hands clutching his shoulders, my thighs clenching around his hip.
“Say it,” he growled.
“I—”
“Say it, Sable.”
And then—
I did.
“I need you.”
The words tore from my throat, raw, broken, true.
And the world exploded.
The bond—our bond—flared like a supernova, a surge of energy that made the chamber tremble, the tapestries rip from the walls, the pedestal crack in half. The dagger clattered to the floor, forgotten. The air burned with magic, thick and sweet, like blood and storm and fire.
Kaelen pulled back, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. “You felt that,” he said, voice rough. “The bond—it changed.”
I nodded, dazed. “It’s stronger.”
“No.” He cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “It’s real. Not just fate. Not just magic. You. Me. Us.”
“I came here to kill you,” I said, voice breaking.
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes, you do.” He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “You want me. You just don’t want to admit it.”
I didn’t argue.
Just looked at him—my lips swollen, my breath fast, my heart racing—for him.
And then—
He stripped me.
Not slow. Not deliberate.
Fast. Hard. Unstoppable.
My tunic. My boots. My trousers. Each piece torn away like it was nothing. And when I was bare, he stepped back, his gaze raking over me—my thighs, my stomach, my breasts—and I should have felt exposed.
But I didn’t.
I felt seen.
Then he undressed himself—coat, shirt, trousers—each piece falling to the floor like a vow. And when he stood before me, naked, powerful, hard, I didn’t look away.
Because this was my choice.
And I wanted it.
He climbed onto the bed, his body pressing against mine, his heat searing my skin. One hand slid up, tangling in my hair, holding me in place, while the other traced the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, the soft swell of my stomach.
“You’re mine,” he murmured.
“And you’re mine,” I whispered.
He kissed me again—deep, slow, sobering—his tongue sliding against mine, his body grinding against mine. I moaned, my thighs clenching, my hands digging into his back. He broke the kiss, just enough to speak.
“Look at me.”
I did.
His dark eyes burned into mine—hungry, possessive, knowing.
“This isn’t just the bond,” he said. “This is you. This is me. This is us.”
“I know.”
He kissed me again.
And then—
He moved.
One hand sliding between my thighs, his fingers brushing my p*ssy, slow and deliberate. I gasped, my back arching, my breath catching in my throat.
“You’re wet,” he murmured.
“For you.”
He groaned, his fingers circling my clit, then slipping inside, two fingers deep, stretching me, filling me. I whimpered, my hips bucking, my hands clutching his shoulders.
“You feel so good,” he growled.
And then—
He lowered himself.
His cock—thick, hard, ready—pressed against my entrance, hot and insistent. I held my breath. Waited.
And then—
He pushed in.
Slow. Deep. Unstoppable.
I gasped, my body opening for him, my thighs clenching around his hips. He stilled, buried to the hilt, his breath ragged, his fangs bared.
“You feel it?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He pulled back—just an inch.
Then thrust in.
Hard.
And again.
And again.
Each stroke deeper, harder, more, until I was moaning, my hands clawing at his back, my body arching into his. The bond flared, a surge of heat and power that made the runes on the walls scream, the torches explode in bursts of blue flame, the air burn with magic.
He broke the kiss, just enough to speak, his breath hot against my lips. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I screamed.
And then—
I came.
Hard. Fast. Unstoppable.
My body clenched around him, my back arching, my hands clawing at his shoulders, my voice tearing from my throat like a prayer. He groaned, his thrusts turning frantic, his fangs lengthening, his body trembling.
And then—
He bit me.
Not on the neck.
Not on the wrist.
On the breast—just above the heart.
Sharp. Hot. Mine.
I screamed, my body convulsing, my magic exploding in a surge of light and power that made the chamber tremble, the runes flare gold, the air crackle with magic.
And then—
He came.
Deep inside me, his body shuddering, his fangs still in my skin, his breath ragged against my chest.
And then—
He collapsed.
On top of me. Into me. With me.
We lay there, breathless, tangled, ruined.
And then—
He rolled to the side, pulling me with him, tucking me against his chest, his arm heavy around my waist.
“You’re mine,” he murmured.
“And you’re mine,” I whispered.
He kissed the top of my head.
And then—
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. Perfect.
And then—
“I don’t say love,” I said, voice soft.
“I know.”
“But I say your name.”
He held me tighter.
And I whispered—just loud enough for the shadows to hear:
“Kaelen.”
Like a prayer.
Like a vow.
Like a beginning.
—
Later, I pressed my palm to the mark on my wrist, feeling it pulse beneath my skin.
We’re not just bound.
The fire in the hearth snapped shut.
We’re breaking without each other.