The gala was a masquerade of power.
Crystal chandeliers dripped from the vaulted ceiling of the Grand Atrium, their light refracting through enchanted glass to cast shifting patterns of crimson and gold across the black marble floor. The air was thick with perfume, blood-wine, and the low hum of magic—wards, glamours, surveillance sigils pulsing beneath the surface. Werewolves in tailored leathers stood rigid, their scents sharp with tension. Vampires drifted like shadows, eyes glinting red in the dim light. Fae nobles shimmered in silken gowns, their smiles too perfect, their laughter too sweet.
I stood at the edge of it all, a glass of untouched blood-wine in my hand, my black gown clinging to me like a second skin. It had been Kael’s doing—this dress, this assignment, this *exposure.* He’d handed it to me that morning with a look I couldn’t read, something between challenge and warning. “You’re not hiding anymore,” he’d said. “The Council sees you now. Let them see *everything.*”
And so here I was—Parker Voss, not Elise Renner. Not a neutral envoy. Not a ghost. A presence. A threat. A woman bound to the High Arbiter by a soul bond no one understood but all feared.
And the worst part?
I didn’t hate it.
Not the way his gaze followed me across the room. Not the way his voice dropped when he spoke to me, low and rough, like a secret. Not the way my mark—hidden beneath the high collar of my gown—pulsed faintly, warm and alive, every time he stepped closer.
I hated that I *liked* it.
That I *wanted* it.
That after the kiss in the ruins—the desperate, furious collision of lips and teeth and blood—I’d spent the night pacing my room, my body aching with a hunger I couldn’t name, my magic restless, *waiting.*
And now, standing in this glittering hall of predators, I could still feel it—the ghost of his mouth on mine, the press of his hips against mine, the way my fangs had sunk into his lip, drawing blood, drawing *power.*
I took a sip of the wine. It was bitter. Metallic. Like blood.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” Dain said, appearing at my side.
I didn’t startle. Just turned, meeting his wolf-gold eyes. He wore a simple black coat, no insignia, no flash. Just quiet strength. Quiet loyalty. “I’d rather be in the archives,” I said. “Or the training yard. Or *anywhere* that doesn’t reek of vampire politics.”
He almost smiled. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You think you’re here as a prisoner. As a pawn. But you’re not.” He glanced toward the dais, where Kael stood in conversation with a cluster of werewolf Alphas. “You’re the only one who makes him *human.*”
My breath caught. “He’s not human.”
“No. But he’s not just a monster either.” Dain’s voice dropped. “You saw it in the Chamber of Veins. You felt it in the kiss. He’s not controlling you. He’s *terrified* of losing you.”
I looked away. “He doesn’t get to decide that.”
“He doesn’t,” Dain agreed. “But the bond does. And you—you’re not fighting it anymore. You’re just pretending you are.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And that was the problem.
The music shifted—something slow, dark, pulsing with a rhythm that made my skin prickle. Couples began to move onto the floor, their steps precise, their movements too controlled to be natural. A vampire noble in a silver gown twirled into the arms of a werewolf Alpha, their scents clashing, their magic humming in dissonance.
And then—
—Kael was in front of me.
He didn’t speak. Just held out his hand.
My pulse jumped.
“You don’t have to,” Dain murmured.
But I did.
Not because he ordered it. Not because the bond demanded it.
Because I *wanted* to.
I placed my hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine—warm, strong, possessive. And the bond—
It *sang.*
Not a roar. Not a scream. A low, resonant hum, like a bow drawn across a single, perfect note. My magic stirred, not in defiance, but in *recognition.* In *welcome.*
He led me to the center of the floor, turning me into his arms. One hand at my back, the other holding mine, his body close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the power in his stillness, the way his breath brushed my temple.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.” His thumb traced the edge of my palm. “Your pulse is racing. Your magic is dancing. And your mark—” His gaze dropped to my collar. “—it’s glowing.”
I stiffened. “It’s not.”
“It is.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “And so is mine.”
Heat flooded my face.
Not from embarrassment.
From the way his voice curled around the words, from the way his body moved with mine, from the way his scent—smoke, frost, storm—filled my lungs.
“Why are we doing this?” I whispered.
“Because they need to see you,” he said. “Not as a ghost. Not as a weapon. As *mine.*”
“I’m not yours.”
“No.” His hand slid lower, pressing into the small of my back, pulling me closer. “You’re *ours.* The bond. The magic. The truth. And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t pull away.
Couldn’t.
The music swelled, the dancers moving in perfect, predatory synchronicity. But we weren’t dancing. We were *claiming.* Every step, every turn, every brush of his body against mine was a statement. A warning. A vow.
And then—
—the attack came.
Not from the shadows.
Not from the doors.
From *above.*
A Fae assassin—Unseelie, by the jagged black blades strapped to his arms—dropped from the rafters, landing in a crouch just feet from the dais. His eyes burned violet, his glamour flickering like smoke. He didn’t speak. Just lunged—toward Kael.
Instinct took over.
I shoved Kael back, stepping into the assassin’s path, my sigil-stone already in hand. He was fast—unnaturally so—but I was faster. My magic flared, a whip of crimson energy lashing out, slicing through his forearm before he could strike.
He snarled, spinning toward me, blades flashing.
I dropped low, rolling beneath his swing, coming up behind him. My dagger was at his throat in an instant, my other hand gripping his wrist, my knee in his back.
“Move,” I hissed, “and I’ll cut your head off.”
He didn’t.
The atrium was silent now, every eye on us. The music had stopped. The dancers frozen. Even the wards seemed to hold their breath.
Kael stepped forward, his voice calm, deadly. “Who sent you?”
The assassin didn’t answer.
“You’ll die either way,” Kael said. “But you can die slowly. Or quickly. Your choice.”
Still nothing.
Then—
—a pulse of violet light erupted from the assassin’s chest. His body convulsed. His eyes rolled back. And then he went limp, collapsing at my feet.
Dead.
“Fae suicide spell,” Dain said, kneeling beside the body. “He was disposable. A message.”
“From Ravel,” I said, standing. “Or the Unseelie.”
Kael didn’t answer. Just stepped to me, his gaze dropping to my neck.
“What?” I asked, hand flying to my throat.
And then I felt it.
Heat.
Pain.
A *mark.*
Not mine.
His.
During the fight, his fangs must have grazed me—just a brush, just a slip—but it had been enough. The skin on the left side of my neck was broken, the edges already sealing, the mark beneath pulsing faintly with gold light.
A *bite mark.*
And not just any bite.
A *claim.*
The atrium erupted.
“She’s been marked!” a vampire noble shrieked.
“The bond is complete!” a werewolf Alpha growled.
“She’s his *consort* now,” a Fae envoy purred.
I stepped back, heart pounding, hand pressed to the mark. “This isn’t—”
“It is,” Kael said, voice low, dangerous. “And I won’t deny it.”
“You didn’t *mean* to!”
“No.” He stepped closer, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing the edge of the mark. “But I don’t regret it.”
My breath caught.
“Let them believe it,” he said, his voice a velvet threat. “Let them whisper. Let them fear what they don’t understand.” His fingers curled around the back of my neck, not forcing, not commanding—*claiming.* “Because you’re not just my bondmate, Parker. You’re my *queen.* And I will *not* let anyone take that from you.”
The atrium was silent now, the weight of his words pressing down like stone.
And then—
—the whispers began.
“She’s compromised.”
“The bond has clouded her judgment.”
“She’s no longer fit to serve.”
I looked at Kael, my pulse racing. “You did this on purpose.”
He didn’t deny it. Just smiled—slow, dangerous, *possessive.* “Did I? Or did your body just betray you?”
My magic flared—uncontrolled, raw. The chandeliers above us trembled. The glass in the windows cracked. The wards hummed, reacting to the surge.
And then—
—a voice.
“I knew it.”
Lira stepped from the crowd, her crimson gown swirling like blood in water, her red eyes blazing. She didn’t look at Kael. Just at me. At the mark on my neck.
“You think you’re special?” she purred. “You think that *bond* makes you untouchable? That *mark* makes you his?” She laughed, sharp and cruel. “He’s marked women before. He’s *claimed* them. And when he was done, he discarded them. Just like he’ll discard you.”
“He didn’t mark me,” I snapped. “It was an accident.”
“Was it?” She stepped closer, her scent—blood and roses—filling the air. “Or did he finally give in to what he’s been craving? The taste of your blood? The way your body arches into his touch? The way you *scream* when he—”
I moved before I could think.
My hand lashed out, magic crackling, and a pulse of crimson energy slammed into her, throwing her back against the wall. She hit hard, gasping, but didn’t fall.
“Careful,” Kael said, his voice low. “You’re not the only one who can play this game.”
But I didn’t stop.
I stepped forward, my magic surging, my breath coming fast. “You don’t know him. You don’t *own* him. And you don’t get to decide what we are.”
“And you do?” She wiped blood from her lip, smiling. “You, who came here to destroy him? Who still believes he let your mother die? You’re not his queen. You’re his *weakness.*”
“No.” I reached up, my fingers brushing the mark on my neck. “I’m his *fire.* And if you touch him again—”
“You’ll what?” She stood, straightening her gown. “Kill me? In front of the Council? With witnesses?” Her smile turned venomous. “Go ahead. Try. And see how fast he throws you into the dungeons when he finds out you attacked a noble.”
I clenched my jaw.
She was right.
I couldn’t touch her.
Not here.
Not now.
But I could remember.
And I would.
“This isn’t over,” she whispered.
“No,” I agreed. “It’s just beginning.”
She turned and stalked away, her gown swirling behind her.
The atrium was silent.
Every eye was on me. On the mark. On Kael.
And then—
—he pulled me into a shadowed alcove, his body pressing me against the wall, his hand at my throat—not to hurt, but to *hold.*
“You’re jealous,” he said, voice rough.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.” His thumb brushed the mark. “You felt it. The bond. The pull. The way your magic answers to mine. The way your body arches into my touch.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No.” He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “You hate that you *love* me.”
And then—
—he kissed me.
Not like before. Not desperate. Not furious.
Slow.
Possessive.
Like he had all the time in the world.
His mouth moved over mine, deepening the kiss, his fangs grazing my lower lip just enough to draw a bead of blood. My magic flared—crimson light spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The bond *roared,* a flood of heat and memory and sensation so intense it made my knees buckle. He caught me, lifting me, pressing me harder against the wall, his body caging mine.
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the archway, his expression unreadable. “Ravel’s calling an emergency session. They’re saying the bond is a threat. That it needs to be severed.”
Kael broke the kiss, but didn’t let me go. His forehead rested against mine, his breath hot on my skin, his blood on my lips.
“Let them try,” he murmured. “And when they fail, I’ll remind them who holds the thirteenth seat.”
Dain nodded, then left.
Kael turned back to me. “You’re not losing me, Parker.”
“I don’t *have* you,” I said, my voice trembling.
“You do.” He stepped closer. “And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked out, my heart pounding, my mark burning, my mind screaming one thing over and over—
He touched me. And I didn’t want him to stop.