The bond didn’t just pulse.
It *throbbed.*
Like a second heartbeat, deep beneath my skin, synced not to my breath or my blood, but to *his.* To Kael. To the man whose voice still echoed in my skull, whose hands I could still feel on my hips, whose lips I could still taste—slow, possessive, claiming me in that shadowed alcove after the gala, while the Council watched and whispered and feared what they didn’t understand.
I hadn’t slept.
Not in my room. Not on my narrow bed. Not even when I’d stripped down to my underclothes and pressed my back against the cold stone wall, trying to ground myself in pain, in memory, in the mission that had brought me here.
But the mission was slipping.
Every time I closed my eyes, I didn’t see my mother’s face in the flames.
I saw Kael’s.
His gold-flecked eyes dark with hunger. His fangs grazing my lip. His hand at the back of my neck, not forcing, not threatening—*claiming.*
And worst of all—
I hadn’t wanted him to stop.
My mark burned beneath my collarbone, a constant, traitorous reminder that I was bound to the one man I was supposed to destroy. And now, with the emergency session adjourned and Ravel’s lies exposed—though not yet destroyed—the Spire had settled into a tense, watchful quiet. The kind that came before a storm.
I needed air.
Not the thick, magic-laden air of the fortress. Not the scent of blood-wine and vampire politics that clung to the corridors. I needed the moors. The wind. The silence.
I dressed quickly—black tunic, trousers, boots—and slipped out before dawn, moving through the lower passages like a shadow. The northern gate was guarded by a pair of werewolf sentries, their scents sharp with suspicion, but they didn’t stop me. Kael’s sigil on my coat was enough. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Maybe they, too, were tired of the lies, the power plays, the endless games.
The moors stretched before me, vast and wild, shrouded in mist, the grass silvered with dew. The wind howled through the heather, carrying the scent of damp earth and old magic. I walked until my lungs burned, until my boots were soaked, until the Spire was just a jagged silhouette against the pale morning sky.
And then—
—the bond *spiked.*
Heat flared through my veins, sudden and sharp, like a brand pressed to my spine. My knees buckled. I caught myself against a stone outcrop, gasping, my fingers digging into the rock. My magic surged—uncontrolled, raw—crimson light flickering around my hands.
“No,” I whispered. “Not now.”
But it was.
The bond was reacting. *He* was reacting. And I knew, with a sinking dread, what that meant.
He was close.
And he was coming for me.
I tried to run. But my legs wouldn’t obey. My body was no longer my own. The bond pulled me like a leash, dragging me back toward the Spire, toward *him.*
And then—
—he was there.
Kael stepped from the mist, tall and impossibly still, his coat billowing behind him like a storm given form. His eyes—gold-flecked, wolf-bright—locked onto mine, and the bond *roared.*
“You shouldn’t have run,” he said, voice low.
“I wasn’t running,” I snapped, though my voice trembled. “I was *thinking.*”
“Liar.” He closed the distance in one stride, caging me against the stone, his hands braced on either side of my head. “You were running from *this.* From the bond. From what it wants. From what *you* want.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Then why is your pulse racing?” He pressed two fingers to the side of my neck, his touch searing. “Why is your breath shallow? Why is your magic *dancing* beneath your skin?”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me.
“The bond is unstable,” he said, voice rough. “It’s reacting to stress. To proximity. To *us.* And if we don’t stabilize it—”
“Then it’ll burn through my magic,” I finished. “I know. You’ve said it before.”
“And yet you keep running.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You know what it needs, Parker. You know what *we* need.”
My breath caught.
“Skin to skin,” he murmured. “Magic to magic. Breath to breath.”
“No.” I shoved him, but he didn’t budge. Just tightened his grip, his body pressing into mine, his heat flooding my senses. “I’m not doing that again.”
“You don’t have a choice.” He reached into his coat, pulling out a folded parchment—ancient, brittle, sealed with black wax. “The Ritual of Twin Sigils. It’s the only way to stabilize the bond without full contact. But it requires proximity. And it requires *trust.*”
“I don’t trust you.”
“No.” His thumb traced the edge of my jaw. “But you *want* me. And that’s enough.”
He didn’t wait for me to argue. Just grabbed my wrist and pulled me back toward the Spire, his grip unrelenting, his pace relentless. I tried to fight. Tried to pull away. But the bond was stronger. My magic flickered, weak and uncooperative, as if it, too, had chosen his side.
We didn’t go to the Chamber of Veins.
We went to his chambers.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and he pulled me inside, the scent of him—smoke, frost, storm—filling the air like a brand. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The balcony overlooked the northern cliffs, the wind howling through the stones.
And on the bed—
—*her.*
Lira.
She lay sprawled across the black silk sheets, one leg bent, the other stretched out, her bare foot dangling off the edge. She wore nothing but a man’s shirt—*Kael’s* shirt. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows, the buttons undone just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her breasts, the pale column of her throat. Her hair fanned out like spilled ink, and her red eyes gleamed as she turned her head toward us.
“Parker,” she purred. “How… *prompt* of you.”
My blood turned to ice.
“Get out,” Kael said, voice flat.
Lira didn’t flinch. Just smiled, slow and venomous. “You said I could wait.”
“I changed my mind.”
She sat up slowly, the shirt slipping off one shoulder. “And here I thought you wanted me.”
“I don’t.” He stepped forward, his voice deadly calm. “And if you’re not out of this room in ten seconds, I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons.”
She laughed, sharp and cruel, but stood, stepping off the bed, the shirt barely covering her thighs. “Fine. But don’t pretend this is about *her.* You’re just using her to stabilize your wretched hybrid body. And when you’re done—”
“Get. Out.”
She didn’t argue. Just turned and stalked away, her gown swirling like blood in water, disappearing into the corridor.
Silence.
The fire crackled. The wards hummed. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
“You let her wear your shirt,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
“To test you,” he said, stepping closer. “To see how far you’d go. How much you’d fight. How much you’d *care.*”
“You’re a bastard.”
“Yes.” He reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “But I’m *your* bastard.”
My breath caught.
“Now sit.” He gestured to the bed.
I didn’t move.
“Parker.” His voice dropped, rough. “The bond is destabilizing. If we don’t do this now, it’ll get worse. You’ll lose control. You’ll hurt someone. Or worse—”
“I’ll die.”
He nodded. “And I’ll follow.”
I clenched my jaw. But I walked to the bed and sat on the edge, my back straight, my hands clenched in my lap. He sat beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the power in his stillness, the way his scent filled my lungs.
He unrolled the parchment, his fingers tracing the ancient script. “The ritual requires proximity. Full contact isn’t necessary, but we need to be close. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.”
“So take off your coat,” I said, voice tight.
“That’s not enough.” He reached for the hem of his undershirt. “We need more.”
My breath stopped.
“You first,” I said.
He didn’t argue. With one smooth motion, he pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
And I forgot how to breathe.
His chest was a map of scars—old, silvery lines crisscrossing hard muscle, some deep, some thin, all telling stories of battles I didn’t know. A jagged mark ran from his collarbone down to his ribs—fang marks, maybe. Or a blade. His skin was pale, but not sickly—more like moonlight on stone. And there, just above his heart, was the sigil.
Dark. Twisted. Glowing faintly with that same gold light I’d seen on my own skin.
My mark burned in response.
“Your turn,” he said, voice rough.
I didn’t move.
My hands trembled at my sides. This wasn’t just about survival. This was exposure. Vulnerability. Power stripped away, layer by layer. And he—this man who had watched my mother die, who had ruled in silence while her name was dragged through filth—was asking me to stand half-naked before him.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “But you’re still going to do it.”
My fingers found the hem of my tunic. Slow. Deliberate. I pulled it over my head and dropped it to the floor, leaving me in only my underclothes—black lace, practical, designed for movement, not seduction.
But it didn’t matter. Not when his eyes darkened, when his breath hitched, when the air between us crackled like a storm about to break.
“More,” he said.
I swallowed. Then, with shaking hands, I unhooked my bra and let it fall. Slid my panties down. Stepped out of them.
Bare.
Exposed.
And the bond—
It *roared.*
Heat surged through my veins, a wildfire igniting under my skin. My mark flared, bright and hot, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. And his—his sigil glowed in answer, golden light spreading across his chest like liquid fire.
“Lie down,” he said, voice thick.
I did.
He lay beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the power in his stillness, the way his gaze traced the curve of my collarbone, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips.
“Turn onto your stomach,” he said.
“Why?”
“The ritual requires contact along the spine. You need to face away from me.”
I hesitated. Turning my back to him felt like surrender. Like trust.
But I did it.
The cool air kissed my bare back, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hand when it finally touched me.
He pressed his palm flat between my shoulder blades, and the world *exploded.*
Fire. Light. Memory.
I saw flashes—my mother’s face, her hands covered in blood, whispering, *“Protect her.”* A younger Kael, barely more than a boy, standing in the shadows of the Council Hall, watching as flames consumed her. A sigil burning into skin. A vow made in silence.
And then—
Feeling.
His hand on my back. The rough calluses of his fingers. The heat of his palm searing into my spine. The way my body arched into his touch, betraying me, craving more.
“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice rough in my ear.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped.
“This is just the beginning,” he said. “The bond is syncing. Our magic—it’s merging.”
I could feel it. My blood magic, usually a sharp, controlled thing, was wild now, surging, responding to his presence like a starving thing. And his—his power, dark and deep, like the earth beneath the Spire, flowed into me, through me, harmonizing with my own.
The sigils on our skin burned brighter, the gold light spreading, connecting us like twin stars in a dark sky.
“Stay still,” he said, his other hand sliding to my hip, pulling me back against him.
I gasped.
His body was hard against mine—muscle and heat and power. His chest pressed to my back, his breath warm on my neck. One hand on my spine, the other on my hip, holding me in place, grounding me.
And the bond—
It wasn’t just stabilizing.
It was *awakening.*
Desire, hot and sudden, coiled low in my belly. My skin burned where he touched me. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. And worst of all—my magic, my control, my *resolve*—was crumbling.
“This isn’t supposed to happen,” I whispered, voice trembling.
“It’s part of the ritual,” he said, his voice strained. “The bond doesn’t just link us. It *binds* us. Emotion. Magic. Desire.”
“I don’t desire you.”
“Liar,” he growled, his hand tightening on my hip. “Your body knows the truth. Your magic answers to mine. And your heart—”
“Is mine,” I snapped, trying to pull away. But he held me fast.
“No,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “It’s ours.”
The sigils flared white-hot. Our marks burned, pulsing in unison, and for one terrifying, exquisite moment, I felt it—
Not just the bond.
But *him.*
His loneliness. His rage. His need. His fear of losing control, of turning feral, of dying alone.
And beneath it all—
A longing so deep it ached.
For me.
“Kael—” I started, but the word broke in my throat.
Then—
—the door opened.
We both froze.
Dain stood in the archway, his wolf-gold eyes wide, his expression stunned. He took in the scene—the glowing sigils, our naked bodies pressed together, my back to Kael’s chest, his hands on me—and for a long, unbearable second, no one moved.
Then he stepped back.
“I—” he started. “I didn’t know—”
“Get out,” Kael snarled, his voice a feral thing.
Dain didn’t argue. He shut the door behind him.
Silence.
And then—
Kael’s arms tightened around me. His breath was hot on my neck. His voice, when he spoke, was low, raw.
“Don’t pull away.”
“I have to,” I whispered.
“No. Not yet. The ritual isn’t complete. If we break contact now, it’ll be worse than before.”
I closed my eyes. Fought the tears. Fought the heat. Fought the terrifying, undeniable truth that was rising inside me—
That I didn’t want to pull away.
That for the first time in ten years—
I didn’t feel alone.
And that scared me more than anything.
We stood like that for what felt like hours, though the sigils told me only minutes had passed. The bond hummed between us, steady now, no longer a storm but a deep, resonant current. My magic settled. My breath slowed. And his hands—still on my spine, on my hip—felt less like a claim and more like… shelter.
When the ritual finally ended—the sigils dimming, the chamber quieting—he was the one who let go.
He stepped back, giving me space. I turned to face him, my skin still humming, my body still aching with something I couldn’t name.
He picked up his shirt, pulled it over his head without a word. Then he handed me my clothes.
“It’s done,” he said. “The bond is stable. For now.”
I dressed in silence, my fingers fumbling with the clasp. When I was covered again, I looked at him.
“This changes nothing,” I said.
He met my gaze, his expression unreadable.
“It changes everything,” he said.
And I knew he was right.
Because as I walked out of his chambers, the mark on my collarbone still warm, one thought echoed in my mind—
He touched me. And I didn’t want him to stop.