The infirmary was silent, the only sound the slow drip of enchanted saline into a glass vial and the faint hum of warding runes along the stone walls. I stood just inside the archway, watching her sleep—Parker Voss, the ghost from a decade past, the daughter of a woman I’d once tried to save, the witch who had just collapsed in the Council Hall like she’d been struck by lightning.
And the woman who bore the mark.
My mark.
It should’ve been impossible. Soul bonds weren’t formed by decree or desire. They were ancient, rare, written in blood and fate long before birth. And they *never* activated late. Not after ten years of dormancy. Not unless the other half had been hidden—suppressed, shielded, buried beneath layers of magic and time.
But there it was. I’d seen it when I caught her—just a glimpse as her coat slipped, the collar of her dress dipping low. A sigil, etched into the skin just above her left collarbone. Twin to mine. The same jagged spiral, the same pulse of dark gold light beneath the surface. The same heat.
And the same pull.
I hadn’t meant to touch her. Not like that. But when she fell, instinct took over. My body moved before my mind could protest. One moment she was collapsing, the next I had her in my arms, her scent flooding my senses—iron and rosemary, blood magic and something deeper, something wild, like storm-wind through ancient trees. Her pulse had fluttered under my fingers, her breath warm against my neck. And the bond—
It *sang.*
Not a whisper. Not a hum. A roar. A flood of sensation so intense it nearly dropped me to my knees. Memory. Heat. A voice that wasn’t hers, yet I knew—*mine.* A woman with storm-gray eyes and blood on her hands, whispering, *“Protect her.”*
My mother.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension coiling there. The dual nature inside me—vampire and werewolf—was already reacting to her presence. The wolf wanted to circle, to scent-mark, to claim. The vampire wanted to taste, to bind, to drink deep. And the man—
The man wanted to know why she was here. Why now. Why *her.*
I stepped forward, boots silent on the polished stone. She lay on the recovery cot, still in the dress she’d worn to the Council Hall—black, tailored, severe. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, a single braid coming loose at the temple. Her face was sharp, all angles and defiance even in sleep, but there was a vulnerability in the curve of her lips, the faint shadows beneath her eyes. She’d lived hard. Fought harder.
And she’d come back for blood.
I knew it the moment I named her. The flicker in her eyes—fear, rage, recognition. She thought I didn’t know who she was. But I’d known from the first whisper of her magic in the air. Parker Voss. The girl who vanished the night her mother burned. The girl I’d searched for, in secret, for years.
And now she was here. Not just here—*bonded* to me.
I reached out, then paused. Touching her without permission would be a provocation. And I needed answers, not a war. But the bond—its pull was relentless. It tugged at my chest like a tether, urging me closer, demanding contact. Denying it would only make the ache worse. For both of us.
Slowly, deliberately, I unfastened the cuffs of my coat and rolled up my sleeves, exposing the sigil on my inner forearm. Mine was larger, darker, the lines deeper—forged in pain, in survival. But the pattern was identical. The spiral. The central point. The pulse of gold.
I leaned down, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. My fingers hovered over the hollow of her throat, then traced lower, to the edge of her dress. One tug, and the fabric would shift, revealing the mark.
I did it.
The dress slipped just enough. There it was—my twin. The sigil glowed faintly, as if responding to my presence. I reached out, my fingertips brushing the edge of the mark.
She gasped.
Her eyes flew open—storm-gray, blazing with fury and something else, something raw and unguarded. Her hand shot up, magic crackling at her fingertips, but I caught her wrist before she could strike.
“Don’t,” I said, voice low. “You’ll burn out before you land a hit.”
She glared at me, chest heaving. “Get your hands off me.”
“You collapsed in the Council Hall,” I said, releasing her but not stepping back. “You’re in the infirmary. You’ve been unconscious for two hours.”
“I didn’t pass out,” she snapped. “I was *attacked.*”
I almost smiled. “No. You felt the bond activate. Same as I did.”
“I don’t have a bond.”
“You do.” I rolled up my sleeve further, showing her my mark. “And it’s *mine.*”
Her breath hitched. For the first time, I saw real shock in her eyes. She looked from my arm to her own collarbone, fingers flying to the spot where the sigil burned beneath the fabric.
“That’s not possible,” she whispered.
“It’s written in your skin.”
“This is a trick. A glamour. A *trap.*”
“Do you really think I’d go to this much trouble to fake a soul bond?” I leaned in, close enough to catch the faintest tremor in her breath. “Do you think I’d risk the Council’s wrath? The werewolf packs’ fury? The vampire Houses calling for my head? For a *trick*?”
She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched, but her eyes flickered—doubt. Fear. The first crack in her armor.
“You don’t understand what this means,” I said, stepping back. “A soul bond isn’t just magic. It’s survival. For me.”
“And what, you expect me to care?”
“No. But you’ll learn to.” I turned, walking to the small basin in the corner, filling a glass with water. “You felt the pain when it activated. That was just the beginning. If we don’t stabilize the bond—through proximity, touch, shared magic—it’ll worsen. The pull will become agony. The disconnection—unbearable. For both of us.”
I handed her the glass. She hesitated, then took it, her fingers brushing mine. A jolt passed between us—heat, memory, a flash of sensation so intense it made her flinch.
“You’re lying,” she said, but her voice wavered.
“Am I?” I rolled down my sleeve, hiding the mark. “Then explain why your magic responded to mine in the Hall. Why your body recognized me before your mind did. Why, when I touched you, your pulse jumped and your breath caught.”
She looked away, but not before I saw the flush creeping up her neck.
“It means nothing,” she muttered.
“It means *everything.*” I crossed my arms. “You came here to destroy me, Parker. To expose the Council, to avenge your mother. But you walked into a bond you didn’t know existed. And now?” I stepped closer. “Now you’re tied to me. Bound by blood. And no matter how much you hate me, your body *knows* the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m not your enemy.”
She laughed—sharp, bitter. “You let them burn her. You sat in that Council and did *nothing.*”
“I was *seventeen.*” The words came out harder than I meant them to. “I had no power. No voice. I watched it happen—just like you did. And I’ve spent every day since trying to dismantle the machine that killed her.”
She stilled. Her eyes searched mine, looking for deception, for weakness. Finding none.
“Then why let me be taken?” she asked, voice quiet. “Why let me vanish?”
“Because I didn’t know where you were,” I said. “I searched. For years. But someone erased you. Hid you. And now?” I gestured to the mark on my arm. “Now the bond found you. Not me.”
She looked down at her own collarbone, fingers pressing lightly against the sigil. “So what now? We just… what? Hold hands and live happily ever after?”
“No.” I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, the pull of the bond tightening between us. “Now we survive it. Together. Whether you like it or not.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then the bond will destroy you.” I met her gaze, unflinching. “It’ll burn through your magic. Your will. Your life. And when you die, I’ll feel it. I’ll *break.*”
She swallowed. For the first time, I saw it—not just hatred, not just rage. Fear. Real, raw fear.
“Then let it,” she whispered.
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The silence stretched, thick with tension, with the unspoken truth between us.
She wanted to hate me. Needed to.
But the bond didn’t care.
And neither did I.
“You’re stronger than that,” I said finally. “You survived ten years in the human world. You mastered blood magic. You walked into this fortress knowing the risks. You don’t want to die. You want *justice.*”
“And you’re in my way.”
“Am I?” I tilted my head. “Or am I the only one who can give you what you really need?”
“Which is?”
“The truth.” I reached into my coat, pulling out a sealed dossier. “Your mother didn’t conspire with the Fae. She was *protecting* them. From the Council. From *him.*”
She froze. “Who?”
“Lord Ravel.” I placed the file on the cot beside her. “He framed her. Stole her coven’s blood magic. And he’s been waiting for you to return.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the file. “Why give this to me now?”
“Because the bond changes everything,” I said. “And because if you die, I die. So you staying alive?” I leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s not mercy. That’s *self-preservation.*”
She looked up at me, eyes blazing. “You’re still a monster.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But I’m *yours.*”
The bond pulsed between us, a living thing, a promise, a threat.
And for the first time, I let myself feel it—not as a burden, not as a weakness.
But as power.
Fury’s Claim
Ten years ago, a young witch girl watched her mother burn at the stake—her crime: conspiring with the Fae to overthrow the Supernatural Council. The girl, Parker, vanished into the human world, raised by ghosts and grudges. Now she returns—older, sharper, armed with forbidden blood magic and a single vow: justice or annihilation.
She infiltrates the Council’s summit under the guise of a neutral envoy, ready to expose the forged evidence that condemned her mother. But the moment her gaze locks with Kael Virell—the half-vampire, half-werewolf High Arbiter and de facto ruler of the Council—a searing pain tears through her chest. A mark, long hidden beneath her collarbone, flares to life: a twin sigil, mirroring his own. A soul bond. Fated. Impossible. Forbidden.
Their first touch is violence—his hand around her wrist, her magic lashing out—but the spark between them is undeniable, a current of heat and memory that neither can deny. He suspects her. She despises him. Yet the bond forces proximity, forces sensation: his scent on her skin, her pulse under his thumb, the way their magic harmonizes when they fight side by side during a surprise attack.
By Chapter 8, a rival’s cruel revelation—that Kael once shared blood with a seductive vampire noble—ignites Parker’s jealousy in a storm of magic and fury. In the aftermath, cornered in a ruined temple, he pins her against a crumbling altar, breath hot on her neck, fingers tangled in her hair. “You feel it,” he growls. “You want me as much as I want you.” She slaps him. Then she kisses him—a desperate, furious collision of lips and teeth—before pulling back, trembling. The bond isn’t just real. It’s rewriting her mission. And she doesn’t know if she’s falling for him… or being used.