The first thing I noticed when I woke was the scent.
Storm musk. Iron. Heat.
His scent.
It clung to the pillow beneath my head, soaked into the velvet sheets, curled around me like a living thing. I inhaled sharply—then cursed myself for it. My body responded instantly: pulse jumping, skin flushing, a slow, dangerous warmth pooling low in my belly. The bond was already awake. Already hungry.
I sat up too fast, the movement sending a spike of pain through my wrist. The sigil—thorned and jagged—still glowed faintly, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I wrapped my fingers around it, pressing hard, as if I could crush the magic out of my skin. It didn’t work. The throb only deepened, a reminder that I wasn’t free. That I was bound.
Kaelen Thorne’s voice echoed in my head: “Wait until you feel my hands on your skin.”
I shivered.
Not from fear.
That was the worst part.
I got up, stripping off the silk dress I’d worn last night—the one I’d stolen from a dead witch’s wardrobe. It was ruined now, torn at the shoulder from the ritual, stained with my blood. I pulled on the spare clothes left for me: black trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced tight. Practical. Armored. I needed every inch of defense I could get.
The chamber was silent, too grand, too his. Black stone walls, silver torches burning low, furs scattered across the floor like fallen beasts. A fire still smoldered in the hearth, casting long shadows that flickered like claws. I avoided looking at the bed—the massive, velvet-draped thing where he slept, where he dreamed, where he probably plotted how to break me.
But my eyes kept drifting back to it.
I hated that.
I hated how my body remembered his touch, even now. The way his thumb had brushed my wrist. The heat of his palm against my cheek. The way his breath had curled against my ear, dark and intimate, making my fangs ache with the urge to bite.
I was a predator.
And he was my prey.
That’s what I kept telling myself.
But the bond didn’t care about lies.
A knock at the door.
I froze, hand on the dagger at my thigh.
“Enter,” I said, voice steady.
The door opened, and a woman stepped in—slender, pale, dressed in silver-gray silk that shimmered like mist. Her eyes were violet, her hair long and white-blond, pulled back in a braid that fell past her waist. Fae. I could smell it—the sweetness beneath her scent, the faint hum of glamour in the air.
“Lyra,” she said, bowing slightly. “I’ve been assigned as your attendant.”
I didn’t lower my hand from the blade. “I don’t need an attendant.”
“You do,” she said, stepping closer. “The warding test begins in an hour. You’ll need preparation.”
“Warding test?”
She tilted her head, studying me. “To confirm the bond’s strength. Physical contact. Skin to skin. The magic reacts to proximity, to touch, to… arousal.”
My stomach dropped.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then the bond punishes you,” she said simply. “Pain. Weakness. Hallucinations. And if you deny it for more than seventy-two hours, you’ll die. Same as him.”
I clenched my jaw. “So it’s not just a leash. It’s a death sentence.”
“Only if you fight it.”
“And if I don’t?”
Her lips curved, just slightly. “Then you survive. And maybe, one day, you learn to want it.”
I wanted to hate her. But there was something in her voice—something careful, almost kind. And the way she looked at me… like she knew more than she was saying.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
She stepped forward, pulling a vial from her sleeve. “Because I know what it’s like to be trapped. And because…” She hesitated. “Because you’re not what they think you are.”
I took the vial. Clear liquid, faintly glowing. “What is this?”
“A dampener. Won’t break the bond, but it’ll dull the reaction. Give you some control.”
I uncorked it, sniffed. Bitter. Herbal. “And why would you give me this?”
“Call it a gamble,” she said. “I think you’re more dangerous than they realize. And I’d rather have you sharp than broken.”
I drank it in one swallow. It burned going down, like liquid ice. Almost immediately, the throb in my wrist lessened. The heat in my blood cooled. Not gone—but manageable.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.
She nodded. “Don’t thank me yet. The test will still be… intense.”
“How intense?”
She met my eyes. “You’ll feel everything he feels. And he’ll feel you. If you’re afraid, he’ll know. If you’re aroused, he’ll taste it.”
I swallowed. “And if I try to hide it?”
“The bond doesn’t lie.”
Great.
“One more thing,” she said, handing me a small silver comb. “Your hair. It needs to be loose. The magic reads intent. Bound hair suggests resistance.”
I took it, fingers trembling slightly as I pulled the pins from my braid. My hair fell in dark waves down my back, still tangled from sleep. I combed it out slowly, each stroke grounding me. I focused on the pull of the teeth, the weight of the strands, the rhythm of my breath.
Control. I needed control.
Because if I lost it during that test—if I let him see how his touch affected me—I was done.
The bond would win.
And so would he.
An hour later, I stood in the Warding Chamber—a circular room of black stone, the walls etched with glowing runes. The air hummed with magic, thick and electric. Torches burned with blue flame, casting shifting shadows across the floor. In the center stood a stone dais, cold and bare.
Kaelen was already there.
He stood with his back to me, dressed in black leather, his shoulders broad, his stance relaxed. But I could feel the tension in him—the coiled energy, the awareness. He knew I was here.
He turned slowly.
His eyes locked onto mine.
Gold. Cold. Hungry.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I was preparing.”
“Preparing to resist?”
“Preparing to survive.”
He stepped forward, boots echoing on stone. “Survival requires honesty. The bond sees through lies.”
“Then it’ll be disappointed.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “We’ll see.”
The High Witch entered, flanked by two Sentinels. Her silver eyes scanned us both. “The warding test confirms bond strength and compliance. You will stand on the dais. Skin to skin. The magic will assess.”
“And if we refuse?” I asked.
“Then the Council declares the bond invalid,” she said. “War between the clans begins. And you both face execution for treason.”
Kaelen’s gaze flicked to me. “So. No pressure.”
I stepped onto the dais, keeping my spine straight, my face blank. He followed, stopping inches from me. The air between us crackled. The bond pulsed, a slow, insistent throb in my wrist.
“Remove your shirt,” the High Witch said.
I didn’t move.
“I said—”
“I heard you,” I snapped. “But I’m not stripping in front of you.”
Kaelen exhaled, low and rough. “Turn around. I’ll do the same.”
I hesitated—then turned, my back to him. My fingers trembled as I unfastened the tunic, peeled it off, let it fall. The air was cool against my skin, but I was already burning. I could feel him behind me—his heat, his presence, the way his breath hitched when he saw my bare back.
I heard his leather creak as he removed his own shirt.
Then silence.
“Turn,” the High Witch said.
I did.
And I saw him.
Kaelen Thorne, bare-chested, standing in the torchlight.
Gods.
He was carved from stone and shadow—broad shoulders, ridged abdomen, scars mapping his skin like a battlefield. A long, jagged line ran from his collarbone to his ribs. Another across his stomach. Battle wounds. Proof of his brutality.
But it was his chest that caught me—the sigil, glowing faintly over his heart. The same thorned circle, pulsing in time with mine. The bond, visible, undeniable.
My breath caught.
His eyes darkened. “You feel it,” he said. “Don’t lie.”
“I feel nothing.”
“Liar.”
The High Witch stepped forward. “Place your hands on each other. Palms flat. Skin to skin.”
I hesitated.
So did he.
Then, slowly, we raised our hands.
My palm met his.
Fire exploded.
Not pain—pleasure. A wave of heat so intense it stole my breath, flooding my veins, my core, my every nerve. My knees buckled. Kaelen caught me, his other hand sliding around my waist, pulling me against him.
Our chests pressed together.
Skin to skin.
Heart to heart.
The bond roared to life.
I gasped. My fingers dug into his shoulders. His grip tightened. I could feel his pulse—wild, racing—matching mine. His scent flooded me, storm and heat and something darker, something primal. My fangs ached. My body arched toward him, traitorous, desperate.
And then I felt it—him.
Not just his touch.
His desire.
Hot. Possessive. Unrelenting.
It poured into me, not as a thought, but as a sensation—his need, his hunger, his want for me, raw and unfiltered. I could taste it, like blood on my tongue. I could feel it, like fire in my veins.
And worse—I wanted it back.
“Break contact,” the High Witch said.
We didn’t move.
“I said—”
“Wait,” Kaelen growled. “Let it settle.”
His hand slid from my waist to my hip, then lower, gripping my thigh. I should have fought. I should have kicked him, elbowed him, killed him.
But I didn’t.
I moaned.
Soft. Involuntary.
His thumb brushed the inside of my thigh, just above the muscle. A spark of heat shot through me, so intense I trembled. My breath came in ragged gasps. His eyes burned into mine.
“You feel it now,” he whispered. “Don’t you?”
“I hate you,” I breathed.
“No,” he said. “You hate that you want me.”
The High Witch stepped forward, breaking the moment. “The bond is strong. Compliance confirmed.”
Kaelen released me.
I stumbled back, clutching my wrist, my skin still burning where he’d touched me. My heart pounded. My thighs clenched. I could still feel the ghost of his hand on my thigh, the heat of his body, the way his voice had curled around my name like a promise.
“You passed,” the High Witch said. “But the bond is unstable. It demands release. Denial will only make it worse.”
“Then I’ll deny it,” I said, voice shaking.
She looked at me, pity in her eyes. “You can’t. Not forever. And when it breaks you… no one will be there to pick up the pieces.”
I turned and walked out.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t run.
But by the time I reached my chamber, my legs were weak. My skin was on fire. My thoughts were a mess of him—his hands, his voice, the way he’d looked at me, like he already owned me.
I slammed the door shut, locked it, pressed my back against it.
And then I slid to the floor.
I was shaking.
Not from fear.
From need.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together. I thought of my mother. Of her last words. Of the curse that would kill me in three years if I didn’t break it.
I had come here to destroy Kaelen Thorne.
But the bond wasn’t just chaining me to him.
It was changing me.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it anymore.
I stayed on the floor for hours, until the trembling stopped. Until the heat in my blood cooled. Until I could breathe without feeling him.
Then I got up.
I washed my face. Combed my hair. Pulled on a fresh tunic.
I was still bound.
Still trapped.
Still his.
But I wasn’t broken.
Not yet.
I walked to the bed, ready to sit, to gather my thoughts, to plan.
And then I froze.
On the pillow.
His scent.
Stronger than before.
Storm musk. Heat. Male.
He’d been here.
While I was gone.
He’d touched my pillow. Smelled it. Claimed it.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing the fabric.
And for the first time since I’d walked into this fortress, I let myself wonder—
What if he wasn’t the monster I thought he was?
What if the real enemy wasn’t him?
What if it was me?
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight the dream.
I let it come.
His mouth on my neck.
His hands on my skin.
His voice, whispering my name.
Garnet.
Mine.