The moment Garnet left the Warding Chamber, I wanted to follow her.
Not to control. Not to threaten.
To hold.
That was the problem. The bond wasn’t just magic—it was a living thing, feeding on proximity, on touch, on the raw, unfiltered truth of what we felt. And when my palm met hers, when her skin burned against mine, when her breath hitched and her body arched toward me like she needed me—
I felt it.
Not just her desire.
Mine.
And it terrified me.
I’d spent my entire life mastering control. As Alpha, I ruled through discipline, through fear, through the cold precision of a man who would never let instinct override reason. My father had been ruled by bloodlust, by cruelty, by the unchecked rage of a predator who saw the world as prey. I had spent every day since his death trying to be the opposite.
But Garnet?
She unraveled me.
One touch. One breath. One soft, broken moan from her lips, and I was on the edge of something I couldn’t name—something that felt too much like surrender.
I stayed in the Warding Chamber long after the High Witch and the Sentinels left. I stood in the center of the dais, shirt still off, the sigil over my heart pulsing in time with the one on my wrist. The air still hummed with residual magic, thick with the scent of her—spiced fire, wild thyme, something ancient and untamed. I inhaled deeply, and my cock hardened instantly.
“F*ck,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The Hollow-Thorne blood pact was a myth. A ghost story told to warn young witches and werewolves against forbidden unions. No one believed it was real. No one thought it could be activated.
But it had.
And now I was bound to the one woman who wanted me dead.
She’d said it herself—she came here to destroy me. To break the curse that was killing her bloodline, and to do it, she had to kill the last Thorne Alpha.
Me.
And yet.
When our hands touched, when the bond flared, when I slid my thumb over the inside of her thigh and felt her tremble—she hadn’t fought. She hadn’t drawn her blade. She’d melted.
And her scent—
Gods, her scent.
It had spiked, rich and sweet, the unmistakable musk of arousal. Not fear. Not hatred.
Desire.
And the bond had fed on it. Amplified it. Turned it into a current that arced between us, so strong I could taste it on my tongue—copper and fire, like blood and lightning.
I clenched my fists.
I should have hated her for it. For using seduction as a weapon. For making me feel things I’d sworn I’d never feel.
But I didn’t.
I wanted to see what she’d do next.
That’s what I told Riven when he found me in the chamber, standing in silence, still half-dressed, still reeling.
“She’s planning something,” he said, arms crossed, his dark eyes sharp. “I’ve had eyes on her since she returned to your wing. She’s not sleeping. Not eating. Just pacing. And she’s asking questions—about the Southern Clan, about the Blood Accord, about you.”
I turned to him, slow. “Let her.”
He frowned. “You’re not concerned?”
“I’m intrigued,” I said. “She thinks she’s playing a game. But she doesn’t realize the board changed the moment she walked into this hall.”
“And if she tries to kill you?”
“Then she dies with me,” I said simply. “The bond doesn’t allow survival without the other. If she kills me, she breaks the pact. And the magic will take her too.”
He studied me. “You sound almost… pleased by that.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
There was a part of me—a dark, hungry part—that wanted her to try. To draw her blade. To come for me in the night. Because if she did, I wouldn’t stop her. Not at first. I’d let her get close. Close enough to feel my breath. Close enough to smell the storm on my skin. Close enough to remember how her body had arched into mine during the warding test.
And then?
Then I’d take the knife from her hand. Pin her to the wall. Feel her heart race against my palm.
And I’d make her admit it.
That she wanted me.
That the bond wasn’t just a curse.
It was truth.
“The Council has summoned us,” Riven said, breaking the silence. “They want confirmation of the bond. They’re calling an emergency session in Edinburgh.”
I exhaled, long and slow. “Of course they are.”
The Supernatural Council didn’t like surprises. And the reactivation of a centuries-old blood pact between two of the most powerful werewolf and witch bloodlines? That was about as disruptive as it got.
“When?”
“Two days. Midnight session. All faction leaders must attend.”
I nodded. “Prepare the transport. And Riven?”
“Yes?”
“Bring her with me. I want her at my side.”
He hesitated. “You think that’s wise? She’s unstable. Unpredictable. If she tries something—”
“Then I’ll handle it,” I said, voice low. “But she needs to see the stakes. She needs to understand that this isn’t just about her revenge. It’s about war.”
He didn’t argue. Just gave a sharp nod and left.
I stayed a moment longer, then pulled my shirt back on, the leather creaking as I fastened it. The sigil on my wrist still glowed faintly, a constant reminder. I touched it—just once—and felt the echo of her pulse.
She was afraid.
I could feel it through the bond. A tight, coiled tension, like a wire about to snap. She was fighting it—fighting me—with everything she had.
And I?
I was done fighting.
Let her come.
Let her try.
I’d be waiting.
Two nights later, we stood in the Council Chamber beneath Edinburgh Castle—a vast, circular room of black stone and silver veins, lit by floating orbs of blue flame. The air was thick with power, with the weight of ancient oaths and blood-deep rivalries. Around the central dais sat the leaders of the major factions: Vampire Lords in crimson silk, Fae nobles wreathed in glamour, werewolf Alphas in leather and steel, witches in flowing robes etched with sigils.
Garnet stood at my side, dressed in black, her hair loose, her expression unreadable. She hadn’t spoken since we arrived. Hadn’t looked at me. But I could feel her—through the bond, through the heat of her body, through the way her pulse jumped every time I shifted closer.
She was aware of me.
Good.
The High Witch of the Northern Pack stepped forward, her silver eyes glowing. “The Council is gathered to address the reactivation of the Hollow-Thorne blood pact. By ancient law, such unions are forbidden under the Blood Accord. However, the magic has spoken. The bond is real. The claim is valid.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
“And what does the Council decree?” I asked, voice steady.
The Elder Vampire Lord, a gaunt man with eyes like polished onyx, rose. “The bond cannot be broken without catastrophic consequences. To sever it would destabilize the werewolf clans, ignite war between North and South, and risk the collapse of the Accord itself.”
Garnet stiffened beside me.
“So,” the Fae Queen said, her voice like honey and poison, “the bond must stand. But it must also be proven. We cannot have false claims destabilizing the balance.”
“We’ve already undergone the warding test,” I said. “The bond is confirmed.”
“A private test,” the Elder Witch countered. “We require public verification. And a time limit.”
“Ninety days,” the Vampire Lord said. “They must remain bound, in proximity, for ninety days. No separation longer than twelve hours. No denial of the bond’s needs. If they succeed, the union is recognized. If they fail—”
“War,” the Fae Queen finished. “And execution for treason.”
The chamber fell silent.
I turned to Garnet.
Her face was pale. Her hands clenched at her sides. I could feel the shock through the bond—sharp, sudden, like a blade to the gut.
Ninety days.
She’d come here to destroy me in weeks. To sabotage, to strike, to vanish.
Now?
She was trapped.
And so was I.
But where she saw prison, I saw opportunity.
“We accept,” I said, before she could speak.
Her head snapped toward me. “You don’t get to decide for me—”
“I just did,” I said, voice low. “Because if you refuse, the bond breaks. And you die. Is that what you want? To die before you even get your hands on me?”
Her eyes burned. “You think this changes anything?”
“I think it changes everything,” I said. “You wanted a war? You’ve got one. But now it’s not just between us. It’s between every faction in this room. And if you walk away, you’re not just killing yourself.
You’re starting a massacre.”
She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because she knew I was right.
The Council session ended. The leaders dispersed. Garnet and I were escorted back to the transport—a sleek, armored vehicle that would take us through the underground tunnels to the Northern fortress.
She didn’t speak the entire ride.
I watched her from the corner of my eye—her profile sharp, her jaw tight, her fingers tracing the sigil on her wrist. She was calculating. Planning. I could feel it in the bond—a restless, feral energy, like a caged wolf testing the bars.
When we arrived, I followed her to her chamber. She didn’t turn the key. Didn’t lock the door.
So I stepped inside.
“You hate me,” I said, closing the door behind me. “I get it. My father killed your mother. He cursed your bloodline. You came here to destroy me. Fine.”
She turned, eyes blazing. “Then why bind me to you? Why force me to stay?”
“Because you don’t get to decide when this ends,” I said, stepping closer. “Not anymore. You wanted a war? You’re in one. But now it’s not just about vengeance.
It’s about survival.
And if you think I’m going to let you throw your life away—throw mine away—just to prove a point, you don’t know me at all.”
She stepped forward, until we were inches apart. “You don’t know me,” she hissed.
“I know how your breath hitches when I touch you,” I said, voice rough. “I know how your scent spikes when I’m near. I know how you trembled in the Warding Chamber. That wasn’t hatred, Garnet.
That was need.”
Her chest rose and fell. “You don’t know what I need.”
“I know you’re afraid,” I said. “Afraid of the bond. Afraid of me. Afraid of what you feel when I’m close.”
She didn’t deny it.
“But you’re not the only one,” I said, softer now. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want it. But it’s here. And I’m not running from it.”
“Then you’re a fool,” she whispered.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’d rather be a fool who survives than a dead hero who never lived.”
She looked away.
I reached out, just once, and brushed my thumb over the back of her hand. The sigil flared, warm and bright.
“Ninety days,” I said. “Let’s see what happens.”
And then I left.
But not before I saw it—the flicker in her eyes.
Doubt.
And something else.
Something that looked dangerously like hope.