The armory kiss haunted me.
Not the violence. Not the betrayal. Not even the way I’d kneed Kaelen in the gut and fled like a coward.
No.
It was the way my body still burned for him. The way my lips tingled when I touched them. The way my core clenched at the memory of his hand beneath my tunic, his thumb circling my nipple, his cock pressing against me like a promise.
I’d told myself it meant nothing. That it was the bond. That it was magic. That my body had betrayed me, not my heart.
But lying in bed that night, sheets tangled around my legs, sweat cooling on my skin, I couldn’t lie anymore.
I wanted him.
Not just to break the curse.
Not just to survive.
Wanted.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any curse, any prophecy of death.
I spent the next two days avoiding him. Staying in my chamber. Reading old texts on blood magic. Training in the courtyard at dawn, when the fortress was still asleep. I kept my head down, my scent low, my magic bound. I didn’t sabotage. I didn’t provoke. I didn’t even look in the direction of the armory.
But I could feel him.
Through the bond, through the walls, through the silence—he was there. Watching. Waiting. Letting me think I was free while he tightened the leash.
And then, on the third morning, I saw her.
I was in the east wing, heading to the library with a stack of borrowed texts, when I turned a corner and froze.
The chamber door at the end of the hall—the Alpha’s private suite—was ajar.
And from within, a woman stepped out.
She moved like smoke—slow, deliberate, unhurried. Long, crimson hair spilled over bare shoulders, her skin pale as moonlight, her eyes dark and knowing. She wore nothing but a black silk shirt—Kaelen’s shirt—its sleeves rolled to her elbows, the top buttons undone, revealing the curve of her breasts, the faint red mark on her collarbone.
My breath caught.
Not because of her beauty—though she was stunning, in a venomous, dangerous way.
But because of the scent.
Storm musk. Iron. Heat.
His scent.
And hers—copper and roses, thick with blood magic and something older, darker. Vampire. Crimson Court.
She paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other brushing her hair over her shoulder. Her gaze locked onto mine, and a slow, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Garnet Hollow,” she said, voice like velvet over steel. “How… delightful to finally meet you.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
My fingers tightened around the books in my arms, the edges digging into my palms. My fangs ached. My pulse roared. The sigil on my wrist flared, hot and sharp, as if the bond itself recoiled at her presence.
“You must be Lady Selene,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’ve heard so much.”
“All lies, I’m sure,” she purred, stepping forward. “But I’ve heard even more about you.”
She stopped inches from me, close enough that I could smell the lingering traces of Kaelen on her skin, on the fabric of the shirt. My stomach twisted. My hands trembled.
“Tell me,” she said, tilting her head. “Does he kiss you like he kissed me? With that same desperate hunger? That same animal need?”
I didn’t answer.
“Or does he hold back?” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Afraid to lose control? Afraid of what he might do to you?”
My breath hitched.
“He didn’t used to be afraid,” she said, stepping even closer. “Not with me. Not when I let him drink from my neck. Not when I begged him to mark me.”
She touched the red mark on her collarbone—a fake bite, I realized. A glamour. A lie.
But it didn’t matter.
Because my body believed it.
Heat flooded my core. My thighs clenched. My skin burned. Jealousy—raw, feral, unrelenting—ripped through me like a storm, tearing through every defense, every lie I’d told myself.
I wanted to slap her.
I wanted to tear the shirt from her body.
I wanted to sink my fangs into her throat and make her scream.
Instead, I smiled. Cold. Controlled. “How… generous of you to share him. I’ll be sure to thank him for the hand-me-down.”
Her smile didn’t waver. “Oh, darling, he didn’t share me. He took me. Repeatedly. And he’ll do it again. The bond won’t last. It never does. And when it breaks? He’ll come back to me.”
“Then you don’t know him,” I said, stepping around her. “And you don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” she called after me. “I know he’s never marked you. I know he hesitates. I know he resists.”
I didn’t turn.
“But I don’t,” she whispered. “And neither will he. Not for long.”
I walked faster.
Books pressed to my chest, head high, spine straight. I didn’t run. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t let her see the way my hands shook, the way my breath came in shallow gasps, the way my heart felt like it was being torn in two.
But the moment I turned the corner, out of her sight, I stopped.
Pressed my back against the cold stone wall.
And let it in.
The jealousy.
The rage.
The hurt.
I slid down the wall, the books tumbling from my arms, pages splayed across the floor. My fingers dug into my thighs. My breath came in ragged gasps. My vision blurred.
She’d been in his bed.
She’d worn his shirt.
She’d let him drink from her.
And he’d let her.
After everything—after the ritual, after the warding test, after the kiss in the armory—he’d gone to her?
Was that why he’d hesitated? Why he’d pulled back? Because he’d already had her? Because I wasn’t enough?
No.
I refused to believe it.
He’d said he wasn’t his father. That he wasn’t a monster. That he wanted to help me.
But this?
This felt like a betrayal.
Not of the bond.
Of me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together. I thought of the kiss. Of the way he’d looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world. Like I was his. Like he’d rather die than let me go.
And now?
Now I was nothing. Just another woman in a long line of conquests. Just another body to be used, discarded, replaced.
“Garnet?”
I looked up.
Lyra stood over me, her violet eyes wide with concern. She knelt, gathering the scattered books, her movements quiet, careful.
“I saw her,” I said, voice hollow. “She was wearing his shirt.”
Lyra didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “I know.”
“He was with her.”
“No,” she said simply. “He wasn’t.”
I stared at her. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” she said, handing me the books. “She wasn’t marked. No scent of mating. No bond resonance. Just glamour. Just a game.”
“Then why—?”
“Because she wants you to doubt him,” Lyra said. “Because she wants you to doubt yourself. She’s been trying to claim him for years. And now that he’s bound to you? She’ll do anything to break you.”
I swallowed. “And if she’s not lying? If he did—”
“He didn’t,” Lyra said. “Kaelen Thorne doesn’t share his bed. Not with her. Not with anyone. He hasn’t since before the bond activated.”
“How do you know?”
She hesitated. “Because I watch. Because I listen. Because I know what real claiming looks like.”
I wanted to believe her.
I needed to believe her.
But the image of Selene in that shirt, her fingers brushing her collarbone, her voice dripping with triumph—it was burned into my mind.
“She said he hesitates,” I whispered. “That he resists. That he’s never marked me.”
Lyra’s expression softened. “And has he?”
I didn’t answer.
Because he hadn’t.
Not yet.
And maybe he never would.
Maybe he didn’t want to.
“Garnet,” Lyra said, touching my arm. “The bond isn’t just about possession. It’s about trust. About choice. And Kaelen? He’s giving you that choice. Even if it kills him.”
I looked at her. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s not your enemy,” she said. “And he’s not hers. He’s yours. If you let him be.”
I didn’t know what to say.
So I stood, brushing dust from my trousers, gathering the books. “I need to go.”
“Don’t let her win,” Lyra said, standing with me. “Don’t let her make you into something you’re not.”
“And what am I?” I asked, voice sharp. “The wronged mate? The jealous lover? The fool who believed his lies?”
“You’re the woman who walked into this fortress to destroy him,” she said. “And instead, you’re the only one who might save him.”
I didn’t answer.
I just walked away.
But her words followed me.
All day, I moved through the fortress like a ghost. I attended the midday council meeting—silent, detached, my gaze fixed on the floor. I ate alone in my chamber, the food tasteless, the silence deafening. I tried to read, but the words blurred on the page. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Selene—her smile, her scent, the way she’d touched that fake bite mark.
And worse—I saw Kaelen.
His hands on her.
His mouth on her neck.
His voice, whispering her name.
Selene.
Mine.
I hated it.
I hated her.
But most of all, I hated that a part of me believed it. That a part of me thought I wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t what he wanted. That I was just a means to an end—a way to break the curse, to fulfill the bond, to survive.
That night, I stood at the window of my chamber, staring out at the moonlit cliffs, the wind tugging at my hair. The sigil on my wrist pulsed, slow and steady, a constant reminder of the bond. Of him.
I thought of my mother.
Of her last words: “Never let him mark you.”
And for the first time, I wondered—
What if she’d been wrong?
What if the real danger wasn’t the mark?
What if it was the not marking?
What if the bond wasn’t a curse?
What if it was a choice?
A knock at the door.
I didn’t turn. “Come in.”
The door opened.
I knew it was him before he spoke. Knew it from the heat of his presence, the storm in his scent, the way my pulse jumped, traitorous and unrelenting.
“Garnet.”
His voice was low. Rough. Careful.
I still didn’t turn. “What do you want?”
“I heard about Selene.”
My breath caught.
“She was in your suite,” I said, voice flat. “Wearing your shirt.”
“She stole it,” he said. “From the laundry. The bite mark is glamour. She’s never been in my bed.”
“And the scent?” I asked. “The way she smelled like you?”
“She’s a vampire,” he said. “They can mimic scents. It’s a trick. A lie.”
I turned then, my eyes burning. “And you let her?”
“I didn’t let her,” he said. “She’s a Lady of the Crimson Court. I can’t imprison her for wearing stolen clothes.”
“But you could have denied her,” I said. “You could have told her to leave. You could have—”
“I didn’t have to,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I don’t want her. I’ve never wanted her. Not like that.”
“Then why does she think she has a claim on you?”
“Because she’s desperate,” he said. “Because she wants power. Because she thinks if she can break us, she can have me.”
“And can she?” I whispered.
He stopped, inches from me. His gold eyes held mine, fierce, unrelenting. “No. Because I’m already claimed.”
“By the bond,” I said.
“By you,” he said. “Not the magic. Not the blood. You. The moment you walked into that hall, you were under my skin. In my blood. In my heart.”
My breath hitched.
“I haven’t touched another woman since the bond,” he said. “Not because I have to. Because I want to. Because every time I look at you, I remember how you taste. How you feel. How you said my name when I kissed you.”
My chest rose and fell.
“I haven’t marked you,” he said, voice dropping. “Not because I don’t want to. Because I do. Every second. Every breath. But I won’t take that from you. I won’t claim you unless you ask me to.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“And if I never ask?” I whispered.
“Then I’ll wait,” he said. “A hundred years. A thousand. I’ll wait until you’re ready. Until you trust me. Until you want me the way I want you.”
I didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Because the truth was—
I already did.
And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
He reached out, just once, and brushed his thumb over my cheek. The sigil on his wrist flared, warm and bright.
“You’re not replaceable,” he said. “You’re not a pawn. You’re not a means to an end. You’re mine. And I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”
Then he turned and left.
I stood there, trembling, my fingers touching the spot where his thumb had been.
And for the first time since I’d walked into this fortress, I let myself wonder—
What if the real enemy wasn’t him?
What if it was the curse?
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.