The first time I truly feared the bond, it wasn’t during the ritual. Not in the Warding Chamber. Not even when Kaelen pinned me in the armory and kissed me like he meant to brand me from the inside out.
It was when I realized I didn’t want to be saved from him.
After the ambush in the forest, I should have felt victorious. I’d escaped the fortress. I’d nearly made it to the edge of Blackfen Pass, where Dr. Vale’s underground clinic waited in the roots of the Carpathian foothills. I was so close I could smell the iron-rich soil, the damp moss, the faint hum of human-made electricity beneath the earth.
Then the vampires came.
And Kaelen tore through them like a storm given flesh.
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t negotiate. Didn’t even flinch when black blood sprayed across his face. He moved with a kind of brutal precision—claws, fangs, fists—ending them before they could draw a second breath. And when it was over, when the last assassin’s body crumbled to ash, he didn’t gloat. Didn’t posture.
He just looked at me.
And in his eyes, I didn’t see possession.
I saw relief.
He carried me back to the fortress, my face pressed into the curve of his neck, my breath fogging the collar of his shirt. I should have fought. Should have demanded he set me down. Should have reminded him that I wasn’t his to protect, his to claim, his to save.
But I didn’t.
I just… leaned.
And when I whispered *“Thank you,”* against his skin, it wasn’t gratitude for saving my life.
It was gratitude for proving he wasn’t the monster I thought he was.
Now, two days later, I sat by the fire in my chamber, a book open in my lap—Thorned Blood: The Legacy of the Northern Alphas—though I wasn’t reading. My mind was still in the forest, still in his arms, still tangled in the truth I couldn’t escape: I was afraid of him, yes—but I was more afraid of what I felt when he touched me.
The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, insistent throb in my wrist. It had been quiet since the ambush, almost… content. As if the near-death experience had reminded it that we were stronger together. As if it had whispered to my blood: See? He protects you. He fights for you. He would die for you.
I closed the book, setting it aside.
Outside, the sky had darkened, heavy with storm clouds that rolled in from the north. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous. The wind howled through the cliffs, rattling the torches in their sconces. A storm was coming. Not just weather—magic. The kind that bent light, twisted shadows, made the very air hum with power.
And then the lights flickered.
Not just in my chamber. Throughout the fortress. A deep, shuddering groan echoed through the stone—like the mountain itself was shifting. I stood, heart pounding, as the sigil on my wrist flared, hot and bright.
The bond reacted to magic.
And this storm? It was unnatural. Too sudden. Too fierce. Too targeted.
A knock at the door.
“Garnet.”
Kaelen’s voice. Low. Urgent.
I didn’t answer.
The door opened anyway.
He stepped inside, dressed in black leather, his hair damp from the wind, his gold eyes sharp. “We need to move. Now.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“The storm’s not natural,” he said, crossing the room in three strides. “It’s Fae-made. A destabilization spell. The fortress’s wards are failing. If the central spire collapses, the entire east wing could go with it.”
My breath caught. “The east wing—”
“—is where we are,” he said. “And the safehouse in the valley is the only shelter strong enough to withstand the magic surge. We have ten minutes before the structural integrity fails.”
I didn’t argue. Didn’t question. Just grabbed my boots and followed him into the hall.
The fortress was chaos.
Sentinels ran through the corridors, shouting orders. Witches chanted in the great hall, trying to reinforce the wards. The air crackled with energy, thick with ozone and something darker—glamour, illusion, the faint hum of Fae magic warping reality. The torches flickered, casting long, shifting shadows that looked too much like claws.
We moved fast, Kaelen leading, his hand on the small of my back—guiding, not controlling. I could feel the bond between us, pulsing in time with the storm, reacting to the surge of magic in the air. My skin was already warm. My pulse already jumping.
And then the first tremor hit.
The floor lurched beneath us. Stone cracked. A chandelier of antlers crashed to the ground, shattering. Screams echoed through the hall.
“Move!” Kaelen barked, shoving me forward.
We reached the stables just as the second tremor hit. Horses reared, whinnying in panic. The roof groaned, tiles sliding from the eaves. Kaelen grabbed a saddle, tossed it onto a black stallion, and hauled me up behind him.
“Hold on,” he said, voice rough.
I wrapped my arms around his waist, my fingers digging into the leather of his coat. The stallion bolted forward, hooves thundering across the courtyard, just as the east tower’s spire cracked and began to fall.
We didn’t look back.
The ride to the safehouse was a blur of wind, rain, and lightning. The storm raged around us, the sky split with jagged bolts of white fire. The forest was a nightmare of shifting shadows, trees bending at impossible angles, the ground slick with mud and blood—animal, I hoped. The bond flared with every jolt, every surge of magic, until my skin burned and my breath came in ragged gasps.
Kaelen didn’t speak. Just guided the stallion through the ravine, his body a wall of heat and muscle against my chest. I could feel his heart—steady, strong, unrelenting—beating beneath my hands. Could smell the storm on his skin, the iron of his blood, the dark male heat of him.
And worse—I could feel his concern.
Not just through the bond. Not just as a sensation. But as a truth, deep in my bones: he was afraid for me.
The safehouse came into view—a low stone structure built into the side of the mountain, reinforced with silver sigils and ancient runes. Kaelen dismounted first, then reached up, pulling me down with him. My legs buckled. He caught me, one arm around my waist, holding me upright.
“You’re burning up,” he said, frowning.
I hadn’t realized it. But he was right. My skin was scorching. My veins felt like they were filled with liquid fire. The bond—amplified by the storm, by the magic, by our proximity—was reacting violently.
“Bond fever,” I whispered. “It’s… escalating.”
His eyes darkened. “We need to get inside.”
He half-carried me through the door, kicking it shut behind us. The safehouse was small—just one room, with a stone hearth, a narrow cot, and shelves lined with medical supplies and dried herbs. No windows. No escape.
Just us.
And the storm.
He set me down on the cot, then turned to the hearth, striking a flame with a flint. The fire roared to life, casting flickering light across the stone walls. I curled into myself, arms wrapped around my stomach, trying to contain the heat, the pain, the need that was building in my core.
“It’s the magic,” I said, voice trembling. “The storm’s feeding the bond. It’s—”
“I know,” he said, kneeling beside me. “I can feel it too.”
I looked at him.
His jaw was clenched. His hands were fisted at his sides. His scent—storm musk, iron, heat—was thick in the air, spiking with arousal. But he didn’t touch me. Didn’t move closer. Just knelt there, watching, waiting.
“Then why aren’t you stopping it?” I asked, breathless. “You could—mark me. Claim me. End this.”
His eyes burned. “I won’t take what you don’t freely give.”
“It’s not about free will,” I snapped. “It’s about survival. If this gets worse—”
“Then we endure,” he said. “Together.”
And then the safehouse groaned.
Not the wind. Not the storm.
The structure.
Stone cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling. The silver sigils on the walls flickered, then died. The storm had breached the wards.
Kaelen moved fast, dragging the cot into the center of the room, away from the walls. Then he turned back to me, his expression grim. “We’re not getting out of here until the storm passes. Could be hours. Could be days.”
“And the bond?”
“Will get worse,” he said. “But I won’t let it break you.”
I wanted to believe him.
But the fever was already taking hold.
My vision blurred. My skin burned. My core ached with a deep, molten hunger. I could feel the bond—wild, untamed—pulsing through my veins, demanding release. And worse, I could feel him: his desire, his restraint, his need to protect me even as his own body betrayed him.
I whimpered.
Then—
He touched me.
Not a kiss. Not a grope. Not a claim.
His hand, warm and steady, cupped the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. A low growl rumbled in his chest as the bond flared between us, a live wire of heat and need.
“Breathe,” he said, voice rough. “Focus on my voice. On my touch.”
I tried. But my body was on fire. My breath came in ragged gasps. My thighs clenched, seeking friction, seeking relief.
“Kaelen—” I gasped. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he said. “You’re stronger than this. Stronger than the magic. Stronger than the bond.”
“I don’t want to be strong,” I whispered. “I want it to stop.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned in—and licked my neck.
Just a swipe of his tongue, hot and wet, from the base of my throat to the curve of my jaw. But it was enough.
Fire exploded in my core. My back arched. A moan tore from my throat, raw and broken. The bond roared to life, a wildfire racing through my veins, burning away every thought, every fear, every lie.
“Again,” I begged. “Please—”
He did.
Again. And again. Each swipe of his tongue sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core. His other hand slid around my waist, pulling me against him. His cock was hard against my hip, thick and ready, but he didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Just held me, soothed me, claimed me in the only way he could without breaking his vow.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against my skin. “Even if you won’t say it. Even if you fight it. You’re mine.”
“I hate you,” I panted, even as my hips ground against him.
“Liar,” he growled. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”
And then the fever spiked.
Pain lanced through my skull. My vision whited out. I convulsed, my body arching off the cot, my fingers clawing at his arms. He caught me, holding me steady, his mouth at my neck, his voice a steady, grounding rhythm in my ear.
“Hold on, Garnet. Just hold on.”
I clung to him, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body trembling with the force of the bond. The storm raged outside. The safehouse shook. But inside, there was only him—his heat, his voice, his hands on my skin.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not gentle. Not tentative.
Desperate.My mouth crashed over his, hot and demanding, my tongue sliding against his, tasting storm and salt and something darkly male. He growled—low, possessive—and kissed me back, his hands tangling in my hair, his body pressing me into the cot. The bond flared, a wildfire racing through my veins, burning away every thought, every fear, every lie.
My hands tore at his shirt, my nails scraping his skin, my body grinding against his, seeking friction, seeking release. He was thick. Heavy. Ready. And gods, I wanted him inside me.
“Kaelen—” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my breath ragged. “I need—”
“Say it,” he demanded, his mouth moving to my neck, teeth scraping my pulse point. “Say you want me.”
“I do,” I whispered, the words torn from me. “Gods, I want you.”
He stilled.
Then he laughed—low, rough, triumphant.
“Finally,” he murmured. “The truth.”
And then he bit me.
Not a claim. Not a mark.
Just a bite—sharp, possessive, right over my pulse. Pain and pleasure exploded at once, so intense I cried out, my body arching into him. My core throbbed. My thighs clenched. The bond pulsed, a live wire between us, feeding on every touch, every breath.
And then—
Darkness.
When I woke, the storm was gone.
Gray light filtered through the cracks in the door. The air was still. The bond was quiet, the fever broken.
I was on the cot, covered in a rough wool blanket. My clothes were intact. My body ached, but not with need—with exhaustion.
And then I felt it.
On my neck.
A fresh bite mark.
Not mine.
Not Kaelen’s.
But there.
I sat up too fast, heart pounding. Kaelen was asleep in the corner, slumped against the wall, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His shirt was torn at the shoulder. His knuckles were bruised.
And his expression?
Pained.
Like he’d fought something. Or someone.
I touched the mark.
It was real. Raised. Sore.
And I had no memory of giving consent.
“You’re awake.”
His voice was rough, sleep-raw. He opened his eyes, gold and haunted.
“You marked me,” I said, voice shaking. “While I was unconscious.”
He sat up slowly. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I would never—”
“Then who did?”
He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know.”
But I did.
The fever. The storm. The bite.
It wasn’t Kaelen.
It was the bond.
And it had claimed me in my sleep.
And the worst part?
I didn’t know if I hated it.
Or if I’d been waiting for it all along.