The fire had died to embers, but the heat inside me hadn’t. It pulsed low in my belly, a dull, insistent throb where Kaelen’s fingers had been—where they’d *almost* taken me over the edge. I could still feel the ghost of his touch, the rough drag of his thumbs along the lace, the way my hips had rocked against his hand like I was starved for it.
Like I was starved for *him*.
I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I *knew* better. Every instinct screamed to fight, to shove him away, to remind myself that this man—this hybrid, this High Arbiter—was the enemy. That I was here to expose the truth, not to fall apart in his arms like some desperate, heat-maddened fool.
But the truth?
The truth was in the letter folded against my ribs, the ink smudged from my tears, my mother’s final words etched into my soul: *Trust no one. Except Kaelen.*
And now Lysara was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the dim light of the hall, her smile sharp as a blade, her eyes glittering with something cold and knowing.
“Did you miss me?” she purred, stepping inside and letting the door seal behind her with a soft, final click.
She wore a dress the color of dried blood, cut low in the front, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was loose, cascading over one shoulder, and on her neck—
The bite mark.
Still there. Still fresh. Still *fake*, Kaelen had said. A glamour. A lie.
But it looked real. It looked *claimed*.
And the scent—light, but unmistakable—was *his*. Cedar. Smoke. The faintest trace of blood. It clung to her like perfume, like proof.
My stomach twisted.
“I didn’t invite you in,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
She laughed, low and smooth, and closed the distance between us in three slow steps. “You don’t have to. This is *his* chamber. And as his former lover, I have certain… privileges.”
“Former?” I arched a brow. “Or just pretending to be?”
Her smile didn’t waver. “Oh, we were very real. For a time. He’s *fierce* when he’s angry. And when he bites?” She traced the mark with one red-tipped finger. “It’s not just pleasure. It’s *power*. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
“I don’t need lessons from you.”
“No?” She tilted her head, studying me. “Then why are you trembling?”
I wasn’t. Not anymore. Not since I’d read the letter. Not since I’d let myself *feel*.
But the bond flared anyway—a hot, sudden wave that made my breath catch. My skin prickled. My core clenched.
Lysara’s smile widened. “Ah. There it is. The bond-heat. It’s worse when he’s near, isn’t it? When he touches you?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is when he’s *mine*.” She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her—vanilla and venom, the cloying sweetness of fae glamour. “He’ll never want you like he wanted me. You’re a means to an end. A political liability. But me?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I was his *desire*.”
Jealousy, sharp and unfamiliar, clawed its way up my throat. I swallowed it down.
“Then why isn’t he here with you now?” I asked, voice cool. “Why did he leave you to come back to *me*?”
Her smile faltered. Just for a second. But I saw it.
“He doesn’t *want* you,” she snapped. “He *needs* you. The bond demands it. But once it’s fulfilled? Once he’s claimed you? He’ll cast you aside like the rest of them.”
“Then why hasn’t he?” I stepped forward, closing the distance. “If it’s just the bond, why hasn’t he taken me already? Why hasn’t he bitten me, claimed me, *discarded* me?”
She didn’t answer.
“Because it’s not just the bond,” I said, my voice low. “And you know it.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“I know he tried to save my mother.”
“Lies.”
“I know he’s been waiting for me.”
“Manipulation.”
“And I know,” I said, stepping even closer, “that you’re afraid.”
She slapped me.
The crack echoed through the chamber, sharp and sudden. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging. The bond *roared*, a surge of heat and fury that made my vision blur.
And then I hit her back.
My fist connected with her jaw, hard enough to snap her head back. She stumbled, eyes wide with shock, then snarled and lunged at me, claws raking through the air.
I ducked, spinning, and grabbed the silver dagger from Kaelen’s desk. I didn’t think. I just moved—witch-trained, fae-blooded, rage-fueled. The blade flashed, slicing through the fabric of her dress, cutting a shallow line across her ribs.
She hissed, stumbling back, blood welling dark against her pale skin.
“You little *bitch*,” she spat.
“Leave,” I said, holding the dagger steady, my breath coming fast. “Before I make that cut deeper.”
She wiped the blood from her side, smearing it across her fingers like war paint. “You think you’ve won? You think he’ll choose you?” She laughed, bitter and sharp. “He’ll destroy you. Just like he destroyed me.”
Then she was gone, the door sealing behind her with a final, resonant hum.
I stood there, trembling, the dagger still in my hand, my cheek burning, my heart pounding. The bond flared again, not with heat this time, but with something darker—anger. Possessiveness. A need to *claim*.
I dropped the dagger. It clattered to the floor.
And then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Familiar.
Kaelen.
I turned just as the door opened, and he stepped inside, his coat gone, his sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable. His gaze swept the room—Lysara’s blood on the floor, the dagger at my feet, my flushed face, my trembling hands.
And then his eyes locked onto mine.
“You fought her,” he said, voice low.
“She started it.”
“You could have killed her.”
“I could have,” I agreed. “But I didn’t.”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “And why not?”
“Because I’m not a murderer.”
“No.” He stopped an arm’s length away. “You’re a liar. A thief. A spy.”
“And yet,” I said, lifting my chin, “you’re still here.”
“Because the bond demands it.”
“Then why haven’t you taken what it demands?”
His jaw tightened. “Because I’m not an animal.”
“No.” I stepped forward. “You’re the High Arbiter. You’re in control. You don’t *take* unless it’s on your terms.”
“And what if it is?”
“Then prove it.”
He moved fast.
One second he was standing there, controlled, distant. The next, he had me pinned against the wall, his body pressing me into the cold stone, one hand gripping my wrist above my head, the other fisted in the front of my dress.
Our breaths tangled.
His eyes were black, pupils swallowed by the dark. His fangs were bared, just visible behind his lips. The scent of him—cedar, smoke, *need*—filled my lungs.
“You want me to prove I’m in control?” he growled. “Then stop fighting me.”
“Or what?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You’ll punish me?”
“Or I’ll *claim* you.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
“Do it,” I challenged. “If you’re so in control, then take what you want.”
His grip tightened. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking.”
“No.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “You don’t. Because if I start, I won’t stop. And once I’ve had you—once I’ve *tasted* you—you’ll never be free of me.”
My breath hitched.
“Maybe I don’t want to be free.”
He stilled.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped.
Then his gaze dropped to my lips.
And he kissed me.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
Hard. Furious. *Hungry*.
His mouth crashed against mine, his fangs scraping my lower lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond *exploded*, a wildfire of heat and sensation that ripped through me, making my back arch, my thighs clamp together, my hands twist in his hair.
He groaned, deep in his chest, and his tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, conquering, *devouring*. I kissed him back just as fiercely, biting his lip, tangling my tongue with his, my body pressing against his like I was trying to crawl inside him.
His hand slid from my wrist to my neck, holding me in place, his thumb brushing my pulse. His other hand tore at my dress, ripping the fabric at the shoulder, exposing my collarbone, the runes beneath glowing gold and crimson.
“Mine,” he growled against my mouth. “You’re *mine*.”
“Prove it,” I gasped.
He bit me.
Not on the neck. Not for claiming.
On the shoulder—sharp, sudden, just above the rune. Pain flared, hot and bright, and then pleasure, *blinding*, as the bond surged, as my magic responded, as my blood sang in my veins.
I cried out, my head falling back, my body trembling.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
We froze.
His fangs were still in my skin. My hands were still in his hair. Our breaths were ragged, tangled.
“Kaelen?” came a voice from the other side. Female. Smooth. Familiar.
Lysara.
He pulled back, his eyes blazing, his chest heaving. Blood—mine—glistened on his lips.
“Go away,” he snarled.
“I just forgot my shawl,” she called, sweet as poison. “It’s on the chair by the hearth.”
He didn’t move.
“Kaelen,” I whispered. “Let her in.”
He looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, releasing me.
“Enter,” he said, voice rough.
The door opened.
Lysara stepped in, her eyes flicking between us—my torn dress, my bitten shoulder, Kaelen’s blood-smeared mouth. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh,” she said, voice light. “Am I interrupting?”
“You already did,” I said, straightening, wiping the blood from my lip.
She ignored me, stepping past to the chair, retrieving a silken shawl. “You two look… *occupied*.”
“We were,” Kaelen said, stepping between us, his back to me, shielding me. “And now you’re done. Leave.”
She turned, draping the shawl over her shoulders. “Of course.” Her gaze landed on me, cold and sharp. “Enjoy your time, *Lyra*. While it lasts.”
Then she was gone.
The door sealed.
Silence.
Kaelen didn’t turn. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched at his sides.
“She’s lying,” I said. “About you. About us.”
“She’s afraid,” he said, voice low. “And when a predator is afraid, it lashes out.”
“Like I did.”
He turned then, his eyes searching mine. “You fought for me.”
“I fought for *me*.”
“Same thing.”
I looked away. “You bit me.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t a claim.”
“No.” He stepped closer. “It was a promise.”
“What kind of promise?”
“That I won’t let anyone hurt you. That I’ll protect you. That I’ll *fight* for you.”
My breath hitched.
“And the kiss?” I whispered. “What was that?”
He cupped my face, his thumb brushing my lip. “That was me losing control.”
“And if you lose it again?”
“Then I’ll burn the world down with you in my arms.”
The bond flared, not with heat, not with desire, but with something deeper.
Something like *truth*.
And then—
Footsteps.
Outside the door.
But not Lysara’s.
These were heavy. Urgent.
Torin.
“Kaelen,” he called, voice tight. “We have a problem. The Northern Coven envoy has arrived. They’re demanding to see *Lyra Vale*.”
My blood turned to ice.
They knew.
They knew I wasn’t who I claimed to be.
And if they exposed me now—
Then the mission was over.
And I was dead.