The first wave hits at dawn.
I wake gasping, my skin slick with sweat, my chest tight like a vise has been cinched around my ribs. My heart hammers—too fast, too hard—each beat sending a jolt of pain through my temples. The room spins, shadows stretching and warping like living things. I press a hand to my forehead. Burning. My mouth is dry, my throat raw, as if I’ve been screaming.
And then I feel it.
The bond.
It’s not the steady hum I’ve come to expect—the quiet pulse of fire and ice beneath my skin. It’s gone. Not broken. Not severed. But absent. Like a limb I didn’t know I had until it was torn away.
I sit up too fast, dizziness crashing over me. The Northern Tower is silent. No footsteps. No voices. No Kaelen.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my boots hitting the floor with a thud. My vision blurs. I grab the nightstand to steady myself, my fingers brushing the locket—my mother’s locket—where I left it last night. I don’t have time for sentiment. Not now.
“Kaelen?” I call, my voice hoarse.
No answer.
I stumble to the door, yank it open. The corridor is empty. Cold. The enchanted sconces flicker, casting long, jagged shadows. The air smells wrong—too still, too dead. Like the Tower itself is holding its breath.
Then another wave hits.
I double over, clutching my stomach as nausea rolls through me. My skin prickles, heat and cold battling beneath the surface. I press a hand to the sigils on my back—burning, not with power, but with need. They’re reacting to the bond’s absence, screaming for reconnection.
“Riven!” I shout, my voice cracking. “Mira!”
Footsteps echo down the hall. Riven appears, his wolf’s eyes glowing amber in the dim light. He takes one look at me and rushes forward, catching me before I collapse.
“Ice,” he says, his voice tight. “You’re burning up.”
“Where’s Kaelen?” I gasp.
“He’s gone,” Riven says. “Left at first light. Said he had to handle something at the Eastern Outpost. Vampires reported a breach. He didn’t want to wake you.”
My breath hitches. “How long?”
“Eight hours.”
Eight hours.
Eight hours without the bond.
I laugh—short, bitter. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
Riven’s jaw tightens. “He’s never been apart from a mate before. Didn’t realize—”
“It’s not just distance,” I say, my voice breaking. “It’s time. More than twenty-four hours apart, and the bond starts to decay. We start to decay.”
Another wave crashes over me—worse this time. My knees buckle. Riven catches me, lifting me into his arms. I don’t fight. Can’t. My body is betraying me, trembling, sweating, aching. I press my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of pine and wolf, but it’s not him. It’s not Kaelen.
“You need him,” Riven says, carrying me back to the sanctum. “Now.”
“I know,” I whisper.
He lays me on the bed, pulls the blanket over me. “I’ll send a runner. Get him back.”
“It won’t be fast enough,” I say. “By the time he returns, I could be—”
“Don’t,” he says, cutting me off. “Don’t say it. You’re not dying. Not like this.”
I close my eyes. “It’s not just me. He’ll feel it too. The bond is two-way. If I’m suffering, so is he.”
Riven hesitates. “Then we bring him back. Now.”
“No,” I say, opening my eyes. “You don’t understand. If he’s already feeling the sickness, if he’s already weakened, the journey back could kill him. He could collapse. The vampires could attack. The wolves could turn on him. He’d be vulnerable.”
“So what do we do?” Riven asks.
I press a hand to my chest, feeling the erratic beat of my heart. “We go to him.”
“You can’t travel like this,” Riven says. “You’re barely conscious.”
“Then carry me,” I say. “Or drag me. I don’t care. I’m not dying in this bed while he’s out there, thinking he’s protecting me.”
Riven studies me. Then nods. “I’ll get the transport ready. But you’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I’ll need someone to carry me when I can’t walk.”
The transport is a black, armored hovercraft—silent, fast, designed for stealth. Riven drives, his hands steady on the controls, his eyes scanning the terrain ahead. I sit in the back, wrapped in a thermal blanket, my head pressed to the cool glass of the window. The city below is a blur of shadow and light, the human world oblivious to the war raging beneath it.
Every mile we travel makes it worse.
The fever climbs. My skin burns, then freezes, then burns again. My vision blurs. My thoughts scatter. I see flashes—my mother’s face, Kaelen’s eyes, the Heart of Ice glowing in the dark. I hear whispers—Queen Anya’s voice, Nyx’s laugh, the assassin’s final words: *“Queen Anya sends her regards.”*
And the bond—
It’s a ghost now. A memory. A wound.
“Ice,” Riven says, glancing back. “Hold on. We’re almost there.”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
Then—
A jolt.
The hovercraft lurches. Riven curses, hands flying to the controls. “We’re hit. Vampires. They’re targeting the engines.”
I force my eyes open. Red beams streak through the sky—laser fire, vampire tech. The craft shudders, descending fast.
“Get us down,” I say, my voice raw.
“Trying,” Riven growls. “But we’re too exposed. If we land, they’ll swarm us.”
I press a hand to the sigils on my back. They’re burning now, not with pain, but with power. The bond is dying, but my magic—my bloodline—is fighting back.
“Let me out,” I say.
“You’re not strong enough—”
“Let. Me. Out.”
Riven hesitates. Then nods.
The side hatch opens. Cold air rushes in. I stumble out, my boots hitting the frozen ground. The sky is alive with fire—laser beams, vampire drones, the glow of their armor. They’re closing in, fast.
I raise my hand.
Ice forms—crackling, sharp—racing across the ground, up the legs of the first drone, encasing it in a prison of frost. It crashes, sparks flying. Another comes. I freeze it mid-air. Another. Another. I don’t think. Don’t plan. Just act.
But then—
The world tilts.
I fall to my knees, my vision blacking out. The sigils burn—hotter now, not with power, but with need. I press my hands to the ground, and frost spreads, fracturing the earth, freezing the drones in place.
But I can’t stand.
Can’t move.
“Ice!” Riven shouts, rushing to me.
“Go,” I gasp. “Get to Kaelen. Bring him back. I’ll hold them.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“You have to,” I say, my voice breaking. “Or we both die.”
He hesitates. Then nods. “I’ll be back. Fast.”
And he’s gone.
I stay on my knees, my hands pressed to the frozen ground, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The vampires don’t advance. They’re afraid. They see what I am. They see the power. But they also see my weakness.
And they’re waiting.
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Footsteps.
I lift my head.
And there—
Not a vampire.
Not a drone.
But him.
Kaelen.
He stumbles into view, his coat torn, his face pale, his eyes gold with wolf-side fury. He’s hurt. Bleeding. And he’s here.
My breath stops.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. Just moves—fast, silent, *certain*—and in one stride, he’s on his knees in front of me, his arms locking around me, pulling me against his chest.
“I felt you,” he growls, his voice rough with pain. “I felt the bond breaking. I felt you dying. And I came.”
Tears burn behind my eyes.
“You shouldn’t have,” I say. “You’re hurt. You’re weak. You should’ve stayed—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. “I’m not losing you. Not like this. Not ever.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his storm-colored eyes soft, not with dominance, but with tenderness. His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a stray tear.
“You’re burning up,” he says.
“So are you,” I say, pressing my hand to his chest. His heart is racing, his skin cold.
“Then we’re both dying,” he says. “But we’ll die together.”
“No,” I say. “We’ll live. But we have to stabilize. Now.”
He nods. “Then we go back. To the Tower.”
“Too far,” I say. “We won’t make it. We need to rest. To reconnect. To—”
“To touch,” he says, his voice low. “To breathe. To feel.”
I nod.
He lifts me into his arms, carries me to a nearby cave—shallow, hidden, shielded from the wind. He lays me down gently, then strips off his coat, wrapping it around me. He sits beside me, pulling me into his lap, his back against the stone wall, his arms caging me in.
“This is it,” he says. “No more distance. No more separation. We don’t leave each other’s side. Not for anything.”
“Agreed,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his chest.
He exhales, slow. “You’re shaking.”
“So are you,” I say.
He pulls me closer, his body heat seeping into mine. His hand slides up my spine, under the hem of my tunic, fingers pressing into the warm skin of my lower back. The sigils flare, reacting to his touch, to the bond, to the raw male energy radiating off him.
“They’re failing,” he murmurs. “The sigils. They can’t hold back the bond. Or your magic. Or us.”
“Good,” I say, my voice steady now. “I’m tired of hiding.”
He leans down, his mouth brushing mine—slow, deep, thorough. Not desperate. Not hungry. But loving. A promise, not a demand. My hands slide up his chest, into his hair, pulling him closer, my body melting into his.
The bond—
It doesn’t hum.
It burns.
Like it’s finally found its queen.