The silence after the door closed was heavier than stone.
Not peaceful. Not calm. But charged—like the air before a storm, thick with the scent of ozone and old magic. I stood in the center of my private study, backlit by the low fire in the hearth, hands clenched at my sides, fangs bared. My pulse was a slow, controlled rhythm, but beneath it—beneath the ice, beneath the centuries of discipline—something was *breaking*.
Indigo.
Her scent still clung to the air—indigo and iron, midnight and fire. The memory of her lips on mine, soft and yielding, the bond *singing* between us. The way she’d laced her fingers with mine, not out of fear, not out of obligation, but *choice*. And then—
Lira.
Her name was a poison on my tongue. A wound I’d thought long healed. She’d been nothing to me—a political convenience, a brief distraction in the endless night of my reign. A moment of weakness, two centuries ago, when grief had been a blade in my chest and I’d been desperate to forget the woman who’d died with my name on her lips.
But Lira had never let go.
And now she was using Indigo’s doubt like a weapon.
I turned, my boots clicking once on the obsidian floor, and strode to the window. The enchanted glass filtered the city’s glow into fractured silver, the ley lines pulsing beneath Vienna like veins of power. From here, I could see the Council Hall, its spires piercing the sky, a monument to lies and blood. Cassian was there. Waiting. Watching. And Lira—
I exhaled, long and slow, and pressed a hand to the cold glass.
She’d shown Indigo the ring. The *forged* ring. The bite mark. The lies.
And Indigo—
She’d believed her.
Not completely. Not yet. But the crack was there. Small. Sharp. Poisonous. I’d seen it in her eyes when she’d walked out—doubt. Fear. *Jealousy*.
And the bond—
It had *pulled*. Not toward me. Not with desire.
With *hurt*.
I closed my eyes. I could still feel her—her pulse beneath my fingers, her breath against my neck, the way her body had arched into mine when I kissed her. She was mine. Not because of magic. Not because of fate.
Because she *wanted* to be.
But she didn’t know it yet.
And until she did—
I had to be stronger.
Had to be *patient*.
Because if I pushed too hard, if I claimed her before she was ready, I’d lose her. Not to Cassian. Not to Lira.
To herself.
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
The door.
“Enter,” I said, voice low.
Silas stepped inside, his half-fae features shadowed in the dim light, his expression unreadable. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, then moved to stand beside me, hands clasped behind his back.
“She went to Lira’s chambers,” he said, voice neutral. “Spoke with her. Left quickly.”
I didn’t respond. Just kept my gaze on the city.
“She’s shaken,” Silas continued. “Not weak. Not broken. But… uncertain.”
“Of me?”
“Of herself.”
I turned then, finally, those molten gold eyes locking onto his. “And you? Are you uncertain?”
He didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze, steady, unyielding. “I’ve never seen you lose control. Until her.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” He hesitated. “She’s different, Kaelen. Not just the bond. Not just the magic. *Her*. And if you don’t claim her soon—”
“I won’t force her,” I snapped. “Not like this. Not when she’s still fighting me in her mind.”
“Then what will you do?” he asked. “Wait? While Cassian plots? While Lira whispers? While the Council turns?”
“I’ll protect her,” I said, voice rough. “With my life. With my throne. With my *soul*.”
Silas studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then nodded. “Then do it. But don’t let her walk away.”
He turned, walked to the door, and opened it—
And stopped.
“She’s coming,” he said, voice low. “Now.”
I didn’t move. Just turned back to the window, hands clenched at my sides, fangs still bared.
And then—
She was there.
Not hesitant. Not cautious.
But *furious*.
The door slammed open, her boots striking the stone with sharp, deliberate steps. Her hair was loose, her eyes blazing, her magic simmering beneath her skin like a storm about to break. The mating mark still glowed faintly beneath her collar, a pulse of indigo light that matched the rhythm of her breath.
“You lied to me,” she said, voice low, dangerous.
“I haven’t lied to you since the night we met,” I said, not turning. “Not about Cassian. Not about your mother. Not about *us*.”
“Then explain *this*.” She yanked the silver ring from her pocket—the forged one, Lira’s lie—and threw it at my feet. It skittered across the stone, landing with a sharp clink. “Explain why she has your ring. Why she has your *scent* on her skin. Why she says you *called her name* in the dark.”
“Because she’s a liar,” I said, finally turning. “Because she wants what she can’t have. Because she’s *jealous*.”
“And the bite mark?”
“Self-defense,” I said. “She attacked me. I defended myself. The mark is a wound, not a claim.”
“Then why hasn’t *she* been marked?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Why hasn’t *she* been claimed? Why haven’t you—”
“Because I want *you*,” I said, voice rough, stepping forward. “Not her. Not anyone else. *You*. And I won’t claim you until you *ask* for it. Until you *beg* for it. Until you’re so desperate for me that you can’t breathe without my name on your lips.”
She froze.
Then—
She slapped me.
Not hard. Not with magic.
But with *fury*.
Her palm struck my cheek, sharp and stinging, the sound echoing in the chamber. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just watched her, those molten gold eyes searching, *testing*.
“You don’t get to decide what I want,” she hissed. “You don’t get to stand there and talk about *begging* like I’m some desperate little witch who can’t control herself.”
“You’re not desperate,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re *mine*. And you know it. You feel it. The bond doesn’t lie, Indigo. It only shows the truth you’re too afraid to face.”
“And what truth is that?” she snapped.
“That you want me,” I said, voice dropping, rough, intimate. “That you’ve wanted me since the moment our hands touched. That every time you say you hate me, your body says the opposite. That when I touch you—” I reached out, brushed my thumb over the mating mark. “—you *burn*.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’re not some pawn in your revenge game,” I murmured, stepping closer. “You’re my bondmate. My equal. And whether you like it or not—” My voice dropped, rough, intimate. “—you’re *mine*.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me, those dark eyes wide, unblinking, *hers*.
And then—
I kissed her.
Not soft. Not gentle.
But *hard*—my mouth crashing into hers, my fangs grazing her bottom lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. She tried to pull away, but I held her, relentless, my tongue sliding against hers, claiming, *consuming*.
And then—
The bond *erupted*.
Fire ripped through me, not pain, but *pleasure*—white-hot, blinding, *inescapable*. My knees buckled. My hands fisted in her tunic. My body pressed into hers, desperate, *needy*.
She gasped, low and deep, and I lifted her, one hand under her thigh, the other at her back, carrying her to the wall. My body pinned hers, her legs tightening around me, her hips *grinding* against mine, seeking friction, seeking *more*.
“Kaelen—” she gasped, breaking the kiss.
“Say it,” I demanded, voice rough. “Say you want me.”
“I—”
And then—
I moved.
My hand slid up, over her ribs, to the curve of her breast. My thumb brushed the underside, just once. A test. A promise.
She arched into me, traitorous, desperate.
“Say it,” I growled.
“Never.”
“Then I’ll make you.”
My other hand slid down, over her hip, to the curve of her ass, pulling her harder against me. My fangs grazed her throat, just a whisper of pressure, a promise of what was to come.
She moaned—low, sweet, *mine*—and I kissed her again, deeper, harder, *ours*.
And then—
I lifted her higher, one hand under her thigh, the other at her back, pressing her against the wall. My mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, marking, *claiming*.
Her hands fisted in my hair. Her hips ground against mine. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
“Kaelen—”
“Say it,” I demanded, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
“I—”
And then—
I unbuttoned her blouse.
Just one. Just enough to expose the curve of her breast, the lace of her undergarment, the pulse at the base of her throat.
My thumb brushed the edge of the fabric, just once.
She gasped.
“Say it,” I growled, leaning in, my lips brushing her ear. “Say you want me. Say you need me. Say you’re *mine*.”
Her breath came fast. Her magic surged. The Mark of the Eclipse flared, a pulse of heat that made her gasp.
And then—
I slipped my hand beneath the fabric.
Just enough to cup her breast, my thumb brushing her nipple through the lace.
She *arched*.
Moaned.
Pressed into my touch.
“Kaelen—”
“Say it,” I demanded, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
The door.
We broke apart, gasping, swollen-lipped, blood on our mouths, her blouse half-open, my hand still beneath the fabric, her body still pressed to mine.
“Kaelen,” came the guard’s voice, muffled. “It’s urgent. Cassian’s men—they’re at the gates. They’ve breached the outer wards.”
I exhaled, long and slow, then pressed my forehead to hers. “Later,” I murmured. “This isn’t over.”
“It never is,” she said, voice unsteady.
I stepped back, but my hand lingered on her hip, my thumb brushing the curve just once. Then I turned, walked to the door, and opened it just enough to speak.
“Mobilize the inner guard,” I said, voice cold, commanding. “Seal the lower levels. And send Silas to me—*now*.”
The guard nodded, then disappeared down the corridor.
I turned back to her.
She was still against the wall, one hand pressed to her chest, breath ragged, the mating mark glowing faintly beneath her collar. Her blouse was still open, her skin flushed, her lips swollen from my kiss.
And her eyes—
They weren’t afraid.
They weren’t angry.
They were *hungry*.
“You’re not going to run,” I said, stepping closer. “Not from this. Not from *me*.”
“You don’t own me,” she said, stepping away.
“No,” I agreed. “But the bond does. And so does your magic.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned, hand on the door—
“Indigo.”
She stopped.
Didn’t turn.
“The next time I touch you,” I said, voice low, rough, “I won’t stop. Not until you’re screaming my name. Not until you’re *marked*. Not until you’re *mine*.”
She turned her head, just slightly. “Then I’ll make you *bleed*.”
And she stepped outside.
I watched her go, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
And then—
I smiled.
Because I knew—
She wasn’t running.
She was *hunting*.
And so was I.