The moment her name touched the parchment, the air changed.
Not just in the room—in the very bones of the Accord. The ley lines beneath the city pulsed in response, a deep, subsonic thrum that vibrated through the obsidian floor and up my spine. The sigil on the contract flared once—indigo and crimson—then sank into the paper like blood into skin. Bound.
Officially.
Irrevocably.
Indigo stepped back, her breath shallow, her fingers flexing as if trying to shake off the static of the magic. She wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t acknowledge the way her pulse had spiked when our hands brushed, the way her scent—jasmine and iron and something darker, wilder—had thickened in the air. She thought she was hiding it. She thought she could lie to me, to the Council, to *herself*.
But the bond didn’t lie.
And I felt every pulse of her denial like a blade in my ribs.
“You’re dismissed,” I told her, voice flat, controlled. “For tonight.”
She didn’t thank me. Didn’t even nod. Just turned and walked toward her chamber, boots clicking once before the silence swallowed her. The door closed. Locked.
Good.
Let her think she was safe behind wood and warding.
Let her believe she could outrun what was already inside her.
I exhaled, long and slow, and turned to the silver case on the table. My fingers hovered over the runes. Two hundred years. Two centuries of silence, of waiting, of carrying the weight of a death I couldn’t prevent. And now—she was here. Not as a ghost. Not as a memory. But alive. Furious. *Mine*.
The bond had chosen her.
Not me.
I hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t wanted it. Not like this—not with the woman who blamed me for her mother’s blood on the stones of the Eclipse altar. And yet, the moment our palms met, something ancient had woken. Something that didn’t care about vengeance, or politics, or the lies the Council had spun. It only knew one truth: she was mine. And I was hers.
And it *ached*.
I clenched my jaw and turned away. The case would wait. For now.
I needed distance. Control. A moment to steady the storm in my veins.
But the bond had other plans.
It pulled—soft at first, a whisper beneath my ribs. Then stronger. A tug, low in my gut. A heat that spread like fire through my limbs. I froze, hand on the back of a chair.
Not pain.
Not magic.
*Hunger.*
And it wasn’t mine.
It was *hers*.
I could feel it—her body, restless, aching. The Mark of the Eclipse, dormant for decades, now flickering to life beneath her collar. The bond was feeding on her resistance, twisting her anger into something else. Something dangerous. Something *erotic*.
And I—
I was not immune.
I dragged in a breath, cold and sharp, and closed my eyes. I had ruled the Nocturne Dominion for centuries. I had faced wars, betrayals, assassinations. I had stared into the eyes of death and commanded it to wait. I was not some feral fledgling, driven mad by a pulse of desire.
But this—
This was different.
She was different.
I could feel her in my blood. In my thoughts. In the quiet spaces between my heartbeats. And the longer I stood here, the more the bond tightened, pulling me toward her like a tether wound around my soul.
I opened my eyes.
And walked to her door.
Not because I wanted to.
But because I *had* to.
The bond would not be denied.
I raised my hand—once. A single, sharp knock.
“Indigo.”
No answer.
I knocked again. Harder.
“Open the door.”
Still nothing.
Then—
A flicker. A pulse.
Her magic. Rising. Straining. The bond was reacting, feeding on her isolation, her fear, her *want*. If she didn’t release it, it would build—until it broke her. Until it broke *us*.
I didn’t wait.
I turned the handle.
Locked.
Of course.
I pressed my palm to the wood, let my power seep through—cold, commanding. The lock clicked open.
I stepped inside.
She was on the bed, fully clothed, lying stiffly on top of the covers, one arm flung across her eyes. Her breathing was uneven. Shallow. Her skin was flushed, her pulse racing beneath the surface. The Mark of the Eclipse glowed faintly at her collarbone—just a whisper of indigo light, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
She was fighting it.
Fighting *me*.
And it was killing her.
“Get out,” she said, voice raw.
“No.”
“I said—”
“I heard you.” I closed the door behind me. “But the bond doesn’t care what you say. It only knows what you *feel*.”
She sat up fast, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to walk in here and—”
“And what?” I stepped closer. “Protect you? Because that’s what this is. You’re burning up. Your magic is spiraling. If you don’t ground it, you’ll pass out. Or worse.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You do.” I stopped just short of the bed. “You’re not just a witch, Indigo. You’re half-vampire. And this bond—it doesn’t just link our magic. It links our *bodies*. Our *needs*.”
She flinched. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Speak the truth? You’re aroused. You’re angry. You’re *hungry*. And the bond is feeding on it, amplifying it, until you can’t tell where your emotions end and mine begin.”
“I don’t feel anything for you,” she spat.
“Liar.”
She lunged at me—fast, furious, a flash of fire in her eyes. I caught her wrists easily, pinned them to the bed above her head. She struggled, thrashing, but I was stronger. Older. *Mine*.
“Let me go!”
“No.” I leaned down, close enough to feel her breath on my lips. “You want to fight? Fine. But don’t pretend it’s not because you’re *afraid*.”
“Afraid of *you*?” She laughed, bitter. “You’re the one who should be afraid.”
“Of what? You killing me?” I smirked. “You had your chance tonight. You didn’t take it.”
Her chest heaved. Her eyes burned. “I will.”
“Maybe.” I tilted my head. “But not tonight. Because right now, you’re not thinking about killing me.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’re thinking about how close I am. How cold my skin feels against yours. How my thumb is brushing your pulse.” I did it—just a flick, slow, deliberate. “You’re thinking about how much you *hate* that your body is responding.”
She gasped.
And then—
The bond *flared*.
A wave of heat tore through us both. I felt it—her arousal, sharp and sweet, flooding my senses. My fangs dropped, unbidden. My grip tightened on her wrists. The air crackled, thick with magic and something darker, deeper.
And then—
Her hips arched.
Just once.
But it was enough.
Enough to make me growl. Enough to make me press down, to feel the length of her against me, the heat between her thighs. Enough to make me *want*.
“See?” I murmured, voice rough. “The bond knows the truth. Even when you won’t.”
She turned her head, breaking eye contact. “Get off me.”
“Not yet.”
“Kaelen—”
“No.” I released one wrist, slid my hand down her arm, over her hip, to the curve of her waist. “You don’t get to command me. Not here. Not now.”
Her breath came faster. Her skin burned beneath my touch. The Mark of the Eclipse flared—brighter this time—casting indigo shadows across the walls.
And then—
She *moaned*.
Soft. Broken. *Mine*.
I froze.
So did she.
Her eyes flew open, wide with shock. With shame.
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” I didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Just watched her, felt her, *claimed* her in that moment. “And you’ll do it again.”
“Get. Off.” Her voice was a whisper now. Weak. Shattered.
I hesitated.
Then—slowly—I released her.
She scrambled back, putting space between us, her chest heaving, her hands trembling. The glow of the mark faded, but the heat in the room didn’t. The air still crackled. The bond still pulsed.
“You’re not leaving,” I said, standing. “Not tonight. The bond will only pull harder if you try to run.”
“Then I’ll sleep on the floor,” she snapped.
“No.” I walked to the door, locked it from the inside. “We’re staying in this room. Together. Until the bond settles.”
“You can’t force me—”
“I’m not forcing you,” I said, stripping off my tunic. “I’m protecting you. From yourself. From the magic. From *this*.”
She stared as I moved to the far side of the room, where a second bed—smaller, simpler—was tucked into the shadows. I didn’t look at her as I lay down, arms behind my head, eyes on the ceiling.
“You don’t get to touch me,” she said, voice tight.
“I already have,” I murmured. “And you’ll let me again. Sooner than you think.”
She didn’t answer.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. The bond hummed between us, a living thing, feeding on every breath, every heartbeat, every unspoken *want*.
I closed my eyes.
And waited.
Minutes passed.
Then—
A rustle.
I didn’t move. Didn’t open my eyes.
But I felt her. Watching me. Hating me. *Wanting* me.
Then—
Footsteps.
Soft. Hesitant.
She moved to the edge of her bed, sat down, her back to me. I could hear her breathing. Could feel the tension in her body, the war inside her—vengeance versus desire, logic versus instinct.
And then—
She lay down.
Still fully dressed. Still rigid. But *there*.
Not running.
Not fighting.
Just… present.
The bond settled slightly. The heat in the room eased. The pull between us softened—but didn’t disappear.
It would never disappear.
I let myself relax—just a fraction. Just enough to let the exhaustion of the night settle into my bones. The ritual. The bond. Her. All of it had taken its toll.
But I couldn’t sleep.
Not with her so close.
Not with her scent in my lungs, her pulse in my ears, her magic tangled with mine.
And then—
A sound.
Soft. Fragile.
A whimper.
I opened my eyes.
She was curled on her side, facing away from me, one hand pressed to her stomach. The Mark of the Eclipse glowed faintly—steady now, like a slow, steady flame.
She was in pain.
Not physical.
Emotional.
The bond was showing her things. Memories. Truths. Things she wasn’t ready to face.
I should have stayed where I was.
I should have let her suffer.
But I didn’t.
I got up.
Quiet. Slow. I moved to her bed, knelt beside it. She didn’t turn. Didn’t speak.
Just trembled.
I reached out—once. Gently. My fingers brushed the back of her hand.
She flinched.
But didn’t pull away.
“You’re not alone,” I said, voice low. “Not anymore.”
She didn’t answer.
But her fingers twitched.
Then—
She turned her hand.
And laced her fingers with mine.
I didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just held her.
And in that moment—
For the first time in two hundred years—
I let myself *feel*.
The bond surged—soft, warm, *alive*.
And I knew—
This wasn’t just about politics.
Or power.
Or vengeance.
This was about *her*.
And me.
And the truth we were both too afraid to face.
That no matter how much she hated me—
She was already mine.
And I—
I was already hers.