The air in the Council Hall tastes like lies.
It’s thick with the cloying sweetness of fae glamour, the iron tang of vampire blood sealed beneath ceremonial rings, and the musk of werewolf dominance—rank and unapologetic. I stand at the edge of the dais, draped in silk the color of midnight, my fingers curled around the treaty scroll like a weapon. My name here is Selene Vey, noble witch of the Eastern Coven. My truth? I’m Zara Emberborn, daughter of the woman they murdered, and I’ve come to watch this place burn.
The chamber is a cathedral of power—black marble pillars carved with snarling wolves and coiled serpents, stained glass that pulses with enchanted light, casting fractured rainbows across the floor like spilled blood. Above us, the vaulted ceiling spirals into darkness, where the five thrones of the Dark Council hover, suspended by magic. The Fae Queen lounges on hers, bare feet propped on the armrest, her emerald eyes tracking every movement. The Vampire Sovereign sits rigid, pale fingers steepled. The Human Liaison fidgets, sweat beading on his temple. And then there’s him.
Kaelen Dain.
He stands apart, not seated, not submissive. He doesn’t need to be. The Marked Alpha of the Northern Packs. The Council’s enforcer. A werewolf with ancient vampire blood cursed into his veins, making him stronger, faster, deadlier than any pureblood. They say he once tore a traitor apart with his teeth and licked the blood from his claws before the body hit the floor.
He’s tall—over six feet, broad-shouldered, dressed in black tactical armor that hugs every lethal line of him. His hair is dark, cut short at the sides, longer on top, falling just above eyes the color of storm clouds. Cold. Calculating. He doesn’t look at me. Not yet. But I feel him. Like a pressure behind my ribs. Like a predator circling.
The High Oracle begins the ritual. “We gather to seal the Northern Accord. By blood, by oath, by fate, let this treaty bind our kind in peace.”
My stomach twists. Peace built on lies. On the bodies of hybrids like me. Like my mother.
I step forward, the scroll in my hands. It’s a formality—my “coven” has already approved it. But this is my first move. My first step into the viper’s nest. I keep my spine straight, my expression serene. I’ve spent years perfecting this mask. The dutiful noble. The obedient witch. The woman who doesn’t question.
And then he moves.
Kaelen Dain strides toward the altar, his boots silent on the stone. He reaches for the same scroll.
Our fingers touch.
Fire.
It’s not pain. It’s recognition. A jolt so violent it locks my muscles, steals my breath. My vision fractures—
—a stone chamber, torchlight flickering on wet stone—
—my mother, chained, her dark hair matted with blood, her eyes wide with terror—
—a silver dagger, engraved with the Council’s sigil, raised above her throat—
—and him. Kaelen. Standing beside the executioner. Watching. His face unreadable.
I gasp, yanking my hand back as if burned. My heart hammers against my ribs, too loud, too fast. I can still feel the echo of his skin on mine—hot, rough, electric.
But he doesn’t pull away.
He turns his head slowly, those storm-gray eyes locking onto mine. The air between us crackles. The scent of him—pine and iron and something darker, wilder—floods my senses. My pulse stutters. My breath catches. My thighs press together instinctively, a traitorous pulse of heat flaring low in my belly.
“You feel it,” he says, voice low, rough as gravel. “Don’t you?”
His voice slides under my skin like a blade.
I force my expression to stay blank. “I feel nothing.”
A lie. A terrible, shaking lie.
Because I feel everything.
The bond.
Fated mates.
It’s a myth they teach in coven schools—ridiculous, romantic, dangerous. Mates bound by magic, drawn to each other across continents, compelled to claim, to mark, to possess. It’s used to control us. To justify forced unions. To shame hybrids like me, who are told we’re incapable of such purity.
But this—this is real.
And it’s a disaster.
Kaelen takes a step closer. The chamber seems to shrink. The other Council members fade into shadows. It’s just us. Him. Me. The space between us charged like a storm about to break.
“You’re not who you say you are,” he murmurs.
I tilt my chin up. “And you’re not entitled to question me, Alpha.”
His lip curls, just slightly. A predator amused. “I’m entitled to question anyone who triggers a bond with me.”
My blood runs cold. “That’s impossible. I’m not your mate.”
“The bond doesn’t lie.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, to the pulse hammering in my throat. “And neither does your scent.”
I don’t flinch. I’ve spent my life learning to hide. “Perhaps your senses are faulty. Or your control.”
His hand snaps out, too fast to see, gripping my wrist. His fingers are like iron, his skin burning against mine. The bond flares—hot, insistent, hungry. I feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the wet heat between my thighs. My breath hitches. My nails dig into my palms.
“You smell like smoke and defiance,” he says, voice dropping to a growl. “And underneath it—fear. But not of me.”
“No,” I whisper. “Of what I’ll do to you.”
He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Then do it. Try. See how far you get before I have you on your knees, my teeth in your neck, marking you where everyone can see.”
Every nerve in my body screams. Not in fear.
In arousal.
Shame floods me. I’m supposed to hate him. I’m supposed to kill him. And yet my body betrays me, thrumming with heat, with want, with the undeniable pull of the bond.
I wrench my wrist free. “You don’t know me.”
“I will,” he says. “And you’ll beg for my touch before this is over.”
I turn and walk away, my spine rigid, my heels clicking on stone. I don’t look back. I don’t let him see the tremor in my hands, the flush on my skin, the way my core clenches with every step.
I make it to the antechamber before I stop, pressing my back against the cold wall, breathing hard.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I wasn’t supposed to touch him. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. The bond is a complication I don’t need. A distraction. A weakness.
And yet—
That vision.
My mother. The dagger. Kaelen, watching.
Was he there? Did he watch them kill her? Did he approve?
I close my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temples. I came here for one reason: to destroy the Council that murdered my mother. To expose the conspiracy. To burn it all down.
And now the man who may have signed her death warrant is claiming I’m his fated mate?
It’s a trap. It has to be.
He knows who I am. He’s testing me. Playing with me.
But then—why would he let me walk away?
A shadow falls over me.
I open my eyes.
Kaelen stands in the doorway, blocking the exit. The torchlight gilds the hard lines of his face, the sharp angle of his jaw. His eyes are dark now, almost black. The scent of him—predator, power, danger—wraps around me like a vice.
“Running already?” he asks.
“I’m not running,” I say, pushing off the wall. “I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He steps forward, slow, deliberate. “Not until we settle this.”
“There’s nothing to settle. I’m not your mate. I’m not your anything.”
He laughs, low and humorless. “The bond says otherwise. And in this city, the bond is law.”
“Then the law is wrong.”
“No.” He’s close now. So close I can feel the heat of his body. “The law is absolute. And you—” His hand lifts, fingers brushing the side of my neck, just below my ear. I freeze. My breath stops. “—you’re mine.”
I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Or what?” He grabs both my wrists, pins them above my head against the wall. His body presses against mine, hard and unyielding. I can feel every ridge of muscle, every beat of his heart. My skin burns where he touches me. My body arches, betraying me, pressing into him.
“You think I won’t expose you?” he growls. “One word from me, and they’ll rip that pretty mask off. They’ll smell the hybrid in your blood. They’ll execute you by dawn.”
My blood runs cold. “You don’t know what I am.”
“I know enough.” His nose brushes my throat, inhaling. “Witch blood. Wolf blood. Fire in your veins. You’re Emberborn. And you’re standing in the heart of the enemy.”
I don’t deny it. I can’t. Not with him this close, not with the bond screaming between us.
“So what now?” I whisper. “You kill me? Or do you want something else?”
His lips hover over my pulse. “I want you to stop lying.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you become my public mate.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“You’ll wear my mark. You’ll stand at my side. You’ll play the role of the devoted witch, bound to the Alpha by fate.”
“And if I refuse?”
His teeth graze my skin, not breaking it, but close. Too close. “Then I expose you. And you die tonight.”
The choice is brutal. Immediate. No time to think. No way out.
Become his mate—or die.
My mind races. If I accept, I stay alive. I stay close. I stay in the game.
If I refuse, it’s over. My mission dies with me.
I meet his eyes, my voice steady. “And if I agree? What’s to stop you from killing me later?”
“The bond,” he says. “It would destroy me. And I don’t intend to die for anyone.”
“Not even for the Council?”
“Especially not for them.”
I search his face. Is he telling the truth? Is this his own game?
It doesn’t matter.
I have no choice.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll play your mate.”
His grip tightens. “You’ll do more than play.”
“I’ll do what I have to.”
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Then remember this—every touch, every word, every breath you take in my presence—it belongs to me. You’re not just my mate in name.”
His free hand slides down my side, over my hip, gripping my thigh and pulling my leg up around his waist.
“You’re mine in every way.”
I don’t fight. I don’t speak.
Because in the silence, beneath the fury and the fear and the mission—I feel it.
The truth.
The bond.
And the fire that will either consume us both…
Or make us unbreakable.