The scent hits me like a blade to the spine.
Thick. Cloying. Wrong.
It floods the corridor—a syrupy mix of jasmine, blood, and something metallic, like rusted iron left in the rain. Not natural. Not accidental. Engineered. A potion. A trap. And it’s spreading fast, curling through the air like poison smoke, seeping into my lungs, into my magic, into the very pulse of the bond.
And then—
He changes.
Kaelen was already tense—his body coiled, his grip on my hand like iron—but now, he snaps. His breath hitches. His fangs lengthen, just past his lower lip. His claws erupt from his fingertips, slicing through the air with a soft, deadly shink. The storm-gray of his eyes flickers—gold bleeding into the gray, the wolf surging forward, close to the surface, close to losing control.
“Kaelen,” I whisper, stepping back instinctively.
He doesn’t let me go.
His hand tightens around mine, his other arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me hard against him. His body is a wall—hot, unyielding, vibrating with something feral. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving. The bond screams between us—hot, violent, hungry. It’s no longer a thread. It’s a live wire, sparking, burning, demanding.
“The heat,” he growls, voice guttural, barely human. “It’s… triggered.”
“Fight it,” I say, but my voice wavers. “You’ve fought it before.”
“Not like this.” His forehead presses to mine, his breath hot on my skin. “This isn’t natural. It’s blood magic. Amplified. Forced.”
And then—
His scent shifts.
Not just pine and iron and smoke.
Need.
Raw. Primal. Unrelenting. It floods me, drowning out everything else. My breath catches. My core clenches. My magic flares—just a spark, a flicker of heat in my palms—but it’s enough. The bond surges, a wave of heat rolling through me, pooling between my thighs.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “Your body. Reacting. Not from fear.”
“Let me go,” I whisper, but there’s no force behind it.
“Can’t.” His hand slides up my back, into my hair, fisting at the base of my skull. “The bond won’t let me. And neither will you.”
“I don’t want this.”
“Liar.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark, unreadable. “You want me to touch you. You want me to kiss you. You want my mark on your skin where everyone can see.”
Shame burns through me. Because he’s right.
And the worst part?
I don’t want him to stop.
“Kaelen,” I breathe. “We need to move. We need to get you to a chamber—”
“No.” He shakes his head, his voice rough. “If I go feral, I’ll tear it apart. I’ll hurt you.”
“Then let me help you.”
He laughs—low, broken. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.” I lift my chin. “I’m not your pet. I’m not your prisoner. I’m your mate. And if this bond is real—if it’s ours—then I get to choose how we face it.”
For a heartbeat, he just stares at me. Then—
His grip loosens.
Just slightly.
Enough for me to step back. Enough for me to breathe.
“Where?” he asks, voice strained.
“Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.”
“There is no safe.”
“Then somewhere private.” I glance down the corridor. The scent is still spreading, but the path ahead is clear—for now. “The lower archives. The old scriptorium. It’s warded. No one goes there.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t question. Just nods.
We move fast, his hand still locked around mine, his body angled to shield me. The bond hums between us—hot, insistent, alive. I can feel his need like a drumbeat in my blood, his control fraying with every step. His fangs graze my pulse point, just a brush, but it’s enough to make me gasp, my body arching into him, seeking more.
“Don’t test me, little liar,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Because if you do—” His thumb brushes my lower lip. “—I won’t stop at a kiss.”
“Then don’t kiss me,” I whisper.
“Too late.”
—
The scriptorium is a tomb of forgotten knowledge.
A narrow chamber buried deep in the lower levels of the Spire, its walls lined with crumbling shelves of ancient tomes, their spines cracked, their pages yellowed with age. The air is thick with dust and decay, the scent of old parchment and something darker—dried ink, maybe, or the residue of spells long expired. A single, flickering lantern hangs from the ceiling, casting long, shifting shadows.
I seal the door behind us with a whisper of magic—“Claustrum.” The runes etched into the stone glow faintly, then settle into silence. We’re alone. Hidden. Hunted.
Kaelen doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stands in the center of the room, his back to me, his body taut, his breath ragged. The scent of the potion still clings to the air, but it’s weaker here, muffled by the wards. Still, it’s enough. The heat is building. The bond is screaming. And he’s losing the fight.
I step forward.
“Kaelen.”
He doesn’t turn.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, he does.
His eyes are gold now—fully wolf, fully feral. His fangs are bared, his claws flexed, his body coiled like a spring. The air around him shimmers with heat, with power, with the raw, unfiltered truth of what he is.
And yet—
He’s still him.
Still the man who carried me from the fire. Who marked me in the ruins. Who stood in front of me when Vexis ordered me seized. Who said, “You’re mine,” like it was a vow.
“I need you to trust me,” I say, voice steady.
“I do.” His voice is low, strained. “But the heat—”
“I know.” I close the distance between us, stopping just in front of him. “I’m not going to let you lose control. I’m not going to let you become feral. But you have to let me in. You have to let me help.”
“You don’t understand what this is.” His hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek. Just a whisper of contact. But it’s enough. Heat explodes beneath my skin, racing down my neck, pooling between my thighs. “If I take you—if I claim you here, now—it won’t be gentle. It won’t be slow. It’ll be teeth and hands and fire. And once I start—”
“Then don’t start,” I say, stepping into him, pressing my palm to his chest. “Let me soothe you. Let me calm the bond. Let me be your anchor.”
He stares at me. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll refuse. Think he’ll turn away. Think he’ll let the heat consume him.
Then—
He nods.
Just once.
—
I don’t hesitate.
I press my hands to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, the heat of his skin through his shirt. My magic hums beneath my skin, low and steady. Not fire. Not flame. Warmth. A slow, pulsing glow that spreads from my palms, seeping into him, calming the storm.
He gasps.
His body tenses. His claws dig into his palms. His fangs lengthen, just slightly. But he doesn’t pull away.
“Breathe,” I say, voice soft. “Just breathe.”
He does.
Slow. Deep. Human.
I move my hands—up his chest, over his shoulders, to the base of his neck. My fingers tangle in his hair, gentle, grounding. My magic flows through me, steady, sure, a current of warmth that wraps around the bond, soothing its edges, quieting its scream.
“You’re not feral,” I whisper. “You’re not lost. You’re here. With me.”
His breath hitches. His eyes close. His body sags, just slightly, leaning into me.
“You’re mine,” I say, echoing his words, making them my own. “And I’m not letting you go.”
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stands there, his body pressed to mine, his breath warm on my neck, his need a low, insistent pulse between us.
And then—
His arms wrap around me.
Not caging. Not claiming.
Holding.
His face buries in my neck, his breath hot, unsteady. His hands clutch at my back, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on. Like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling.
“Zara,” he murmurs, voice rough, broken. “I can’t—”
“Shh.” I stroke his hair, my magic still flowing, steady, calm. “You don’t have to. Just breathe. Just feel. Just be.”
Minutes pass.
Then an hour.
The heat doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows. But it’s different now. Not wild. Not uncontrolled. Contained. Like a fire banked, not extinguished. The bond still hums, but it’s no longer screaming. It’s singing.
And then—
His hand slides up my back, over my shoulder, to my neck—just like in the library. Not choking. Not hurting. Claiming. His thumb brushes my pulse.
“You feel that?” he asks, voice low. “Your heart. Racing. Not from fear.”
“No,” I whisper.
“You’re wet.”
“Yes.”
“You want me to touch you.”
“Yes.”
“You want me to kiss you.”
“Yes.”
“You want my mark on your skin.”
“Yes.”
He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. Gold, but not feral. Not lost. Present. Aware.
“Then say it,” he murmurs. “Say you’re mine.”
My breath catches.
Not from fear.
From the terrifying, undeniable truth in his words.
He’s not asking for submission.
He’s asking for consent.
And I give it.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me, his thumb still brushing my pulse, his body still pressed to mine.
“Say it again,” he says.
“I’m yours.”
And then—
His mouth crashes down on mine.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and teeth and need. His lips are rough, demanding, his tongue sliding against mine like a claim. I gasp, my hands flying to his chest, not to push him away, but to hold on.
He tastes like smoke and iron and something darker—something ancient and wild. The kiss is brutal, desperate, a battle for control. His fangs graze my lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make me whimper.
And then—
His hand slides under my shirt, fingers burning over my stomach, my ribs, my breast—
And the world explodes.
Heat. Light. Fire.
My magic ignites—just for a second, a burst of red-gold flame that licks up my arms, searing the air between us.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull back.
He just growls into my mouth, his hand tightening, his body pressing me against the shelf.
And then—
He stops.
Breaks the kiss. Steps back.
My breath comes in ragged gasps. My lips are swollen. My body aches. My core throbs with a need so deep it feels like a wound.
He stares at me, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. “You feel that?” he asks, voice rough. “That fire? That need? That’s not her. That’s us.”
“You don’t get to do that,” I whisper.
“I do.” He steps closer, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Because you’re mine. And no matter how much you hate me, no matter how much you fight it—you’ll never belong to anyone else.”
“I don’t belong to you.”
“Liar.” He leans in, his lips hovering over mine. “You’re already mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
And before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me trembling in the shadows, my body humming with the ghost of his touch, my mind screaming one word—
Yes.
—
That night, I dream of fire.
Of him.
Of a mark burning into my skin, of fangs at my throat, of a voice whispering, “You’re mine.”
I wake drenched in sweat, my heart racing, my body aching.
And 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.