I wake to silence.
Not the hush of dawn, not the slow creep of morning light. This is deeper. Thicker. Like the world has been wrapped in velvet and tucked away from sound. My body is heavy, limbs leaden, muscles aching in that strange, tender way that follows battle—or passion. My mouth is dry. My head throbs, a dull pulse behind my eyes, as if I’ve been dreaming too hard, too long.
And then—
I feel it.
Heat.
Low. Deep. Insistent.
Between my thighs.
My breath catches. I try to move, but my body resists, sluggish, unwilling. The sheets are wrong—too soft, too warm, tangled around my legs like bindings. I blink, forcing my eyes open, and the room swims into focus.
Not my chambers.
Too dark. Too large. A canopy of black furs hangs above me. The walls are stone, lined with weapons—daggers, swords, a whip coiled like a serpent. The air smells of pine and fire and something else—something male. Something primal.
Kaelen’s scent.
I sit up too fast, the world tilting, my stomach lurching. The sheets slide down, and I freeze.
Naked.
I’m naked.
And on his bed.
No.
No.
I scramble back, heart hammering, hands flying to cover myself, but it’s too late. The evidence is there, written in the curve of my hips, the flush of my skin, the way my body still hums with the ghost of touch. My fingers tremble as I press them to my inner thigh—and freeze again.
There.
On my right hip.
A mark.
Not a sigil. Not the glowing bond on my wrist. This is different. Raw. Real. A crescent of four deep scratches, still pink, still tender, as if clawed into my flesh in the heat of something I can’t remember.
His claws.
Kaelen’s claws.
I gasp. My hand flies to my mouth. My pulse roars in my ears. The bond hums beneath my wrist, the sigil pulsing in time with my heartbeat, warm and alive, as if it’s laughing at me.
What did I do?
What did he do?
I don’t remember.
Not the war table. Not the kiss. Not how I got here. The last thing I recall is the guards bursting in, shouting about an enemy attack, and Kaelen raising a hand, silencing them, still kissing me—
And then—
Nothing.
Just black.
Like the world swallowed me whole.
I throw the covers back and stumble to my feet, my legs unsteady, my body still humming with something I can’t name. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet. The room is massive—his private chambers, deeper in the fortress than mine, more secure, more his. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows across the stone. The balcony doors are closed. No escape there.
I cross to the dressing table, my reflection staring back—dark eyes wide, lips swollen, hair a wild tangle around my shoulders. I look like a woman who’s been well and truly taken.
And I don’t know if I hate it—or if I want more.
No.
No.
I came here to burn his court to ashes. Not to lie in his bed, marked and trembling, my body still singing with the memory of his touch.
I press my hands to the table, breathing hard. My magic churns beneath my skin, restless, uncoiled. The sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright, and I feel him—just a whisper, just a breath—but there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing.
“You didn’t touch me.”
The voice is soft. Calm.
I spin.
Riven stands in the doorway, tall and quiet, his dark eyes unreadable. He’s one of Kaelen’s Betas—loyal, observant, always watching. I’ve seen him in the halls, in the council chambers, his gaze sharp with something I couldn’t name. Now I know. He sees everything.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
“Neither are you,” he says, stepping inside. “But here we are.”
He closes the door behind him. Doesn’t lock it. Doesn’t threaten. Just stands there, arms crossed, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve.
“What do you want?” I snap.
“To tell you the truth,” he says. “Before the rumors start.”
“Rumors?”
“That you gave in,” he says. “That you let him fuck you on the war table. That you’re his now, body and soul.”
My breath hitches.
“Did I?” I whisper.
“No,” he says. “He didn’t touch you.”
I stare at him. “Then how—” I gesture to my hip. “—how did I get this?”
“The bond,” he says. “It marked you in your sleep.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” He steps closer. “You think fated bonds are just magic? Just sigils and oaths? They’re alive, Cosmos. They hunger. They demand. And when two people fight it as hard as you two have, the bond finds its own way to claim what’s already its.”
My stomach drops.
“So he didn’t—”
“No,” Riven says. “You were both unconscious when the guards found you. Kaelen was on the floor, half-shifted, claws out, breathing like a wounded animal. You were on the table, passed out, your magic flaring. The bond had taken over. It marked you. It claimed you. But he didn’t lay a hand on you after the attack was called.”
I press my fingers to the mark. It’s warm. Tender. Like a brand.
“And the others?” I ask. “The Council? Lysara? The High Priestess?”
“They’ll think you gave in,” he says. “They’ll think you’re his. And once the wedding is consummated, they’ll expect proof. But right now—” He steps closer, voice dropping. “—right now, you have a choice.”
“What choice?”
“To run,” he says. “Or to stay.”
I don’t answer.
Just stare at him, my heart pounding, my body still humming with the ghost of touch.
“You could leave,” he says. “Now. Before he wakes. Before the guards tighten. Before the Council demands proof. Take the tunnels. Head for the Hollow. You’d make it.”
“And then what?” I ask. “Live in the shadows? Wait for another chance?”
“Or,” he says, “you could stay. Use this. Let them think you’ve given in. Let him think you’re his. And when the time comes—”
“—I’ll burn him from within.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
I exhale. My legs tremble. My core still aches, deep and insistent, as if my body already knows what my mind refuses to admit.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask. “You’re his Beta. His loyal enforcer. Why help me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches me, his dark eyes unreadable. And then—
“Because I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you,” he says. “Not with lust. Not with possession. But with something deeper. Something real. And if you run, you’ll break him. And if you stay—” He pauses. “—you might just save him.”
My breath hitches.
“I don’t want to save him,” I whisper.
“Maybe not,” he says. “But you might want to save yourself.”
He turns and walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.
I don’t move.
Just stand there, naked, marked, trembling, the weight of his words pressing down on me like stone.
I came here to destroy him.
But the bond?
The bond wants me to keep him.
And for the first time—
I’m not sure I want to fight it.
The door opens again.
I don’t turn. Don’t react. Let them think I’m broken. Let them think I’ve accepted my fate.
“My lady,” a soft voice says. “Your bath is prepared.”
I finally turn. A young Fae woman stands in the doorway, head bowed, hands clasped. She’s dressed in the gray servant’s tunic I wore yesterday—before everything changed. Before I was claimed. Before I became a bride.
“I’m not your lady,” I say, voice flat. “I’m not anyone’s.”
She doesn’t look up. “The High Priestess commands your presence in the Hall of Oaths in one hour. The ritual must be performed before the wedding.”
“Ritual?”
“To bind the truth of the bond. To ensure it is pure. To prove you are his mate in body, mind, and soul.”
My stomach twists.
Of course. They don’t trust the bond. They don’t trust me. And why would they? I’m a ghost. A lie. A shadow pretending to be flesh.
But they’re wrong.
I’m more than that.
And I’ll use this ritual—like I’ll use everything else—to get what I want.
“Fine,” I say. “Prepare the bath.”
She nods and steps aside as two other servants enter, carrying steaming buckets of water. They fill the marble tub in the corner of the room, adding oils that scent the air with jasmine and myrrh—Fae luxury, meant to soothe, to relax. To make me pliant.
Good luck.
I strip slowly, peeling off the servant’s tunic I’ve worn since yesterday. My skin is pale, marked with old scars—whip marks from the Hollow, knife cuts from survival, the brand on my left shoulder from a vampire who thought he could own me. I don’t hide them. Let them see what I’ve survived. Let them know I’m not some delicate flower to be plucked and discarded.
I step into the bath.
The water is scalding. Perfect. I sink down, letting the heat sear my skin, trying to burn away the memory of Kaelen’s touch. But it doesn’t work. If anything, the heat only makes it worse. My muscles relax. My breath slows. And the bond—damn it—responds. The sigil on my wrist pulses, warm and alive, and a low throb begins between my thighs, soft and insistent.
I clench my jaw.
One of the servants reaches for a brush. “Shall I wash your hair, my lady?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “And no. I’ll do it myself.”
She hesitates. “But the High Priestess said—”
“The High Priestess isn’t here,” I say, voice low. “And if you touch me without my permission again, I’ll burn your hands off.”
She pales. Steps back.
Good.
I take the brush and work the lather into my hair myself, my movements sharp, almost violent. The soap stings a cut on my forearm—old, barely healed. I don’t care. Let it sting. Let it hurt. Pain is honest. It doesn’t lie. Unlike the bond. Unlike him.
When I’m done, I step out, dry myself with a black silk robe left on the bed, and sit at the dressing table. My reflection stares back—dark eyes, high cheekbones, lips still slightly swollen from his kiss. I trace the curve of my mouth. Remember the taste of him—spice and smoke and something wild. Remember the way he growled when I bit his lip.
I should hate him.
And I do.
Don’t I?
The door opens again. This time, it’s not a servant.
It’s Kaelen.
He fills the doorway, tall and broad, dressed in black leather and silver, his coat open at the throat, revealing the hard lines of his collarbones. His hair is slightly tousled, like he just woke up. His eyes—gold, burning—lock onto mine in the mirror.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, not turning. “I’m not dressed for company.”
“You’re dressed enough,” he says, voice rough. “We’re late.”
“For what?”
“The ritual. The Hall of Oaths. You were summoned.”
“And you’re my escort?”
“I’m your mate,” he says, stepping inside. “And until the bond is proven, we don’t leave each other’s side.”
I stand, turning to face him. “Then you’ll be disappointed. I’m not proving anything to them.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I always have a choice.”
He steps closer. Too close. I can feel the heat rolling off him, the pulse of his presence like a drumbeat in my skull. “You think you can lie to the Oath Ritual? That you can hide from the truth?”
“I’ve been hiding my whole life,” I say. “I’m good at it.”
“Not from me,” he says, voice low. “Not anymore. The bond sees everything. Feels everything. And right now, it’s screaming that you’re afraid.”
My breath hitches.
He can feel that?
“I’m not afraid of you,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m afraid of nothing.”
“Liar,” he murmurs. “Your scent changes when you lie. Sweet. Sharp. Like burnt sugar. And your pulse—” He reaches out, two fingers pressing to the side of my neck, just over my pulse point. “—it’s racing.”
I don’t pull away. Can’t. His touch is fire. His fingers are warm, calloused, and the bond flares beneath my skin, a jolt of heat shooting down my arm, pooling low in my belly.
“Take your hand off me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t. Just watches me, his golden eyes unreadable. “You think this is a game,” he says. “You think you can play me, use me, destroy me when the time comes. But you’re wrong, Cosmos. The bond doesn’t care about your revenge. It doesn’t care about your lies. It only knows the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That you’re mine.”
My breath catches.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “And that you want to be.”
I shove him back. Hard.
He stumbles, just slightly, but doesn’t fall. Just smirks. Slow. Dangerous. Like he’s already won.
“You’re impossible,” I hiss.
“And you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
I glare at him. “Let’s get this over with.”
He steps aside, gesturing to the door. “After you, little shadow.”
The Hall of Oaths is deeper in the fortress, beneath the main chambers, carved into the living rock. The air is colder here, thick with ancient magic. Torches line the walls, their flames blue and still, as if frozen in time. The floor is black stone, etched with runes that pulse faintly beneath our boots. At the center of the hall, a stone dais rises, surrounded by seven obsidian pillars—each representing one of the great supernatural houses.
The High Priestess stands at the dais, flanked by Silas, the vampire lord, and the witch representative. Lysara is there too, draped in silver, her eyes sharp with venom. And Kaelen—always Kaelen—stands beside me, his presence a wall of heat and power.
“Approach,” the High Priestess intones.
We step forward, stopping at the edge of the dais. The air hums with tension. The bond thrums in my blood, louder here, stronger, as if the magic in the hall amplifies it.
“The ritual begins,” the High Priestess says. “To prove the purity of the fated bond, the couple shall be bound hand to hand, and the truth shall be revealed.”
She gestures to a silver chain coiled on the dais. It’s thin, almost delicate, but I can feel the power in it—warding magic, truth-binding, soul-exposing.
“You will link your hands,” she says. “The chain will bind you. And the bond will speak.”
I glance at Kaelen. He doesn’t look at me. Just holds out his hand, palm up.
I hesitate.
One touch. That’s all it took last time. One touch, and the bond ignited, branding me, claiming me, changing me.
What will it do now?
But I don’t have a choice.
I place my hand in his.
The moment our skin meets, fire erupts.
Not pain. Not pleasure. But something deeper. Something primal. A jolt runs up my arm, through my chest, down to my core, so intense I gasp. The silver chain wraps around our wrists, locking us together, but I don’t feel it. All I feel is him—his presence flooding my mind, his emotions crashing into mine. Heat. Hunger. Possession. And beneath it all—something else. Something that feels almost like… need.
And then—
The visions begin.
Firelight. Stone walls. A bed draped in black. And him—Kaelen—stripping off his shirt, muscles rippling under golden skin, his back to me, the scars on his shoulders telling stories of battles I don’t know. He turns. His eyes lock onto mine. And he smiles.
“Cosmos,” he says, my name a growl on his tongue.
I cry out. The vision shatters. I’m back in the hall, trembling, my free hand clutching my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“What was that?” I hiss.
“The bond,” the High Priestess says. “It shows truth. Memory. Desire.”
“That wasn’t desire,” I say. “That was—”
“Yours?” Kaelen cuts in, voice rough. He’s watching me, his golden eyes dark, pupils blown. “Because I felt it too.”
My stomach drops.
He felt that?
“The ritual continues,” the High Priestess says. “Speak your truth, Cosmos of the Shadow Fae. Are you truly the mate of Kaelen Dain?”
I look at her. Then at the chain binding us. Then at Kaelen.
And I lie.
“No,” I say. “I am not.”
The moment the words leave my lips, agony tears through me.
It’s like every nerve in my body is on fire. My back arches. My scream echoes off the stone. The sigil on my wrist burns, white-hot, and the bond—damn it—punishes me. Images flood my mind—Kaelen’s hands on me, his mouth on my neck, his body pressing me into the cot, his voice growling in my ear—mine, yours, forever—and I feel it all, every sensation, every touch, every need.
“Stop!” I gasp. “I’ll say it again!”
“Then speak the truth,” the High Priestess says, unmoved.
I turn to Kaelen. He’s watching me, his jaw tight, his fingers twitching around mine. He felt it too. The pain. The bond shares it.
And for the first time, I see it—
Not triumph.
Not possession.
But something else.
Something that looks almost like… pain.
My breath hitches.
“Fine,” I whisper. “I am… his mate.”
The pain stops instantly.
I sag, breathing hard, my body trembling. The bond hums, satisfied. And then—
Kaelen speaks.
“And I,” he says, voice rough, “claim her as mine.”
The chain glows. The runes on the dais flare. And the bond—our bond—surges, a wave of heat and light that crashes through us both.
I cry out again. Not from pain this time. From pleasure.
It’s like every cell in my body ignites. My skin burns. My core clenches. My magic—witch-blood and Shadow Fae glamour—flares, wild and uncontrolled, and the air crackles with energy. The sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright, and I feel it—him—flooding my mind, my body, my soul.
Mine.
Yours.
No.
But the bond doesn’t care.
It only knows the truth.
And the truth is—
I want him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because of him.
And that—that terrifies me more than anything.
The chain unlocks. Falls away.
We’re free.
But I don’t let go of his hand.
And neither does he.
The High Priestess nods. “The bond is proven. Pure. True. The marriage will proceed.”
No one speaks.
No one moves.
Just us. Standing in the center of the hall. Hands still linked. Breathing the same air. Feeling the same pulse.
And then—
Kaelen turns to me. His eyes burn into mine. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow, possessive.
“You see?” he murmurs. “No lies. No games. Just truth.”
I don’t answer.
I just stare at him. My heart pounding. My body aching. My mind screaming.
And then—
“Not if I burn them both.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze, his touch lingering, his voice a whisper only I can hear.
“Then burn, little shadow. But know this—I’ll be right beside you. And when the ashes fall, I’ll still be yours.”
The sigil pulses.
And I know—
This isn’t over.
It’s only just begun.
I came here to destroy him.
But the bond?
The bond wants me to keep him.
And for the first time—
I’m not sure I want to fight it.