The treaty room smells like lies.
Incense curls from silver braziers—lavender and sandalwood, meant to soothe, to calm, to lull. But I know better. I’ve spent years in rooms like this, where words are knives and silence is a weapon. The air is thick with it now—tension, suspicion, the quiet hum of magic beneath the surface. Fae and werewolves sit across from each other at the long obsidian table, their postures rigid, their eyes sharp. The Fae wear silk and arrogance, their glamour flickering like candlelight. The werewolves—Moonfangs, all of them—sit like coiled springs, muscles tense, nostrils flaring with every breath. They can smell deception. They can smell me.
And I can smell him.
Kaelen.
He sits at the head of the table, one hand resting on the pommel of his dagger, the other tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the stone. His gold eyes are half-lidded, unreadable, but I know that look. He’s waiting. Watching. Calculating. He’s been like this since the ritual—distant, controlled, but with a current of something darker beneath the surface. Something hungry.
The bond hums between us, a low, steady pulse in my blood, like a second heartbeat. It’s quieter today, calmer, as if the ritual satisfied it. But it’s still there. Always there. A tether stretched between my wrist and his, warm and alive, whispering his, yours, forever in the back of my mind.
I came here to burn their court.
And now I’m sitting at their table, dressed in a gown of black velvet, my hair pinned up like a proper bride, my hands folded in my lap like I belong here.
Like I’ve given in.
The High Priestess begins. Her voice is smooth, practiced, each word weighed and measured. “The Fae-Werewolf Accord has stood for fifty years. It has kept the peace. It has prevented war. But the balance is shifting. The bond between our peoples must be strengthened. And so, the union of Cosmos of the Shadow Fae and Kaelen Dain, Alpha King of the Moonfangs, is not merely a personal matter—it is a political necessity.”
She gestures to me. “Cosmos, as the last heir of the Shadow Fae, carries the blood of rebellion. But she also carries the potential for unity. If she accepts her role, if she submits to the bond, she may yet become a bridge between our worlds.”
Gasps ripple through the room. Submit. The word hangs in the air like a noose.
I don’t react. Don’t blink. Let them think I’m listening. Let them think I care.
But inside, my magic stirs.
Witch-blood and Shadow Fae glamour—two halves of a forbidden whole. I’ve spent years burying it, hiding it, shaping it into something silent, something sharp. But now, with the bond humming in my veins, it’s harder to control. It flares at the edges, restless, like it knows what I’m about to do.
The High Priestess continues. “To solidify this alliance, we propose a new clause to the Accord: joint governance of the border territories. Moonfang enforcers will patrol the eastern passes. Fae sentinels will guard the western cliffs. And the Hollow—”
My head snaps up.
“—will be placed under dual jurisdiction. No more rogue hybrids. No more unchecked magic. The Supernatural Council will oversee all disputes.”
No.
No.
The Hollow is a refuge. A sanctuary. The only place where outcasts—hybrids, half-bloods, those deemed unworthy—can live without fear. It’s where I survived. Where I learned. Where I became me. And now they want to chain it. To control it. To destroy it.
My fingers curl into fists beneath the table.
“This is unacceptable,” I say, voice low but clear.
Every head turns to me.
Kaelen’s gaze flicks to mine. His jaw tightens. He knows what I’m thinking. The bond sees everything.
“And why is that, bride?” Lysara sneers from the Fae side, draped in silver, her smile venomous. “Do you have a personal investment in the Hollow? Or are you simply too ignorant to understand politics?”
I turn to her slowly. “I understand plenty. I understand that you’re afraid. Afraid of what you can’t control. Afraid of what lives in the dark. But the Hollow isn’t your enemy. It’s your mirror. And if you try to crush it, you’ll only prove how weak you really are.”
The room goes still.
Even the incense seems to freeze in the air.
Lysara’s smile vanishes. “You dare—”
“Enough,” Kaelen cuts in, voice like stone. He doesn’t look at her. Just stares at me, his golden eyes burning. “You will not speak out of turn, Cosmos. Not here. Not now.”
“Or what?” I challenge, lifting my chin. “You’ll punish me later?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. The bond flares—hot, sharp—and I feel it: his anger. His frustration. His arousal. Because yes, beneath the rage, there’s that too. That low, primal hum of desire that never seems to fade when he’s near me.
“The clause stands,” the High Priestess says, slamming her staff down. “Unless either party presents a viable alternative—backed by magic—within the hour.”
My breath stills.
A challenge.
And an opportunity.
I stand. “Then I will.”
Kaelen’s eyes narrow. “Cosmos—”
“Sit down, Alpha King,” I say, voice cold. “This is my bloodline. My people. My fight.”
He doesn’t move. But he doesn’t stop me either.
I step to the center of the room, where a circle of runes is etched into the floor—the Truth Sigil, used for binding oaths. I press my palm to the stone. My magic rises—slow, controlled. Witch-blood first, a thread of fire winding through my veins. Then Shadow Fae glamour, a veil of darkness curling around my hands. The runes flare, violet and black, reacting to the forbidden mix.
Gasps. Murmurs. Silas leans forward, intrigued. The witch representative’s cracked eyes widen.
I don’t care.
“I propose an alternative,” I say, voice ringing through the hall. “The Hollow remains autonomous. No Fae. No werewolves. No Council oversight. In exchange, the hybrids pledge neutrality. No attacks. No rebellions. And if either side breaks the peace—”
I slam my other hand down.
“—the Hollow will side with the wronged party. Not out of loyalty. Out of balance.”
The runes blaze. The air crackles. My magic surges, wild and uncontrolled, and the bond—damn it—responds. Heat floods my body, my skin tingling, my breath hitching. The sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright, and I feel Kaelen’s presence like a brand against my back.
“You cannot bind an oath with hybrid magic,” the High Priestess says, voice sharp. “It is unstable. Unnatural.”
“It’s the only magic I have,” I say. “And it’s stronger than your lies.”
“This is treason,” Lysara hisses.
“No,” I say, turning to her. “This is justice.”
And then I channel it—everything I have. My rage. My grief. My mother’s last breath. I pour it into the sigil, into the oath, into the magic. The runes explode with light. The ground trembles. And for a heartbeat, the future flashes before me: the Hollow free. The Council broken. Kaelen on his knees. Me—me—standing over the ashes of their court, my crown forged from fire and shadow.
And then—
It fails.
The magic collapses. The runes dim. The air goes still.
I sway, dizzy, my chest heaving. My hands tremble. The bond aches, a deep throb behind my eyes, a pressure in my chest. I failed. Not completely—the idea stands, the challenge is made—but without a binding oath, it’s just words. And words mean nothing here.
“You see?” the High Priestess says. “Your magic is weak. Your bloodline is broken. You are not fit to speak for anyone.”
I don’t answer.
I just stand there, breathing hard, my body humming with exhaustion and fury.
And then—
“She’s right.”
Kaelen’s voice cuts through the silence.
Everyone turns.
He stands, slow, deliberate, his gold eyes locked on me. “The Hollow should remain autonomous.”
“Kaelen—” one of his Beta enforcers starts.
“Silence,” he says, not looking away from me. “Cosmos speaks truth. The Hollow is a balance. Not a threat. And if we crush it, we become the monsters they fear.”
My breath catches.
He’s… agreeing with me?
But why?
Is it the bond? Is it guilt? Or is it something else—something I don’t want to name?
The High Priestess narrows her eyes. “Then you accept her proposal?”
“I do,” he says. “But the oath must be sealed. And only one magic can bind it now.”
He steps forward. Places his hand over mine on the sigil.
Fire erupts.
Not pain. Not pleasure. But something deeper. Something primal. His magic—lunar power, raw and ancient—crashes into mine, merging, binding, consuming. The runes flare, black and gold, and the oath is sealed. The air hums with power. The bond surges, a wave of heat and light that crashes through us both.
I cry out. My back arches. My core clenches. My magic flares—wild, uncontrolled—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 magic.
Not because of the oath.
But because of him.
The sigil fades.
We’re free.
But I don’t pull my hand away.
And neither does he.
The High Priestess nods. “The oath is bound. The Hollow remains free. The clause is withdrawn.”
No one speaks.
No one moves.
Just us. Standing in the center of the room. 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’re lucky I’m here to clean up your messes,” he murmurs.
I yank my hand free. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“No,” he says. “But you’ll take it.”
He turns and walks out.
I don’t follow.
I can’t.
Because for the first time—
I’m not sure I want to fight him.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
That night, I don’t sleep.
I pace the chambers they’ve given me—my “bride’s quarters,” they call it. The bed is draped in black silk. The balcony overlooks the sea. The air is thick with the scent of salt and pine—him. I press my hands to the stone railing, breathing hard. My magic churns beneath my skin, restless. The sigil on my wrist pulses, warm and insistent. And then—
A whisper in my mind.
Safe.
Home.
Mine.
I slam my fist into the stone.
“No,” I hiss. “I am not yours.”
But the bond doesn’t listen.
It just 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.
The door crashes open.
I spin.
Kaelen fills the doorway, his gold eyes blazing, his chest rising and falling like he’s been running. Guards flank him—his enforcers. Riven among them, his expression unreadable.
“You,” Kaelen says, voice low, dangerous. “With me. Now.”
“Or what?” I challenge, lifting my chin. “You’ll drag me?”
He steps forward. “Don’t make me.”
I don’t move. “What do you want?”
“You sabotaged the treaty.”
“I improved it.”
“You defied the Council.”
“They were wrong.”
“You used forbidden magic.”
“And it worked.”
He closes the distance in one stride. Grabs my wrist—the one with the sigil. It flares, hot and bright, and the bond surges, a jolt of heat shooting up my arm, pooling low in my belly.
“You don’t get to decide what’s right,” he growls. “Not here. Not yet.”
“Then what do I get?” I hiss. “A collar? A leash? A cell?”
“You get me,” he says. “And right now, that’s punishment enough.”
He yanks me forward. The guards close in. I don’t fight. Not yet. Let them think I’m broken. Let them think I’ve accepted my fate.
But as he drags me through the corridors, I know—
This isn’t over.
It’s only just begun.
We reach a chamber deep in the fortress—stone walls, torchlight, a single iron chair in the center. A dominance ritual room. I’ve heard of them. Werewolf alphas use them to break rebels, to assert control. To claim.
Kaelen shoves me into the chair. Chains snap around my wrists, my ankles, locking me in place. The metal is cold, heavy, but I don’t flinch. I just stare at him.
“You think this proves something?” I say, voice calm. “You think chaining me makes you strong?”
He doesn’t answer. Just circles me like a predator. His boots echo on the stone. His scent fills the air—pine, fire, him. The bond hums, a low, steady pulse in my blood.
Then he stops in front of me. Crouches. Brings his face level with mine.
His thumb brushes my lower lip.
Just a whisper of touch.
And I burn.
Heat floods my body. My breath hitches. My core clenches. The sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and alive, 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 chains.
Not because of the ritual.
But because of him.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “You will obey me,” he says, voice rough. “Or what? You’ll claim me?”
He pulls back.
And for the first time, I see it—
Not triumph.
Not possession.
But something else.
Something that looks almost like… hope.
I don’t answer.
I just stare at him. My heart pounding. My body aching. My mind screaming.
And then—
“You’ll never break me.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze, his touch lingering, his voice a whisper only I can hear.
“No,” he says. “I’ll keep you.”
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.