I don’t sleep.
Not really.
I lie in the bed they’ve given me—draped in black silk, soft as sin, cold as betrayal—and stare at the ceiling, my body rigid, my breath shallow. The moon is high, its silver light slicing through the balcony doors, painting stripes across the floor like prison bars. I should be planning. Should be scheming. Should be carving a path through their lies, their laws, their blood oaths, until I reach the truth buried beneath it all.
But I can’t.
All I can see is him.
Kaelen.
His hands on my face. His mouth on mine. The way his voice dropped to a growl when he said, You’re mine. The way his teeth grazed my neck, not biting, not claiming, but promising. The way my body arched into him, helpless, hungry, like it already knew what my mind refuses to admit.
I came here to destroy him.
Not to want him.
The sigil on my wrist pulses—slow, steady, insistent—like a second heartbeat, like a tether pulling me toward him, no matter how far I run. I press my fingers over it, as if I can smother it, silence it, break it. But it only flares, warm and alive, and I feel him—just a whisper, just a breath—but there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing.
“No,” I hiss into the dark. “I am not yours.”
The bond doesn’t answer.
It just pulses.
And I know—
I’m losing.
Not to the Council. Not to Lysara. Not to the rituals or the chains or the blood oaths.
But to him.
And that terrifies me more than death.
I throw off the covers and stand, pacing the length of the room. Once. Twice. My bare feet silent on the stone. The air is thick with the scent of salt and pine—him—and my skin tingles, oversensitive, like I’ve been stripped bare. My magic churns beneath my ribs, restless, uncoiled, reacting to the bond, to the memory of his touch, to the way his voice dropped when he said I’ll make you.
I clench my fists.
I came here for justice. For my mother. For the truth.
Not for this.
But the bond doesn’t care what I came for.
It only knows what I am.
His.
And I hate it.
I hate him.
Don’t I?
The door creaks open.
I freeze.
“My lady—” a servant starts, stepping inside.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, turning. “And I didn’t summon you.”
She flinches. “I—I was told to bring tea. To help you sleep.”
I step forward, slow, deliberate. “Who told you?”
“The Alpha King,” she whispers.
Of course.
He’s watching. Always watching.
“Put it down,” I say. “And leave.”
She obeys, setting the tray on the table, then scurrying out, the door clicking shut behind her.
I don’t touch the tea.
Wouldn’t put it past him to lace it with something—moonwine to dull the bond, a truth serum to loosen my tongue, an aphrodisiac to make me weak. I’ve seen it done. In the Hollow. In the courts of lesser fae who trade their freedom for a whisper of affection.
I won’t be one of them.
I came here to burn their world down.
Not to be consumed by it.
I cross to the balcony, throw open the doors, and step into the night. The wind bites at my skin, sharp and cold, but I don’t care. I need air. Need space. Need to think.
But all I can think about is him.
His hands. His mouth. The way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like I was his.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want to look away.
I press my hands to the stone railing, breathing hard. My magic flares—witch-blood and Shadow Fae glamour, a storm beneath my skin. The sigil pulses, hot and bright, and I feel it—deep, aching, insistent—as if my body already knows what my mind refuses to admit.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper.
But the bond doesn’t listen.
It just hums.
And then—
A scent.
Pine. Fire. Him.
I turn.
He’s standing in the doorway, tall and broad, his gold eyes burning in the dark, his chest rising and falling like he’s been running. He’s not dressed for sleep. Black trousers. Fitted gray shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. No coat. No armor. Just him.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
“You’re not supposed to be out here,” he counters, stepping onto the balcony. “It’s not safe.”
“I’m not safe anywhere,” I say. “Not with you.”
He stops in front of me. Close. Too close. I can feel the heat rolling off him, the pulse of his presence like a drumbeat in my skull. “You’re safe with me.”
“I’m not safe from you.”
“Then stop fighting it,” he says, voice rough. “Stop fighting me.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I don’t,” he says. “The bond does.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he asks, stepping closer. “You think I don’t wake up every night aching for you? That I don’t dream of your mouth on mine, your body beneath mine, your voice screaming my name?”
My core clenches.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whisper.
“I don’t have to,” he says. “You already feel it. The bond makes sure of that.”
“It’s magic,” I say. “It’s not real.”
“It’s us,” he growls. “It’s what happens when two people who were never meant to meet are torn apart by fate and thrown back together by something stronger than hate.”
“We’re not together,” I say. “We’re at war.”
“Then why does your body burn for me?” he asks, reaching out, two fingers pressing to the side of my neck, just over my pulse point. “Why does your magic flare when I touch you? Why does the sigil on your wrist glow every time I’m near?”
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. “I hate you.”
“No,” he says. “You don’t.”
“I do.”
“Then why does your body betray you?” he asks. “Why does your scent change when I’m near? Why does your pulse race when I touch you?”
“Because of the bond.”
“No,” he says. “Because of me.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I’d let her touch me after you?” he growls, echoing his words from earlier, but louder now, fiercer. “You think I’d let anyone else have what’s mine?”
“Prove it,” I whisper.
He doesn’t ask what I mean.
He knows.
His hand slides up my spine, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to expose my throat. His breath fans my pulse point. Hot. Heavy. Wanting.
And then—
His teeth graze my neck.
Not a bite. Not a claim.
Just a promise.
A threat.
A truth.
I gasp. My hips arch. My magic flares—wild, uncontrolled—and the sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright, as if the bond itself is screaming yes, yes, yes.
He pulls back, eyes blazing. “There will be no more lies. No more tests. No more games. You want proof? You have it. I am yours. Only yours. Now and always.”
My heart hammers.
“And I?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. “Am I yours?”
“You already are,” he says. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
“I don’t want to belong to someone,” I say. “I don’t want to be owned.”
“Then don’t be,” he says. “Be mine. Be with me. Be equal. But don’t lie and say you don’t want it.”
I stare at him. At the truth in his eyes. At the raw vulnerability he’s never shown before.
And for the first time—
I believe him.
“Then stop calling me your bride,” I say. “Stop treating me like a prize to be claimed.”
“Only if you stop acting like a prisoner,” he counters.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll keep you anyway,” he says, a slow, dangerous smile curling his lips. “But I’d rather have you willing.”
My breath hitches.
“Then prove that too,” I whisper.
He doesn’t speak.
Just pulls me into his arms again—tight, fierce, possessive—and holds me as the wind howls, as the bond hums, as the world outside this room falls away.
And for the first time since I stepped into this court—
I don’t think about revenge.
I don’t think about fire.
I don’t think about ashes.
I think about him.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
He leaves eventually.
Not with a kiss. Not with a promise. Just a look—long, burning, knowing—before he turns and walks away, his boots echoing down the corridor.
I don’t lock the door.
I don’t go back to bed.
I stand on the balcony until dawn bleeds through the sky, pale and hesitant, like it’s afraid of what it might find.
And then I go to him.
Not because the bond pulls me.
Not because I’ve given in.
But because I need answers.
Because I need to know if what he said was true.
Because I need to know if I’m already lost.
The Alpha’s study is deep in the fortress, carved into the living rock, guarded by two Moonfang enforcers. They don’t stop me. Just nod as I pass, their eyes sharp with knowing. They’ve seen this before. The way he looks at me. The way I look at him. The way the bond hums between us, loud and undeniable.
I push open the door.
He’s at the war table—massive, obsidian, carved with maps of the realm, marked with tokens of power. He’s bent over it, one hand braced on the stone, the other holding a dagger, tracing a path through the eastern passes. His coat is gone. Just black trousers, a fitted gray shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s run his hands through it. His scent—pine, fire, him—fills the room, thick and primal, and the bond surges, a jolt of heat shooting up my arm, pooling low in my belly.
He doesn’t look up.
“You’re early,” he says, voice rough.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“We talked last night.”
“We didn’t finish.”
He finally looks at me. His golden eyes burn into mine. “Then finish it.”
I step forward. “You said you were mine. Only mine. Now and always.”
“I meant it.”
“And if I don’t want to be yours?”
“Then I’ll make you.”
“You can’t force love.”
“I’m not trying to,” he says. “I’m trying to make you see the truth. That we’re not enemies. That we’re not just bound by magic. That we’re more.”
“And if I don’t want more?”
“Then you’re lying,” he says, stepping around the table. “Because your body says otherwise. Your magic says otherwise. The bond says otherwise.”
“The bond lies.”
“No,” he says. “It tells the truth. That you want me. That you need me. That you’re mine.”
“I’m not—”
He moves.
Fast. Inhumanly fast. One second he’s across the room, the next he’s in front of me, his hand gripping my wrist—the one with the sigil—and yanking me forward.
Fire erupts.
I cry out—actually cry out—as pain sears up my arm, white-hot and blinding. But it shifts—burning, yes, but now there’s something else. Heat. Pleasure. A deep, aching throb between my thighs that makes my knees weak.
And then he slams me back against the war table.
My spine hits the stone. The breath explodes from my lungs. His body cages me, one hand still on my wrist, the other sliding up my side, over my ribs, stopping just beneath my breast. His thigh presses between mine, grinding up, against me, and I melt.
A moan escapes me—soft, involuntary—before I can stop it. My head falls back. My hips arch, seeking friction, seeking more.
No.
No.
I slap his chest, twisting, kicking back. He grunts but doesn’t let go. I elbow him in the ribs. He stumbles, just enough for me to wrench free, and I spin, launching myself at him with everything I’ve got.
He catches me mid-air.
One arm around my waist, the other behind my knees, lifting me like I weigh nothing. And then he throws me—onto the war table, the stone cold against my back, the map scattering beneath me.
I roll, scrambling to get up, but he’s on me before I can move.
His hands pin my wrists above my head. His body covers mine, one thigh sliding between my legs, pressing up, against me. The heat is instant, unbearable. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. My hips buck—once, twice—before I can stop them.
“Get off me,” I snarl, thrashing. “You don’t own me!”
“I don’t have to,” he says, voice dark, rough. “The bond does.”
His face is inches from mine. His eyes burn into me. His breath fans my lips. And then—
His thigh grinds up, hard, against my core.
I cry out. My back arches. My hips roll, helpless, chasing the friction. My magic flares—wild, 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.
“You think this proves something?” I hiss, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You think pinning me down makes you strong? You’re just a brute. A beast in a king’s clothes.”
He doesn’t react. Just stares at me, his golden eyes unreadable. And then—
His grip on my wrists loosens.
Just enough.
“Prove it,” he says. “Fight me.”
I don’t hesitate.
I yank my hands free, shove at his chest, roll us both—using his weight against him, twisting, flipping us so I’m on top. My knees straddle his hips. My hands press into his shoulders. My hair falls around us like a curtain.
And for the first time, I see it.
Desire.
Raw. Unfiltered. In his eyes.
He wants me.
Not because of the bond.
But because of me.
And that—that terrifies me more than anything.
I lean down, my lips brushing his ear. “You want me to fight?” I whisper. “Then fight back.”
He does.
One hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back. The other wraps around my waist, flipping us again—back to the war table, back to him on top. His mouth crashes down on mine.
Not a kiss.
A claim.
Hard. Possessive. Devouring.
I bite his lip. He growls. His hips grind against mine, and I feel it—hard, thick, ready—pressing against me through the fabric. My body responds instantly, heat pooling, my core clenching, my breath coming in broken gasps.
And then—
He pulls back.
Just enough to look at me.
His chest heaves. His eyes are dark, pupils blown. His lip is bleeding where I bit him. And his voice—when he speaks—is ragged.
“You’re not getting out of this cell,” he says, “until you stop fighting the bond.”
I don’t answer.
I just stare at him. My heart pounding. My body aching. My mind screaming.
And then—
“Then I’ll fight forever.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze, his thumb brushing my lower lip—where his mouth was, where my pulse thrums.
And then—
I kiss him.
Not because he makes me.
Not because the bond demands it.
But because I want to.
My mouth crashes against his, fierce and desperate, my fingers twisting in his hair, my hips grinding up, seeking more, needing everything. He groans, deep in his chest, and his hands slide down my back, gripping my ass, lifting me, pressing me harder against him. The war table groans beneath us. The map scatters. The tokens of power clatter to the floor.
And then—
Guards burst in.
“Alpha!” one shouts. “Enemy attack! The eastern pass—”
Kaelen doesn’t move. Doesn’t break the kiss. Just raises a hand, silencing them.
And I know—
This changes everything.
I came here to destroy him.
But my body—and my heart—have other plans.