The chains didn’t vanish until the Fae judge herself stepped forward and pressed a thorned ring to each of our chests. A pulse of cold light flared, and the silver bindings dissolved into mist, slithering back into the cracks of the ancient floor. But the bond didn’t disappear. It only changed shape—no longer visible, but deeper, more insidious. It coiled inside me like a serpent made of smoke and static, its presence a constant hum beneath my skin.
I stumbled back, gasping, my hand flying to my throat as if I could tear the magic out. My dagger—my mother’s blade—was gone. Taken by the guards the moment the ritual ended. All I had now was the dress I wore, the sigils etched into my scar, and the curse thrumming in my veins.
Kaelen didn’t move. He stood there, still as a statue, watching me with those silver eyes. Blood had dried in a thin black line across his throat—the wound I’d given him. The wound that had started this. And yet, he didn’t look wounded. He looked… satisfied.
“You’re mine now,” he’d whispered.
I wanted to vomit.
“The bond must be nurtured,” the Fae judge announced, her voice echoing through the hall. “You will share quarters for the duration of the thirty days. Separation for more than twelve hours will trigger pain—fever, hallucinations, eventual soul decay. You will sleep in the same bed. You will share blood. You will complete the mate-mark, or you will die.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some looked horrified. Others—especially the fae—smirked, as if this were entertainment. I caught Rhys’s gaze near the dais. The werewolf Beta’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes flickered with something—pity? Warning?
I didn’t care. I turned on my heel and walked out.
Or tried to.
Three steps from the dais, the bond flared—white-hot and vicious. Pain lanced through my skull, sharp as a knife between my eyes. My vision blurred. My knees buckled. I caught myself against a pillar, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Don’t run from me, little witch,” Kaelen’s voice came from behind me, calm, controlled. “The farther you go, the worse it gets.”
I turned my head. He hadn’t moved. But his presence—his *pull*—was undeniable. The bond wasn’t just magic. It was gravity. And I was caught in his orbit.
“I’ll endure the pain,” I spat. “I’ve endured worse.”
“Yes,” he said, stepping down from the dais, his boots silent on the stone. “But you won’t endure it alone.”
He reached me in three strides, his hand closing around my wrist. His skin was cold, but the contact sent a jolt through me—heat flooding my core, my breath hitching. The pain in my head lessened, replaced by something far more dangerous.
Desire.
It wasn’t mine. Not entirely. It was the bond—amplifying, twisting, feeding on proximity. But it felt real. It felt *inevitable*.
“Let go of me,” I hissed, trying to pull away.
“Make me,” he said.
And just like that, the fight drained out of me. Not because I was weak. But because I *felt* him—the echo of his emotions, the weight of his loneliness, the hunger beneath his control. He wasn’t just a monster. He was a man—centuries old, burdened, isolated. And the bond had opened a door between us, and I could see through it.
And worse—I *pitied* him.
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
He didn’t drag me. He didn’t force me. He simply held my wrist and walked, and I followed, my body moving of its own accord. The bond wouldn’t let me resist. Not truly.
We left the hall in silence, guards trailing behind us like shadows. The castle loomed around us—towering spires of black stone, stained glass windows depicting scenes of war and blood oaths. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old magic. This was his domain. His prison. Now mine.
Our chambers were in the east wing—two floors up, at the end of a long corridor lined with torches that burned with blue flame. The door was iron, engraved with the D’Vire crest: a serpent coiled around a dagger. Kaelen didn’t speak as he opened it. He just stepped aside and gestured for me to enter.
I did.
The room was vast—high ceilings, stone walls lined with dark tapestries, a massive four-poster bed draped in black velvet. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the floor. There was a writing desk, a wardrobe, a bathing chamber through an arched doorway. And in the center of it all—the bond pulsed, a living thing between us.
“You’ll sleep in the bed,” he said, closing the door behind us. “I’ll take the floor.”
I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” he said, removing his armor with slow, deliberate movements. “But the bond will punish us both if we don’t stay close. The bed is the only place we’ll both be safe.”
“Safe?” I laughed, bitter. “There’s nothing safe about this.”
He paused, his shirt halfway off, revealing a chest carved from marble and scarred by war. A jagged line ran from his collarbone to his ribs—the mark of a blade, old but never healed. My blade. The one I’d thrown at him during training, five years ago, when I’d first infiltrated his court under a false name. I’d missed. But the memory of it—the way his blood had dripped onto the floor—flashed in my mind.
He saw it in my eyes.
“You remember,” he said.
“I remember everything,” I whispered.
He finished undressing, leaving only black trousers, and moved to the hearth. He didn’t look at me as he spoke. “There’s a rule among vampires. A blood oath. If you spill royal blood, you’re bound to the line—either by death or service. You spilled mine. Twice now. The bond didn’t start today. It started the moment your blade first tasted my blood.”
My breath caught. “That’s impossible. I would have felt it.”
“You did,” he said. “You just didn’t understand it.”
I pressed a hand to my scar—the one across my collarbone, pulsing with hidden sigils. It had always ached when I thought of him. Always burned when I dreamed of fire and screams.
Had it been calling to him all along?
“Get some rest,” he said, lying down on the rug before the fire, his back to me. “Tomorrow, the Council will test the bond’s strength. They’ll want proof it’s real.”
“Proof?” I said, my voice sharp. “You mean they’ll want to watch us *fuck*?”
He didn’t flinch. “They’ll want blood. Touch. Shared magic. Anything to confirm the bond is active. If we fail, they’ll assume we’re resisting the curse—and they’ll execute us both.”
I stared at him, my chest tight. This wasn’t just about survival. It was about performance. About proving we were giving in.
And I wasn’t giving in.
I stripped off my dress—keeping my underclothes—and climbed into the bed. The sheets were cold, but they carried his scent—smoke and winter and something deeper, something that made my pulse quicken. I pulled the covers up, turned away from him, and closed my eyes.
But sleep didn’t come.
The bond hummed, restless. Every breath I took felt like it was syncing with his. Every heartbeat echoed his rhythm. And the longer I lay there, the more I became aware of him—the rise and fall of his chest, the quiet sound of his breathing, the heat radiating from his body even across the room.
I turned onto my back, staring at the ceiling. The firelight danced across the stone, casting shadows that looked like grasping hands.
Then—accident or design, I didn’t know—he shifted in his sleep. His arm brushed the edge of the bed.
And our skin touched.
Electricity.
Fire exploded in my veins. My back arched off the bed. A gasp tore from my throat. Sensation flooded me—his cold fingers on my bare arm, the press of his body against mine, the taste of his lips on mine. A phantom kiss. A shared breath. And between my legs—heat, unbearable heat, as if he were touching me there, stroking me, filling me—
“No,” I gasped, yanking my arm back, scrambling to the far side of the bed. My heart hammered. My skin burned. I could still feel the echo of it—the pleasure, the intimacy, the *rightness* of it.
Kaelen sat up, his silver eyes glowing in the dark. “You felt it,” he said.
“It was the bond,” I said, my voice shaking. “Not real.”
“It’s as real as anything,” he said, rising to his knees. “The bond shares sensation. Touch. Emotion. If we’re close enough, we’ll feel each other’s pleasure. Each other’s pain. And right now, little witch… you’re trembling.”
I was. My hands, my thighs, my core—everything pulsed with need. I hated it. I hated *him*.
But my body didn’t.
He moved toward the bed, slow, deliberate. “You don’t have to fight it.”
“I *will* fight it,” I said, pressing back against the headboard. “I’ll die before I let you touch me.”
“You already have,” he said, climbing onto the mattress. “Your blood is in my veins. Your magic is in my dreams. And your body—” He reached out, his fingers brushing the scar on my collarbone. “—already knows mine.”
I slapped his hand away. “Don’t.”
But the moment my palm struck his skin, the bond flared again—stronger this time. A shared vision tore through us: moonlight. A forest. My legs wrapped around his waist. His fangs at my throat. The bite. The rush. The *completion*.
We both gasped.
He pulled back, his chest heaving, his fangs fully descended now, glinting in the firelight. “You see?” he said, voice rough. “It’s not just magic. It’s *us*.”
“It’s a curse,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
He didn’t answer. He just got off the bed and returned to the floor, lying down with his back to me once more.
“Sleep,” he said. “We’ll need our strength.”
I didn’t sleep. Not really. I dozed, caught in a haze of half-dreams and bond echoes. I dreamed of fire. Of my mother screaming. Of Kaelen standing over her, his hands soaked in blood. But then the dream shifted—his face twisted in agony, his eyes filled with tears, a black chain wrapped around his heart, dragging something *out* of him—
I woke with a gasp.
Dawn was breaking, pale light filtering through the stained glass. Kaelen was already up, dressed in fresh black attire, standing at the window. He turned when he heard me move.
“You were dreaming,” he said.
“Of you,” I said, sitting up. “Of the massacre.”
He didn’t deny it. “Then you saw the truth.”
“I saw a monster.”
“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, “you saved me last night. You could have let the blade take me. But you didn’t.”
My breath caught. He was right. When the assassin had struck during the summit, I’d moved without thinking—thrown myself in front of him, taken the blow meant for his heart. I’d done it to preserve the bond, I told myself. To survive.
But deep down, I knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
He reached out, slow, and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch was gentle. Careful.
“You don’t have to forgive me,” he said. “But you don’t have to hate me blindly, either.”
I wanted to pull away. But the bond held me still. And for the first time, I wondered—what if he wasn’t the killer?
What if I’d been wrong?
The thought was a knife to the chest. Five years of vengeance. Five years of pain. All built on a lie?
“I don’t know what to believe,” I whispered.
“Then don’t believe anything,” he said. “Just stay. For thirty days. Let the bond show you the truth.”
I looked into his silver eyes—cold, ancient, haunted. And for the first time, I saw not a monster.
But a man who was just as trapped as I was.
“I didn’t come here to warm your bed,” I said, my voice low.
He smirked, that dangerous, knowing smile. “No. But you will.”