The guards didn’t drag me. They didn’t need to. I walked between them like a prisoner already broken, my spine rigid, my breath steady, my fingers still curled around the hilt of the sacred iron dagger hidden beneath my sleeve. The weight of it was the only thing keeping me grounded. The only reminder that I wasn’t just Kael Nocturne’s fated mate, as if that cursed word meant anything. I was Avalon. I had a mission. And no magic—no ancient bond, no silver chains, no predatory vampire prince—was going to take that from me.
But the bond disagreed.
Every step away from the altar deepened the ache in my chest, a hollow, gnawing pull that tightened with distance. It wasn’t pain, not exactly. It was worse. It was *absence*. Like a limb had been severed and my body was screaming for it back. My skin still burned where Kael had touched me—the press of his fingers on my wrist, the heat of his breath against my neck, the unbearable nearness of his body when he’d pinned me to the stone. I could still feel the echo of his pulse in my veins, the dark, steady rhythm that now matched my own.
And beneath it all, the mark on my collarbone throbbed, warm and alive, a constant, mocking reminder: *You belong to him.*
We moved through the halls of Shadowveil Court, the air thick with the scent of old blood and damp stone. The walls were carved with ancient sigils, glowing faintly with residual magic. Candles floated in midair, their flames cold and blue, casting long shadows that slithered across the floor like serpents. This place was alive. It watched. It remembered.
And it knew what I was.
Half-witch. Half-fae. A bastard child of a forbidden union. A ghost in a world that had no place for me.
One of the guards—tall, pale, eyes like chips of ice—glanced at me. “You’ll be staying in the East Wing,” he said, voice flat. “Under guard. No visitors. No magic.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He wasn’t speaking to me. He was reminding me of my place.
But then, a new presence.
Boots clicked against the marble, deliberate, measured. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The bond flared before he even came into view, a sudden rush of heat beneath my skin, my breath catching in my throat. My body recognized him before my mind could protest.
Kael.
He stepped into the corridor, his black coat sweeping behind him, silver runes catching the dim light like stars. His expression was unreadable, his obsidian eyes fixed on me. He didn’t look at the guards. He didn’t look at the walls. He looked at *me*—like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.
And it made my blood burn.
“Take your leave,” he said, voice low.
The guards hesitated. One opened his mouth—
“Now,” Kael snapped.
They scattered like leaves in a storm.
I stood alone with him in the corridor, the silence thick enough to choke on. The bond pulsed between us, a living thing, thrumming in the space where our bodies didn’t touch. I could feel his gaze on the mark at my collarbone, could feel the way his own must be burning in response. He took a step forward. I didn’t retreat. I wouldn’t.
“You think this changes anything?” I said, voice steady. “You think I’ll forget why I came here?”
“No,” he said. “I think you’ll remember it every second. Just like I will.”
He reached for me.
I flinched, bracing for another assault, another pin against the wall, another breath against my neck—
But he didn’t grab me. He didn’t touch my face, my throat, my waist.
He took my wrist.
Just like that. One hand, cool and strong, closing around my forearm just above the pulse point. His fingers were long, the nails blackened like polished onyx. His grip wasn’t tight. It wasn’t meant to hurt.
And yet—
The moment his skin met mine, the bond *exploded*.
Fire. White-hot, searing, rushing through my veins like liquid lightning. My breath came in a sharp gasp, my knees buckling slightly. My free hand shot out, bracing against the wall to keep from falling. My heart hammered, not in fear—but in something far more dangerous.
Desire.
It wasn’t just physical. It was deeper. It was the sudden, overwhelming awareness of *him*—his thoughts, his hunger, the cold, controlled fury beneath his calm. I could feel the way his breath caught, the way his fangs dropped just slightly, the way his grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced it back under control.
He felt it too.
Our eyes locked. His were no longer black. They shimmered with silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly, mirroring the one on my skin. The connection deepened, a current of magic and something darker, something primal, surging between us.
“You feel it,” he murmured. “Don’t lie.”
I tried to pull away. My muscles screamed in protest, not from resistance, but from *need*. My body didn’t want to leave. It wanted to step closer. To press against him. To feel his hands on me, his mouth on my neck, his fangs breaking skin—
I wrenched my arm free.
The separation was like a blade to the chest. I staggered back, gasping, my palm flying to the mark on my collarbone. It burned, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My breath came in ragged bursts, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me.
Kael didn’t move. He just watched me, his expression unreadable. But his chest rose and fell too fast. His jaw was clenched. And for the first time, I saw it—
He was fighting it too.
“This bond,” I panted, “is a curse. It means nothing.”
“It means everything,” he said. “To the Council. To the truce. To the war that’s coming if you don’t play your part.”
“And what part is that? Your obedient little mate?” I spat. “Your political puppet?”
“For now,” he said, stepping closer, “you’re my prisoner. But if you want to live, you’ll pretend to be my salvation.”
He reached for me again.
This time, I didn’t flinch. I stood my ground, my fingers twitching toward the dagger. But he didn’t touch me. He stopped inches away, his breath warm against my skin. His voice dropped, low, intimate, meant only for me.
“You’ll wear the dress I’ve chosen. You’ll smile when I take your hand. You’ll let me touch you in front of the Council, and you’ll *not* pull away.”
“Or what?” I challenged. “You’ll lock me in a cell? Kill me?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll let the bond do it for me.”
He turned and walked away, his boots echoing down the hall.
And for the first time, I understood.
This wasn’t just about revenge.
This was about survival.
The guards returned, escorting me to my new quarters in the East Wing. The room was opulent—black silk drapes, a four-poster bed with silver-threaded sheets, a vanity carved from bone-white stone. A single window looked out over the moonlit gardens, the silver vines twisting like living things.
But it was a cage.
They left me alone, the door locking behind them with a soft, final click.
I waited until I was certain no one was watching. Then I pulled the dagger from its sheath, holding it up to the moonlight. The blade shimmered, dark and deadly, forged from sacred iron—the only thing that could harm a pureblood vampire.
And yet.
When I pressed the edge to my palm, the mark on my collarbone *burned*. Not from the metal. From the bond.
It was rejecting the act. As if the magic itself knew I was meant to protect him, not kill him.
I cursed, tossing the dagger onto the bed. My hands trembled. My skin still hummed from Kael’s touch. I could still feel the ghost of his fingers on my wrist, the way my pulse had jumped beneath them, the way my breath had hitched when he’d leaned in—
No.
I wouldn’t let this happen. I wouldn’t let the bond control me. I wouldn’t let *him* control me.
I crossed to the vanity, gripping the edge of the stone. My reflection stared back at me—silver-lavender eyes wide, dark waves tangled, lips still slightly parted from the shock of his touch.
And then—
I saw it.
The scar across my left palm—the mark of the Blood Oath—was *glowing*. A faint, pulsing red, like embers beneath the skin. I hadn’t seen it do that since I was a child, the night my mother died.
Something in my blood was waking.
I pressed my palm to the mark on my collarbone.
The moment I did, a jolt of magic surged through me. Not from the bond. Not from Kael.
From *me*.
Images flickered behind my eyes—flashes of a future I didn’t understand. Kael’s hand on my waist in the dark. His lips on my neck. A child’s laughter, silver-lavender eyes staring up at me—
I wrenched my hand away, gasping.
What the hell was that?
I didn’t have time to process it. A knock at the door.
“Lady Avalon,” a voice called. “Your attire has arrived.”
I wiped my palm on my dress, hiding the glow. “Enter.”
A servant stepped in, carrying a gown of deep crimson silk, the bodice embroidered with silver thorns. The color of blood. Of warning.
“The Prince requests your presence at the evening council,” she said, laying the dress across the bed. “He insists you wear this.”
I stared at it. A message. A challenge.
He wanted me to play the part. To wear his colors. To stand beside him like I belonged.
Fine.
I would wear the dress.
I would stand beside him.
But I wouldn’t pretend.
Not for a second.
When the servant left, I stripped off my travel-worn clothes and stepped into the gown. The fabric was cool against my skin, the fit impossibly perfect, as if it had been made for me. The corset tightened around my waist, pushing my breasts up, the neckline plunging just enough to reveal the mark on my collarbone.
Deliberate.
Kael wanted the Council to see it. To know.
I braided my hair, securing it with a silver clasp shaped like a thorn. Then I picked up the dagger, sliding it into a hidden sheath beneath the folds of the gown.
Let him think I was his.
Let the Council believe the lie.
But I would never forget what I came here to do.
When I opened the door, Kael was waiting.
He stood in the hall, tall and imposing, his coat open to reveal a black silk shirt beneath, the silver runes along his collar glowing faintly. His eyes locked onto mine, then dropped to the mark at my throat, then to the curve of my breasts above the neckline.
And for the first time, I saw it—
Hunger.
Not just in his eyes.
In the bond.
It flared between us, hot and undeniable, a pulse of magic that made my breath catch. My skin tingled. My blood sang.
He took a step forward.
“You look… adequate,” he said, voice rough.
I lifted my chin. “Disappointed? Were you hoping I’d refuse?”
“No,” he said. “I was hoping you’d understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That this,” he said, reaching for my hand, “isn’t just a game.”
His fingers closed around mine.
The world *burned*.