The moment her fingers touched mine, the bond roared to life like a star igniting in my chest.
Fire. Not pain—no, this was something far more dangerous. A deep, primal current that surged through my veins, hot and insistent, syncing my pulse with hers. Her breath hitched. Mine followed. The scent of her—moon-bloom and iron, laced with something darker, something wild—flooded my senses, making my fangs drop without permission. I clenched my jaw, forcing them back, but the hunger remained. Not for blood. Not yet.
For *her*.
Avalon didn’t pull away. Her hand stayed in mine, small but unyielding, her silver-lavender eyes locked on mine with that same defiant fire. She was afraid—I could taste it in the air, sharp and electric—but she wouldn’t show it. Not to me. Never to me.
Good.
Fear made people weak. But defiance? Defiance made them dangerous. And I needed her dangerous. Not broken. Not cowed. Not some trembling mate to parade in front of the Council like a prize. I needed her sharp. Calculated. Ready.
Because if she failed—if she flinched, if she hesitated, if she gave even the slightest hint that this bond was anything less than real—the truce would shatter. The Grey Coven would declare war. And the Supernatural Council would let them.
I wouldn’t survive that. And neither would she.
“Walk with me,” I said, my voice low, rough with the effort of control.
She didn’t answer. Just let me lead her down the hall, her steps silent beside mine. The guards fell in behind us, a quiet, watchful shadow. The corridor stretched before us, lit by floating blue flames, the walls carved with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly in time with the bond. I could feel it—the way her skin still burned where I held her, the way her pulse jumped beneath my fingers. She was fighting it. Fighting *me*. But the magic didn’t care. It fed on conflict. On tension. On the electric space between us that neither of us could deny.
And I? I was supposed to be in control.
Prince of House Nocturne. Heir to the Vampire Throne. Oath-Speaker, enforcer of blood pacts, master of shadow and command. I had ruled this court with silence and steel for over two centuries. I had crushed rebellions, silenced dissenters, broken enemies with a word. I did not *want*. I did not *crave*. I did not feel.
And then she walked into my ancestral temple, vengeance in her eyes and death in her veins, and the bond tore through me like a blade.
I had spent the last two days convincing myself it was a weakness. A flaw in the magic. A mistake.
But the truth was written in the way my body reacted to hers. In the way my chest tightened when she looked at me like I was nothing but a monster. In the way my hands ached to touch her again, not as a prisoner, not as a pawn—but as *mine*.
And that was the problem.
I couldn’t afford to want her. Not now. Not when Vexis was circling like a vulture, waiting for me to slip. Not when the Council’s patience was wearing thin. Not when one wrong move could ignite a war that would drown us all.
So I would use her. I would wield this bond like a weapon. I would make the Council believe she was my fated mate—because if they didn’t, they would kill her. And if they killed her, the bond would destroy me.
It was simple.
It was survival.
It was a lie.
The Obsidian Spire loomed ahead, its jagged peak piercing the moonlit sky. The heart of the Supernatural Council, a neutral zone where the seven rulers of the Veil gathered to maintain the fragile peace. The air grew colder as we approached, the scent of sacred iron sharp in my nose. The guards at the gate bowed as I passed, their eyes flicking to Avalon with suspicion, with fear.
Half-witch. Half-fae. A hybrid. An abomination in the eyes of many.
And yet, she walked beside me like she belonged. Like she wasn’t terrified. Like she wasn’t carrying a dagger of sacred iron beneath that crimson gown.
I felt the weight of it. Not physically—but through the bond. A cold, sharp presence against her thigh, a constant reminder that she was here to kill me.
And gods help me, the thought sent a thrill through me.
We entered the Spire’s grand chamber, the floor a mosaic of black and silver, the walls lined with floating candles that cast long, shifting shadows. The Council was already assembled—seven figures seated in a semicircle, their faces half-hidden in darkness.
Lady Isolde of the Nocturne House sat at the center, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her eyes sharp with calculation. To her right, the Alpha of the Lupine Clans, a massive man with golden eyes and a scar across his throat. To her left, the High Priestess of the Grey Coven, her face veiled, her hands stained with ritual ink. The others—representatives of the Summer Fae, the Winter Court, the Rogue Witches, and the Human Accord—remained silent, watching.
And then there was the hybrid seat.
Empty.
By design. No one ever sat there. No one *could*. The Council didn’t recognize hybrids as equals. They were tools. Pawns. Experiments. And Avalon? She was the living proof of everything they feared—a child of forbidden blood, a witch with fae magic, a woman who had just triggered a fated bond with the most powerful vampire in the Veil.
They would destroy her if they could.
So I made sure they couldn’t.
I led Avalon to the center of the chamber, our hands still joined. The moment we stepped onto the mosaic, the sigils flared—silver light spiraling up from the floor, wrapping around our wrists like the chains at the altar. The bond surged, white-hot, and Avalon gasped, her fingers tightening around mine.
“Prince Kael,” Lady Isolde said, her voice echoing through the chamber. “You bring your fated mate before the Council. Explain.”
I didn’t release Avalon’s hand. I turned to face them, my voice cold, controlled.
“Two nights ago, the ancestral altar at Shadowveil activated. The fated bond claimed us. By the old magic, she is mine. And I am hers.”
“Fated bonds are rare,” the Lupine Alpha rumbled. “And often false. Prove it.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I turned to Avalon, cupping her face in my free hand. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. The bond flared again, a pulse of heat that made the air between us shimmer.
And then I kissed her.
Not gentle. Not tender. A claim. A challenge. My lips crashed against hers, hard and demanding, my thumb pressing against her jaw to keep her still. She didn’t kiss me back—she couldn’t. She was frozen, stunned, her body rigid against mine. But she didn’t pull away. And that was enough.
The bond *screamed*.
Fire ripped through my veins, magic surging between us, lighting the sigils beneath our feet until the entire chamber blazed with silver light. I could taste her—mint and iron and something sweet, something *hers*—and for one reckless second, I forgot why I was doing this. Forgot the Council. Forgot the war. Forgot everything but the way her lips felt beneath mine.
And then I remembered.
I broke the kiss, stepping back, but I kept my hand on her waist, pulling her close against my side. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips swollen, her eyes dazed. The mark on her collarbone glowed faintly, matching the one on my own skin.
The Council was silent.
Then Lady Isolde smiled. “The bond is real.”
“It is,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “And as such, she is under my protection. My claim. My mate.”
“And yet,” the High Priestess said, her voice like smoke, “she is a hybrid. A child of rebellion. Her mother was executed for breaking the Blood Oath. How do we know *she* won’t do the same?”
I felt Avalon tense. Felt the spike of fear, of anger, of grief that shot through the bond. But I didn’t let her react. My grip on her waist tightened, a silent warning.
“Her past is not hers to bear alone,” I said. “The Blood Oath was a tool of control, not justice. And if the Council wishes to avoid war with the Grey Coven, they will accept this union as binding.”
“Or what?” the Summer Fae representative purred. “You’ll declare war yourself?”
“No,” I said. “But the bond will. And if she dies, I die. And if I die, House Nocturne falls. And if House Nocturne falls—” I let the silence stretch, let them imagine the chaos, the power vacuum, the bloodshed. “—you know what comes next.”
Vexis. The Dark Council. War.
The room was still.
Then Lady Isolde nodded. “Very well. The bond is recognized. For one lunar cycle, you will present yourselves as mates. Public appearances. Shared quarters. Ritual participation. If the bond holds, the truce stands. If not—”
“—we will be held accountable,” I finished.
She studied me, her gaze sharp. “You understand the stakes.”
“Perfectly.”
“Then go. And do not fail.”
I bowed my head, then turned, leading Avalon from the chamber. The guards followed. The doors sealed behind us with a sound like a tomb closing.
When we were alone in the corridor, she wrenched her hand from mine.
“You *kissed* me,” she hissed, her voice low, furious. “In front of them. Without warning. Without—”
“Without asking?” I turned to face her, my voice calm. “You think I care about your consent? You think this is about *you*?”
Her eyes burned. “This is about my *life*. You used me like a puppet. Like I was nothing but a tool to save your precious throne.”
“And you’re not?” I stepped closer, forcing her back against the wall. My hands braced on either side of her, caging her in. The bond flared, hot and insistent, but I ignored it. “You came here to kill me, Avalon. You walked into my court with a dagger and a death wish. Did you think I wouldn’t use you in return?”
She didn’t flinch. “At least I’m honest about my intentions.”
“And I’m honest about mine,” I said, my voice dropping. “Survival. Power. Control. That’s all that matters. And right now, you are the key to all three.”
Her breath hitched. Her pulse jumped beneath my gaze. I could see the war in her eyes—the hatred, the fear, the *want* she refused to name. The bond fed on it. So did I.
“You think I’ll play your game?” she whispered. “You think I’ll smile and hold your hand and let you touch me like I’m yours?”
“I don’t think,” I said. “I know.”
I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Because if you don’t, the bond will burn you alive. And I won’t save you.”
She shivered.
Good.
I stepped back, straightening my coat. “You’ll return to Shadowveil with me. You’ll wear the dress I chose. You’ll sleep in my chambers. And you’ll remember—” I caught her chin, forcing her to look at me, “—that every touch, every word, every breath is a performance. And if you slip, if you betray us, I will not hesitate to destroy you.”
Her lips curled. “You already have.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, I turned and walked away, knowing she would follow. Knowing the bond would make her.
And as I strode down the hall, the weight of her gaze on my back, I let myself admit the truth I’d been fighting since the altar.
This wasn’t just about power.
It wasn’t just about survival.
It was about *her*.
And I was already losing.
When we returned to Shadowveil, the storm had broken. Rain lashed the towers, the gardens drenched in silver light. I led her through the halls, silent, the bond humming between us like a live wire. The guards opened the door to my chambers—a vast, shadowed suite of black stone and silver flame—and stepped aside.
“This is your room now,” I said.
She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the space—the four-poster bed, the hearth of cold fire, the balcony overlooking the storm. Then she turned to me, her voice quiet.
“One lunar cycle,” she said. “Then what?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because I didn’t know.
Would I let her go? Would I kill her? Would the bond demand more?
All I knew was this—
“You’re mine,” I said, stepping closer. “And I will destroy you.”
She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze, her voice steady.
“Try.”
The word hung between us, a challenge, a promise.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Who was really trapped here?