I don’t sleep.
Not here. Not in this glass-walled cage where every breath is watched, every movement recorded, every flicker of emotion dissected by hungry eyes. The Blood Moon hangs low in the sky, a swollen orb of crimson that bleeds light across the stone floor, painting the room in shades of fire and sin. It pulses in time with the bond—a deep, primal throb that starts in my spine and spirals down to my core, tightening with every heartbeat.
Vaelen lies beside me.
Too close. Not close enough.
Our fingers are still tangled, his hand large and warm around mine, the calluses on his knuckles catching against my skin. I should pull away. I should remember who I am—Cascade Thornline, witch, avenger, survivor. Not this trembling thing whose body betrays her with every breath, whose pulse stutters when he shifts, whose breath hitches when his thumb brushes the inside of her wrist.
But I don’t.
Because last night—last night, I *chose* him.
Not the bond. Not the Council. Not vengeance.
Me.
And that terrifies me more than any enemy ever could.
I turn my head slightly. His profile is sharp in the moonlight—high cheekbones, strong jaw, lips that kissed me like they were sealing a vow. His eyes are closed, but I know he’s not sleeping. I can feel it—the tension in his body, the way his chest rises and falls too steadily, the way the bond hums between us, restless, *hungry*.
“You’re thinking again,” he murmurs, voice rough.
“You’re not sleeping,” I counter.
He opens his eyes. Crimson. Ancient. Knowing.
“Neither are you.”
I exhale sharply. “I can’t. Not with the moon like this. Not with the bond—”
“Pulling at you,” he finishes. “I feel it too. The Blood Moon amplifies it. Makes it… unavoidable.”
“Unavoidable,” I repeat, bitterness creeping into my voice. “Like fate.”
“No,” he says, turning onto his side to face me. “Not fate. Choice. You chose me last night. You said you wanted to stay. That wasn’t the bond. That was you.”
My breath hitches.
He’s right.
And that’s the problem.
I did choose him. Not because I had to. Not because the Council demanded it. Because I wanted to. Because when he held me after the vision, when he whispered that he’d loved me since we were children, something in me cracked. Something I’d sealed away a decade ago, buried under blood and lies and vengeance, finally broke free.
And now I don’t know how to put it back.
“I shouldn’t have,” I whisper.
“Liar,” he says, his free hand rising to brush a strand of hair from my face. His thumb traces my jaw. “You’ve wanted me since the moment we met. Since the bond woke. You just didn’t want to admit it.”
“I came here to destroy you,” I say, voice tight. “To expose you. To bury you with the truth.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what to believe.”
“Then believe this,” he says, leaning closer. Our breaths mingle. The bond flares, a surge of heat spiraling through my veins. “I’ve spent ten years protecting you. Letting you hate me. Watching you try to kill me—because it was the only way to keep you alive. And if that’s not love, tell me what is.”
My chest tightens.
He’s right.
And that’s the most dangerous thing of all.
Before I can respond, a sound echoes through the chamber—a deep, resonant chime, like a bell forged in blood. The Blood Moon Ritual has begun.
The wards on the glass pulse, shifting from blue to red. The runes flare, etching themselves into the air, forming a circle around the bed. The scent of moon-bloom thickens, sweet and cloying, laced with iron and desire. The bond screams, a tidal wave of magic and need crashing through me, throwing me back against the pillows.
Vaelen growls, rolling over me, caging me in with his arms. His eyes glow brighter. His fangs lengthen. His scent—midnight and blood and something wild—wraps around me, pulls me under.
“The ritual,” he says, voice strained. “It forces the bond to climax. To claim us. Fully.”
“We don’t have to—”
“We do,” he interrupts. “If we resist, the backlash could kill us. Or worse—break the bond. And if that happens, war starts at dawn.”
My breath hitches.
He’s right.
Again.
And I—
I don’t want to lose him.
“Then do it,” I whisper. “But not like this. Not in front of them.”
I glance at the glass. The guests are gone, but the wards remain. The Council will see. They’ll know. They’ll feel it.
Vaelen follows my gaze. Then, slowly, he raises his hand.
With a flick of his wrist, the glass fogs—thick, impenetrable, shielding us from view. The runes still glow, but the room is ours now. Just ours.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, my throat tight.
He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “Then let me love you, little witch. Let me claim you. Not because of the ritual. Not because of the bond. But because you’re mine.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
He kisses me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Fierce.
A collision of lips and teeth and need. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting me, branding me. I moan, hands flying to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The bond erupts—white-hot, all-consuming, a surge of magic that throws us both into the headboard.
His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding beneath my nightgown to grip my thigh. I arch into him, my body screaming for more. My core is slick, aching, desperate. The mark on my spine flares, a white-hot brand that pulses in time with the Blood Moon.
He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down my neck, his fangs grazing my skin. Not biting. Not yet. Just—promising.
“You taste like home,” he growls, his voice rough with hunger. “Like fire. Like mine.”
“I’m not yours,” I gasp, even as my hips lift, grinding against him.
“You are,” he says, biting down—just enough to sting, to make me cry out. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
His hands slide up my sides, pushing the nightgown higher, baring my breasts to the cool air. His mouth follows, hot and wet, sucking one nipple into his mouth, then the other. I cry out, fingers digging into his back. The bond flares, a jolt of pleasure so intense it makes my vision blur.
“Vaelen—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, nipping at my breast. “Let me love you.”
His hand slides down my stomach, over the curve of my hip, then between my thighs. I gasp as his fingers find me—slick, swollen, ready. He strokes me slowly, deliberately, his thumb circling my clit.
“You’re so wet,” he growls. “So fucking needy. You’ve been waiting for this. For me.”
“No—”
“Liar,” he says, sliding a finger inside me. I cry out, hips bucking. “You’ve been aching for me since the first time I touched you. Since the first time I pinned you to the wall.”
Another finger. Deeper. Faster. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My body arches, pressing into his hand. The bond screams, a tidal wave of sensation crashing through me—pleasure, heat, need.
“You want me inside you,” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck. “You want my cock buried deep, my fangs in your throat, my name on your lips as you come.”
“I hate you,” I gasp.
“Liar,” he says, curling his fingers, hitting that spot that makes me see stars. “You love me. You’ve always loved me.”
I cry out, my back bowing. My core clenches around his fingers. I’m so close—
And then—
He stops.
I whimper, my hips lifting, searching for him.
He chuckles, low and dark. “Not yet, little witch. Not until you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine.”
My breath hitches.
He slides his fingers out, slowly, torturously, then brings them to his lips, sucking them clean. His eyes never leave mine. “Say it.”
I glare at him. “Never.”
He smirks. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait.”
He leans down, his mouth closing over my clit, sucking hard. I scream, my back arching off the bed. My hands fly to his hair, holding him there. The bond erupts, a surge of magic so intense it makes the runes flare brighter.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. His tongue flicks, circles, devours me, driving me higher, closer—
And then—
I come.
Hard.
A cry tears from my throat, raw and desperate. My body convulses, my core clenching, pulsing, burning. The bond screams, a tidal wave of pleasure and magic that throws us both into the pillows.
Vaelen rises above me, his eyes glowing, his fangs bared, his cock straining against his trousers. He’s beautiful. Terrifying. Mine.
“Now,” he says, voice rough. “Say it.”
I shake my head, breathless. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he says, gripping the hem of my nightgown. With one sharp tug, he rips it open, baring me to the moonlight. “You’re mine, Cascade. Say it.”
He unbuttons his trousers, frees his cock—thick, veined, impossibly hard. He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock brushing my entrance.
“Say it,” he growls. “Or I’ll make you beg.”
My breath hitches.
I want to say no.
I want to push him away.
I want to destroy him.
But I can’t.
Because I don’t want to.
Because I need him.
Because—
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
His eyes flare. A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Louder.”
“I’m yours,” I say, voice stronger. “I’m yours.”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. Satisfied.
And then—
He thrusts.
Deep.
Hard.
All the way.
I cry out, my body stretching to take him, my core clenching around his cock. He stills, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath coming fast.
“You feel so good,” he rasps. “So fucking perfect. Like you were made for me.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Because he starts to move.
Slow at first. Deep. Rolling his hips, dragging every inch of his cock through my slick heat. Each thrust sends sparks through my nerves, each retreat leaves me aching for more. The bond flares, a surge of magic that ties us together, body and soul.
His hands find mine, pinning them above my head. His fangs graze my neck. His breath is hot on my skin.
“Say my name,” he growls.
“Vaelen,” I gasp.
“Again.”
“Vaelen.”
He thrusts harder, faster, driving me into the mattress. The bed creaks. The runes pulse. The Blood Moon bleeds crimson light across our bodies.
“You’re mine,” he says, each word punctuated by a thrust. “You’ve always been mine. You’ll always be mine.”
I cry out, my body tightening around him. I’m close again—so close—
And then—
He bites me.
Not on the neck.
On the shoulder.
Sharp. Deep. A claiming bite. A mark.
Pleasure and pain explode through me, throwing me over the edge. I come with a scream, my body convulsing, my core pulsing around his cock. He follows, growling my name, his hips jerking as he spills inside me, hot and thick.
The bond sings.
Not with hunger.
Not with need.
With completion.
With unity.
With love.
We collapse together, breathless, tangled, claimed. His weight is solid on top of me, his heart pounding against my chest. His fangs are still in my shoulder, his mouth warm around the wound. He licks it slowly, sealing it, marking me.
And then—
I push him.
Hard.
He rolls off me, blinking in surprise. I scramble back, pressing myself into the headboard, my hands flying to the bite on my shoulder. Blood beads at the edges. The mark—dark, crescent-shaped—throbs with heat.
“What—”
“Don’t,” I snap, my voice shaking. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”
He sits up slowly, his expression unreadable. “Like what?”
“Like I’m yours,” I say, tears burning my eyes. “Like this means something. Like I wanted this.”
“You did,” he says, voice low. “You said it. You came for me. You let me mark you.”
“It was the ritual,” I say, even as my body still hums from his touch. “The bond. The magic. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He stands, pulling his trousers up, his cock still half-hard, glistening with my arousal. “It means everything,” he says, stepping closer. “It means you’re mine. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
“I won’t let you use my body to destroy my mission,” I say, rising on trembling legs. “I came here to expose the truth. To dismantle the treaty. And I will.”
He stares at me. Then, slowly, he nods. “Then do it. But don’t pretend this didn’t happen. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it.”
He turns, walks to the door. The wards hum, then part, allowing him to step outside.
“Vaelen—”
He pauses, glancing back.
“You felt it too,” I whisper.
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. Knowing.
“Every second,” he says. “And I’ll feel it again. Soon.”
Then he’s gone.
I sink back onto the bed, my fingers pressing to the mark on my shoulder. It burns. It aches. It thinks.
And I—
I don’t know what I am anymore.
But I know one thing.
The bond is no longer just a curse.
It’s a claim.
And I’m running out of lies.