The world stopped.
One second, I was lost in her—mouth on her breast, fingers buried in her heat, her body arching into me like it was made to fit. The next, the courtyard exploded with movement, torchlight flaring, boots pounding stone, voices rising in shock, in outrage, in something darker—*hunger*.
We didn’t break apart.
Not right away.
Because the bond—*our* bond—was still screaming between us, a golden thread of magic so thick it felt like a living thing, wrapping around our bodies, binding us, *claiming* us. Her breath was ragged against my neck, her nails digging into my shoulders, her thighs trembling around my hand. I could feel her pulse in my teeth, her magic in my blood, her *truth* in my soul.
And I didn’t want to let go.
But I had to.
“Get back!” I roared, shoving to my feet, pulling her up with me. My voice cut through the chaos like a blade, silencing the pack in an instant. I stepped in front of her, shielding her with my body, my chest heaving, my fangs bared. “No one touches her. No one speaks. No one *breathes* near her.”
The courtyard froze.
Every wolf, every council member, every guard—they all stood motionless, eyes wide, breaths held. They’d seen us. Seen the ritual. Seen the bond flare. Seen her gown torn, her skin bared, my fingers slick with her. They’d seen *everything*.
And they knew.
They knew she was mine.
Not because of politics. Not because of duty. But because our souls had touched. Because our magic had merged. Because the bond had *chosen* her.
“Alpha,” Elder Varn said, stepping forward, his voice tight. “This is—”
“Over,” I snapped. “The ritual is complete. The bond is proven. She is my mate. In truth. In magic. In *flesh*.” I turned, pulling Morgana close, my hand cradling the back of her neck. “And if anyone doubts it, I’ll show them again. Right here. Right now.”
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Because they knew I meant it.
Because they knew I’d tear the fortress apart before I let them take her.
“Guards,” I said, my voice low, lethal. “Clear the courtyard. Lock every door. No one enters. No one leaves. This wing is under my control.”
The guards hesitated.
“Now,” I growled, and the wolf in my voice made them scramble.
Within seconds, the courtyard was empty. The torches flickered. The moon blazed overhead. And it was just us—me and her, standing in the ruins of the ritual, our bodies still humming with need, our breaths still tangled.
“Kaelen—” she whispered, her voice raw.
I didn’t let her finish.
I pulled her into my arms, crushing her against me, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful—just *mine*. Teeth and fire and desperation. She gasped, arching into me, her hands fisting in my hair, her body soft, pliant, *needing*. The bond surged, a wave of heat so intense it made my vision blur. I wanted to throw her down. Wanted to strip her bare. Wanted to claim her in front of the entire pack, just to prove she was *mine*.
But I didn’t.
Because she wasn’t just my mate.
She was my *weakness*.
And I couldn’t afford to be weak.
I broke the kiss, pressing my forehead to hers, my breath ragged. “You’re shaking,” I said, my voice rough.
“So are you,” she whispered.
And I was. My hands trembled where they gripped her waist. My pulse hammered in my throat. My wolf howled for her, demanding to be let loose, demanding to *claim*.
But I held it back.
Because the moment I took her—fully, completely, without the bond forcing it—I’d lose control. And I couldn’t lose control. Not with the imposter still out there. Not with Lira scheming. Not with the council watching, waiting for me to fail.
“You saw it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “In the ritual. The vision. You were locked in a cell. The imposter—he had you.”
I didn’t answer. Just held her tighter, my fingers tangling in her hair. I’d never told anyone about that night. Never spoken of the chains, the darkness, the way he’d stood over me, wearing my face, my scent, my voice, and laughed. I’d buried it. Locked it away. But the bond—*she*—had dragged it into the light.
And worse—she’d seen it.
She’d seen me broken.
She’d seen me helpless.
And she hadn’t flinched.
“You didn’t kill Cael,” she said, her fingers brushing my jaw. “You were trapped. Powerless. Just like I was.”
My breath caught.
Because that was the truth. Not just about that night. About *us*. We weren’t enemies. We were *victims*. Both of us. Used. Framed. Played.
And now—now we were all we had.
“You believed the bond,” I said, my voice low. “Even when I doubted you.”
“It didn’t lie,” she said. “It never has.”
“Then why did you come here?” I asked, my thumb brushing her lower lip, still swollen from my mouth. “To destroy me?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me, her eyes searching mine, her breath warm on my skin. “I came to avenge my brother. To reclaim the Sigil. To make you pay.”
“And now?”
She exhaled, slow, shaky. “Now I don’t know what I want.”
My chest tightened.
“I don’t hate you anymore,” she whispered. “And that terrifies me.”
“It terrifies me too,” I admitted. “Because if I let myself feel this—if I let myself *want* you—I won’t survive losing you.”
She stilled. “You won’t lose me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Her hands rose, cradling my face. “Because the bond knows. And so do I.”
The bond flared—a surge of heat, of fire, of *truth*. My body responded instantly, my erection pressing against her stomach, my hands tightening on her hips. She gasped, her breath hitching, her body arching into me.
“Don’t,” I growled, stepping back. “Not here. Not like this.”
“Why not?” she asked, stepping closer. “You wanted me a second ago. You *touched* me.”
“I know what I did.” My voice was rough, strained. “And if we don’t stop now, I won’t stop at all.”
“Then don’t stop.”
“Morgana—”
“I’m not asking for forever,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m not asking for love. I’m asking for *this*. For the truth. For the fire. For one moment where I don’t have to lie to you. Or to myself.”
My breath came faster.
She was right.
And that was the problem.
Because if I took her—if I let myself fall—I wouldn’t be able to let go. Not ever. The bond would sear her into my soul, and I’d be lost. No more Alpha. No more control. Just a man who’d given everything for a woman who might still walk away.
But gods, I wanted to.
“Tell me to stop,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “Say the word, and I’ll walk away. I’ll lock the door. I’ll leave you alone.”
She didn’t hesitate.
Just stepped forward, her hands sliding up my chest, her body pressing against mine. “Then stay.”
My control shattered.
I lifted her, my hands locking around her thighs, her legs wrapping around my waist. Her mouth crashed into mine, hot, desperate, *needing*. I carried her through the courtyard, my boots echoing on the stone, my body a live wire of need. The bond screamed between us, a golden thread of magic so bright it lit the path ahead.
Back to the chambers.
Inside.
Door slammed shut.
I threw her onto the bed, the furs catching her fall. She didn’t protest. Just stared up at me, her chest rising and falling fast, her lips parted, her eyes dark with hunger. The gown was still torn, one shoulder bare, the fabric slipping down her waist. My gaze traced the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, my voice rough.
“Don’t talk,” she said. “Just touch me.”
I didn’t argue.
I climbed onto the bed, caging her in, my body half over hers. My hand slid up her thigh, beneath the torn fabric, my fingers brushing the edge of her smalls. She gasped, her hips lifting, her breath coming faster.
“You’re wet,” I growled, my fingers sliding beneath the fabric, finding her—hot, slick, *ready*. “You’ve been ready since the ritual.”
“Since the first time I saw you,” she whispered.
My breath caught.
And then—I couldn’t wait anymore.
I kissed her, deep, consuming, my tongue sliding against hers, my hand working her, slow then fast, making her arch, making her *burn*. She moaned, her hands flying to my hair, holding me there, needing more, needing *everything*. My other hand went to the laces of my trousers, pulling, untying, freeing myself. I was hard, aching, *needing*.
And then—
She reached for me.
Her hand wrapped around my cock, warm, soft, *perfect*. I groaned, my hips jerking, my control slipping. “Morgana—”
“I want you inside me,” she said, her voice breaking. “Now.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I pulled her smalls aside, my tip pressing against her entrance. She gasped, her body tensing, her breath catching. I looked down at her, my voice low, rough. “Last chance to stop.”
She didn’t answer.
Just lifted her hips, taking me in an inch.
And that was it.
I thrust forward, burying myself in her heat, her tightness, her *fire*. She cried out, her body arching, her nails digging into my back. I stilled, my breath ragged, my body trembling. She was so *tight*, so *hot*, so *right*. I’d never felt anything like it. Never wanted anything so much.
“Kaelen,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Look at me,” I growled.
She did.
And in that moment, with her body wrapped around mine, her eyes locked on mine, the bond screaming between us, I knew—*I knew*—that I’d never be free.
And I didn’t care.
I started to move, slow at first, then faster, deeper, making her gasp, making her *burn*. Her hands slid down my back, her nails leaving trails of fire. Her hips rose to meet mine, her body moving with mine, *needing*.
“You feel it,” I growled, my mouth on her neck, my teeth scraping her pulse. “You feel how right this is.”
“I do,” she gasped. “I still want to hate you. But I *do*.”
“I know.” I kissed her again, deep, consuming, my thrusts relentless, driving her toward the edge. “I still want to hate you too.”
And then—
She came.
Her body clenched around me, her back arching, her cry tearing from her throat. I didn’t stop. Just kept moving, driving her through it, making her *burn*. And then—
I was close.
Too close.
I pulled out at the last second, spilling over her stomach, my body shaking, my breath ragged. The bond flared—a wave of energy so intense it made the room tremble. I collapsed beside her, my chest heaving, my body spent.
She didn’t speak.
Just turned, her hand brushing my cheek, her eyes searching mine.
And in that moment, I saw it—the flicker of fear. Not of me. Not of the bond.
Of *feeling*.
“Say it,” I said, my voice rough. “Say what you’re really afraid of.”
She hesitated. Then, softly: “I’m afraid that if I let myself love you… I’ll lose myself.”
My chest tightened.
“You won’t,” I said, pulling her into my arms, her head resting on my chest. “You’ll find yourself. With me.”
She didn’t answer. Just closed her eyes, her breath slowing, her body relaxing.
And for the first time in years—I let myself imagine what it would be like to wake up with her in my arms.
Not as my mate.
Not as my prisoner.
But as my *equal*.
—
Later, when the bond had calmed, when the fire had burned low, when the fortress was silent, I whispered the truth I’d been running from:
“I don’t want to break you.”
She stilled.
“I want to *keep* you,” I said, my voice low. “Alive. Whole. Mine.”
She turned, her eyes meeting mine in the dark. “Then tell me why you’re really here.”
And I knew—*I knew*—that if I told her, if I let her see the truth, she might still walk away.
But I also knew—
I had to try.
“Because I’m afraid,” I said, my voice breaking. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid of feeling. Afraid of being *weak*.”
She didn’t flinch.
Just reached up, her thumb brushing my lower lip. “Then stop fighting it.”
And for the first time—I didn’t.
I let myself fall.
And I prayed—*gods, I prayed*—that she’d catch me.