The morning after Lira’s return, the fortress felt different—charged, like the air before a storm. Whispers curled through the corridors, slithering under doors and down stairwells. *She’s back. He let her wear his shirt. The witch attacked her.* I heard it all as I walked to the dining hall, my spine rigid, my expression blank. Let them talk. Let them judge. I had thirty days. I had a mission. And I wasn’t about to let a jealous ex with a self-inflicted scar derail me.
But the bond disagreed.
It pulsed in my chest, low and insistent, a constant reminder that I wasn’t just playing a role. That every breath I took, every lie I spun, sent a ripple through the magic binding me to Kaelen. And last night—last night, when I’d stormed out, when I’d sat on the tower’s edge and let doubt gnaw at my resolve—I’d felt it. A shift. A tightening. Like the bond was flexing, testing its hold.
I reached the dining hall to find Kaelen already seated at the head of the long stone table, flanked by his council—three Alphas, two Betas, and Silas, who gave me the barest nod as I entered. The room fell silent. All eyes turned to me: some wary, some hostile, one or two curious. I kept my gaze forward, my steps measured, as I took the seat beside Kaelen—his mate’s place, whether I wanted it or not.
He didn’t look at me. Just pushed a plate toward me—venison, roasted root vegetables, a steaming mug of something dark. No tea. No herbs. Just food. Real food.
“Eat,” he said, voice low.
“Why?” I asked, not touching the plate. “So I don’t embarrass you in front of your council?”
“So you don’t collapse during the oath.”
My blood went cold. “What oath?”
He finally turned, his steel-gray eyes locking onto mine. “The loyalty oath. Every new mate must swear it before the council. You didn’t think you’d be exempt, did you?”
I forced my face to stay neutral, but inside, my mind raced. An oath. Bound in magic. Public. *Binding.* This wasn’t just a formality. This was a power play. A way to leash me in front of his wolves, to make my submission undeniable.
And worse—blood magic. I could feel it already, coiled in the air like a serpent. The council members wore silver rings etched with runes. The table bore a shallow bowl, dark with dried blood. This wasn’t just words. This was *sealing.*
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
“Then you’re not my mate,” he said. “And I’ll have no choice but to lock you in silver until the bond burns itself out.”
A collective breath inhaled around the table. Silver was poison to witches. Prolonged exposure could dissolve magic, rot the soul. He wasn’t bluffing. He was cornering me.
I looked at him—really looked. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid. But beneath the cold authority, I saw it: the flicker of regret. He didn’t want to do this. But he had to. For his pack. For control. For the fragile balance between us.
I picked up my fork. “Fine. I’ll eat.”
—
The oath was held in the Chamber of Echoes—a vast, circular hall carved from black stone, its ceiling lost in shadow. Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering in time with the low hum of ancient wards. The council took their seats in a semicircle, their presence heavy, their silence heavier. Silas stood at the edge, arms crossed, watching.
Kaelen stood at the center, a ceremonial dagger in one hand, the blood bowl in the other. He wore his full Alpha regalia—black wolf pelt, silver armbands, the crest of the Blackthorn sigil over his heart. He looked like a king. A conqueror. A man who had never doubted his right to rule.
I stepped forward, dressed in a dark gown they’d provided—simple, but elegant, the fabric cool against my skin. My knives were gone. My runes hidden beneath long sleeves. I was stripped of everything but my will.
“Morgana of the Ashen line,” Kaelen began, his voice echoing through the chamber, “you stand before the Blackthorn Council as a claimed mate. Do you accept this bond?”
My pulse spiked. This was the first lie. The first public surrender.
“I do,” I said, voice steady.
“Do you swear loyalty to the Alpha, to the pack, to the laws of the Northern Wilds?”
“I do.”
“Do you renounce all past allegiances, all blood feuds, all acts of war against the Blackthorn?”
I hesitated. This was it. The moment that would bind me. That would weaken my magic. That would make it harder—maybe impossible—to reclaim the Sigil.
But if I refused, I’d be locked in silver. And then I’d never get close to the Vault.
“I do,” I whispered.
Kaelen dipped the dagger into the blood bowl, then turned to me. “Then offer your hand.”
I held out my right hand, palm up. My breath came shallow, my skin prickling. I could feel the magic in the room—old, hungry, waiting.
He pressed the blade to my palm.
The cut was clean, precise. Blood welled, dark and thick, dripping into the bowl. I didn’t flinch. I’d endured worse.
Then he did something unexpected.
He brought his own hand forward, slicing his palm with the same dagger. His blood mingled with mine in the bowl, a deep crimson swirl. The magic *roared* to life—golden threads spiraling up from the bowl, wrapping around our wrists, binding us not just by oath, but by shared blood.
“By this blood,” he intoned, “by this bond, by the will of the pack, I claim you as mine. And you, in turn, swear yourself to me. To obey. To protect. To remain.”
The golden threads tightened. I felt it—the moment the magic sank into my veins, weaving through my magic, my bones, my soul. A lock. A leash. A *curse.*
“I swear,” I said, the words tasting like ash.
The chamber trembled. The torches flared. And then—silence.
The oath was sealed.
Kaelen stepped back, wiping the dagger on his sleeve. The council murmured, some in approval, others in suspicion. But no one challenged it. The magic had spoken. I was bound.
He turned to me, his voice low, meant only for my ears. “It’s done.”
“You weakened me,” I said, clutching my palm. “I can’t cast blood magic without your permission now, can I?”
He didn’t deny it. “It’s for your protection. For the pack’s. The bond is volatile. This keeps it stable.”
“Or keeps me under your control.”
“Same thing.”
I wanted to slap him. Wanted to scream. But the oath hummed in my chest, a warning. I was his now. In truth and in magic.
“Come,” he said, offering his arm. “We have other matters to attend.”
I didn’t take it. Just walked past him, my head high, my blood still dripping into the bowl.
—
Back in the chambers, I tore off the gown and threw it into the hearth. The flames caught the fabric, devouring it like it was alive. I stood there, shivering in my underclothes, watching the fire, my palm wrapped in a strip of linen.
The bond ached. Not just in my chest, but in my magic. It felt… muted. Distant. Like a song played behind a wall. I tried to summon a simple illusion—a flicker of light in my palm—but nothing came. The oath had sealed it. I was powerless.
And then I laughed.
Sharp. Bitter. Hysterical.
Because the truth was, I’d *wanted* to believe him. Wanted to believe that the bond was real, that he hadn’t killed Cael, that we could find the truth together. But this—this was proof. He didn’t want a partner. He wanted a pet. A weapon he could control.
The door opened.
He stepped in, still in his regalia, his expression unreadable. “You’re angry.”
“You think?” I turned to face him. “You bound me in front of your council. You stripped my magic. You made me *swear* I’d obey you.”
“I protected you,” he said. “Do you think they wouldn’t have torn you apart if you’d refused? Do you think Lira wouldn’t have used it against you?”
“So this was *kindness*?”
“It was *survival*.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “The bond is strong, Morgana. Too strong. Without the oath, it would consume you. It would drive you mad.”
“Or maybe you just like having me on a leash.”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached out, his fingers brushing the back of my hand. “You think I don’t feel it too? The pull? The fire? The way my wolf *howls* for you?” His thumb traced the edge of the bandage. “I don’t want to control you. I want to *keep* you. Alive. Whole. Mine.”
Heat flared in my core. The bond pulsed, responding to his touch, to his voice, to the way his scent—pine, iron, wild—wrapped around me.
I stepped back. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend this is about anything but power.”
“It’s about *us*.”
“There is no *us*.”
He moved fast—closing the distance, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him. His body was hard, hot, unyielding. His breath was ragged. “You feel it,” he growled. “You feel how right this is.”
“I feel magic,” I shot back. “Not love. Not destiny. Just *magic*.”
“Then why does it burn when I touch you?” His hand slid up, his fingers trailing my throat, my jaw, my lips. “Why does your pulse jump? Why does your magic *sing* for me?”
“Because it’s *bound*.”
“No.” His other hand found my wrist, pressing it to the wall beside my head. “Because it’s *true*.”
And then—his lips were on mine.
Not gentle. Not soft. A claim. A challenge. Teeth and fire and desperation. I gasped, arching into him, my body betraying me, my hands fisting in his coat. The bond exploded—a wave of heat, of light, of *need*—and for one traitorous second, I let myself fall.
Then I shoved him back.
“Don’t,” I panted, my lips swollen, my breath ragged. “Don’t make me want you.”
He didn’t retreat. Just stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with hunger. “Too late.”
And then, before I could respond, the door burst open.
Silas stood there, his face grim. “Alpha. We have a problem.”
Kaelen didn’t move. “What?”
“Lira’s gone. And the elder’s body—she poisoned him last night. The council says it was *her*.”
My blood turned to ice.
Kaelen turned to me slowly. “You were seen arguing with him yesterday.”
“I didn’t touch him.”
“The council doesn’t know that.”
“Then tell them.”
“They won’t believe me,” he said. “Not now. Not with the oath so fresh. They’ll say I’m protecting you. That the bond has blinded me.”
My stomach dropped. I was trapped. Framed. And with my magic bound, I couldn’t prove my innocence.
“Prove your loyalty,” Kaelen said, his voice low, dangerous. “Or I’ll have no choice.”
“What choice?” I whispered.
“Exile. Or worse.”
The bond pulsed, a cold, warning ache in my chest.
Lira had won.
She hadn’t just returned.
She’d started a war.
And I was the first casualty.