I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m riding behind him, my arms locked around his waist, my body pressed to his back like I belong there.
The thought claws through me as we approach the fortress gates—his heat searing through the thin fabric of my torn robes, his scent filling my lungs, the bond humming between us like a live wire stretched taut. Rain-soaked earth squelches beneath the horse’s hooves. The storm has passed, but the air is still thick with the metallic tang of blood and the crackle of spent magic. My palm throbs where I cut it—where I pressed it to his chest, where my blood sealed his wound, where my magic flared so bright it lit up the forest like a second sun.
And then I kissed him.
Not because I had to.
Not because the bond demanded it.
Because I wanted to.
And now, I don’t know how to take it back.
The guards snap to attention as we pass, their eyes flicking to me—my blood-streaked face, my torn robes, the way I cling to him like I’m afraid to let go. Whispers rise in our wake.
“She saved him.”
“He took a blade for her.”
“The bond’s confirmed.”
“She’s his queen now.”
I want to scream. To shove him away. To remind them all that I’m not his. That I came here to destroy him, to avenge my mother, to reclaim my throne.
But I don’t.
Because the truth is—
I don’t know if I can.
Kael dismounts first, then turns and lifts me down, his hands lingering at my waist. His gold eyes lock onto mine—burning, possessive, knowing. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. The message is clear: You’re mine. And you always will be.
I step back, but my legs are weak, my body still humming from the aftermath of the healing, from the kiss, from the bond’s sudden, violent surge. My knees wobble. I catch myself on the saddle.
His hand is there instantly, gripping my arm. “You’re not falling,” he says, voice low. “Not tonight.”
“I’m not yours to catch,” I mutter, pulling away.
He smirks. “You already are.”
He turns and walks toward the fortress, his stride long, confident, a king returning from battle. I follow, silent, shaking, my bare feet making no sound on the stone. The torn robes cling to me, soaked through, the fabric heavy with rain and blood. The gash on my arm stings, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest—the slow, insidious throb of something I can’t name.
We reach his chambers. He opens the door, steps aside. I walk past him, not looking back. The room feels different now—smaller, hotter, charged with the weight of what just happened. The bed is unmade, the crimson silk gown still crumpled on the floor, a silent accusation. The hearth is cold. The air is still.
“You’ll wear this tonight,” he says, nodding to a servant who steps forward with a folded garment.
I take it, unfold it.
And my breath catches.
It’s not a robe. Not armor. Not even proper clothing.
It’s a gown of midnight blue silk, so thin it’s nearly transparent, embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of a spiral—werewolf sigils. The neckline plunges, the hem slit to the thigh. It’s meant to be seen. Meant to be felt.
“This is obscene,” I say, voice tight.
“It’s tradition,” Kael replies, watching me. “The Council demands a public appearance. A display of unity. And you—” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a growl. “—will wear this. You’ll stand beside me. You’ll let them see what you are.”
“And what am I?” I ask, voice low.
He reaches out, his thumb brushing the edge of the gown. “Mine. Whether you admit it or not.”
“I’ll never be yours.”
“You already are,” he says. “Your body knows it. Your magic knows it. And soon—” His hand rises, his fingers tracing the mark on my shoulder. “—your heart will know it too.”
I step back. “I came here to kill you.”
“And yet,” he says, “you’re still alive. Still breathing. Still here.”
He turns toward the hearth. “Get dressed. The Council convenes in an hour.”
He leaves.
I stand there, the gown heavy in my hands. The silver thread glints in the torchlight, pulsing faintly with magic. It’s not just a dress.
It’s a declaration.
A surrender.
And I’m supposed to wear it like a crown.
I strip off the torn robes, the fabric peeling from my skin like a second layer of pain. The gash on my arm is healing—my magic sealed it, but the scar will remain. A reminder. A warning. I step into the gown, the silk sliding over my skin like liquid fire, the fabric clinging to every curve, the runes warming as they touch my flesh. The neckline dips low, exposing the mark on my shoulder, the silver collar gone but the bond still pulsing beneath it.
I look in the mirror.
A stranger stares back.
Her eyes are wild, her lips swollen, her skin flushed. The silk clings to her like a second skin, the silver runes glowing faintly, syncing with the rhythm of her pulse. She looks like a queen. A consort. A mate.
I hate her.
I hate me.
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I say, voice flat.
Kael steps inside, dressed in black leather, his hair slightly tousled, his presence filling the room. His eyes sweep over me—slow, deliberate—and I see the hunger in them, the raw, unfiltered need.
“You look… appropriate,” he says.
“Don’t start,” I snap.
“I’m not starting anything,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m finishing it.”
He reaches out, his fingers brushing the strap of the gown where it slips off my shoulder. “The Council will be watching. Every eye. Every breath. And they’ll see what I already know.”
“Which is?”
“That you’re mine,” he says. “That you’d die for me. That you’d kill for me. That you’d kiss me in the rain with your blood on my chest and your magic in my veins.”
My breath catches.
“You think I don’t remember?” he murmurs. “You think I don’t feel it? That kiss—it wasn’t the bond. It wasn’t magic. It was you. Choosing me.”
“I didn’t choose you,” I say, but my voice wavers.
“You did,” he says simply. “And you’ll do it again.”
He turns toward the door. “Come.”
I follow, my bare feet silent on the stone.
The Great Hall is packed—Alphas, Betas, envoys from the vampire and fae courts. The air is thick with tension, with the low hum of whispered alliances and hidden agendas. Torches line the walls, their flames flickering with unnatural blue at the edges. The scent of iron and incense fills the space, mingling with something deeper—power.
Kael leads me forward, his hand at my back, guiding me to the dais. The crowd parts for us, their eyes on me—on the flush of my skin, the wildness in my eyes, the way I still lean into him.
They see it.
They all see it.
I didn’t hate him.
Not in the forest.
Not in the rain.
Not when I kissed him.
The High Elder steps forward, his staff raised. “Kael, Alpha of Alphas, and Morgana, Envoy of the Northern Witches—fated by the Blood Moon, bound by magic, united by fate. You stand before the pack to declare your allegiance. To show the world that the Blood Moon Treaty stands.”
He gestures to Kael. “Speak, Wolf King.”
Kael steps forward, his presence a wall of heat and dominance. “The bond is confirmed,” he says, voice rough. “The magic accepts her. She is mine. And I am hers. And any who threaten her—” His gold eyes sweep the room. “—will die by my hand.”
The crowd murmurs—approval, fear, awe.
Then the Elder turns to me. “And you, Morgana? Do you stand with him?”
All eyes are on me.
My breath comes fast. My skin burns. The bond pulses—stronger, hungrier—like it’s waiting.
I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now, I have to choose.
Between my mission.
And the man who took a blade for me.
Between vengeance.
And the truth in his eyes when I kissed him.
Between hate.
And the unbearable, humiliating truth—
I don’t want to win this war.
“I stand with him,” I say, voice steady.
The crowd roars.
“The bond is sealed!” the Elder shouts. “The treaty stands!”
Kael turns to me, his eyes burning. “You said it,” he murmurs. “Now you can’t take it back.”
“I never said I loved you,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “Your body does.”
He turns to leave the dais, but as I step forward, the hem of my gown catches on the edge of the stone platform.
A rip.
Silk tears. The slit climbs higher, higher—until the entire side of the gown is open, baring my thigh, the curve of my hip, the silver runes glowing against my skin.
The crowd gasps.
I freeze.
Humiliation burns through me—hot, sharp, unbearable. I try to pull the fabric together, but it’s no use. The damage is done.
And then—
Kael is beside me.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smile. Just reaches out, his hand gliding up my bare thigh, his fingers brushing the edge of the tear. His touch is rough, possessive, claiming.
“Let them see,” he murmurs, voice low. “Let them all see what’s mine.”
My breath hitches.
Heat floods my core. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on my shoulder glowing, the air crackling with magic.
And then he leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “You wore that on purpose,” he growls. “To make them think we’ve already mated.”
My heart stops.
“Did it work?” I whisper, lifting my chin.
He smirks—slow, dark. “You tell me.”
He turns and walks out, leaving me standing on the dais, exposed, trembling, ruined.
The crowd watches. Whispers rise.
“She’s his.”
“She’s claimed.”
“She’s the Queen.”
I don’t move.
I don’t speak.
Because for the first time, I wonder—
What if I don’t want to be free?
What if I want to be his?
What if I want to belong?
I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now, I’m not sure I can.
Because I don’t know if I want to.
And worse—
I don’t know if I want to be anyone else.