I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m wearing his mark like a crown.
The thought claws through me as I wake, the silver runes of the torn gown still warm against my skin, the memory of his hand on my thigh burning like a brand. The fabric lies crumpled beside the bed—midnight blue silk, split from hem to hip, the werewolf sigils pulsing faintly in the dim light. I don’t touch it. I can’t. It’s not just a dress. It’s a confession. A surrender. A public declaration that I belong to him.
And I let it happen.
The bond hums between us—stronger now, deeper, hungrier—a live wire stretched taut across the fortress. I can feel him nearby, in the chamber beyond the hearth, his presence a low thrum in my blood. He’s awake. Watching. Waiting.
But not touching.
That’s the worst part.
After the public claim, he didn’t speak. Didn’t look back. Just walked out, leaving me standing on the dais, exposed, trembling, ruined. The crowd watched. Whispers rose. She’s his. She’s claimed. She’s the Queen.
And I didn’t deny it.
I said I stood with him.
I didn’t say I loved him.
But my body did.
I press my palms to my face, trying to erase the images—his hand on my thigh, the heat of his breath in my ear, the way my core clenched when he growled, *Let them see what’s mine.* I should hate him. I do hate him. He killed my mother. He burned our temple. He took my birthright and called it justice.
But my body doesn’t care about justice.
It only cares about him.
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I say, voice hoarse.
Kael steps inside, dressed in black leather, his hair slightly tousled, his gold eyes sharp. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me—on the bed, half-naked, the silk gown slipping, my skin still flushed from fever.
“You look like sin,” he says, voice rough.
I glare at him. “And you look like a predator.”
“I am,” he says, stepping closer. “And you’re in my den.”
He reaches the bed, his hand rising to the strap of the gown. I slap it away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You’ll wear proper robes today,” he says, ignoring me. “No more silk. No more runes. Just gray. Like a good little witch.”
“I’m not your puppet.”
“No,” he says, leaning down, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re my mate. And today, you’ll prove it.”
He straightens. “Get dressed. The Council convenes at noon. And you’ll be at my side.”
He turns and walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sit there, trembling. Not from fear. From rage. From the unbearable, humiliating truth: I’m losing control. Not just of the mission. Not just of my body. Of me.
I force myself up, strip off the silk, and pull on the gray robes from the chest—simple, heavy, marked with werewolf sigils. They feel like a shroud. A surrender.
But I wear them.
Because I have no choice.
The Great Hall is already filling when we arrive—Alphas, Betas, envoys from the vampire and fae courts. The air is thick with tension, with the low hum of whispered alliances. At the dais, the High Elder stands beside the treaty scrolls, his staff raised. Kael takes his place at the center. I stand beside him, close enough that our arms brush, far enough that I don’t have to look at him.
But I feel him.
His heat. His scent. The bond, pulsing between us like a second heartbeat.
Then—
“Ah. The fated pair.”
The voice is smooth, dark, laced with amusement. I turn.
Seraphine, the Blood Queen, steps forward—tall, pale, dressed in a blood-red gown that hugs every curve. Her hair is midnight black, her lips painted the same shade as her dress. She’s the Vampire Lord’s ally, a woman who claims she once bore Kael’s heir, who wears a forged mating mark like a trophy. And she’s watching me like I’m a threat.
“Morgana,” she says, smiling. “How… charming to see you again. Though I must say—” Her gaze flicks to Kael. “—I didn’t expect you to be so… claimed.”
“It was unexpected,” I say, voice steady.
“Mm.” She steps closer, her scent—cold roses and iron—cutting through Kael’s dominance. “And yet, here you are. Bound to the Wolf King. How… tragic.”
“It’s none of your business,” Kael growls.
Seraphine ignores him, her eyes locked on me. “I’ve heard rumors. That the bond is strong. That it consumes you. That you scream his name in your sleep.”
My face burns.
“Lies,” I say.
“Are they?” She reaches out, her fingers brushing my wrist. Cold. Deliberate. A jolt runs through me—not from fear. From something darker. Something I don’t want to name.
Kael moves like lightning.
He steps between us, his hand closing around her wrist, crushing it. “Touch her again,” he says, voice low, dangerous, “and I’ll rip your arm from your socket.”
Seraphine doesn’t flinch. Just smiles. “Possessive, aren’t we? But tell me, Kael—” She tilts her head. “—does she want you? Or is she just afraid of the bond?”
“She’s mine,” Kael says. “And that’s all that matters.”
Seraphine chuckles. “For now.”
She turns to me, her voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. “If you ever want out… my offer still stands. Power. Freedom. A way to break the bond.”
My breath catches.
She winks. “Just say the word.”
Then she’s gone, melting into the crowd.
I stand there, my pulse racing, my skin still tingling where she touched me. Not from fear. From awareness. From the dangerous, traitorous thought: What if she’s right? What if there’s another way?
Kael turns to me, his eyes blazing. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I wasn’t,” I snap.
“You were,” he says, stepping closer. “I can smell it on you. Interest. Curiosity. Want.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”
“I don’t,” he says, his voice dropping. “But your body does. And right now, it’s screaming that you want me.”
He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Prove her wrong. Prove me wrong. Show them all who you belong to.”
Then he’s gone, moving to the dais, leaving me standing there, shaken.
The Council session is a blur—debates, decrees, political maneuvering. I don’t hear a word. My mind is on Seraphine. On her offer. On the way her cold fingers sent a shiver through me, not of fear, but of something else.
And on Kael.
On the way his grip tightened when she touched me. On the way his voice dropped, possessive, furious.
He was jealous.
The thought hits me like a blade.
Not anger. Not dominance. Jealousy.
And for the first time, I wonder—what if I could use that?
What if I could make him hurt?
The session ends. The crowd begins to disperse. I wait until Kael is speaking with Riven, then slip away, moving through the corridors toward the east wing—where the Iron Library is housed.
The library is a fortress within a fortress—stone walls, iron doors, runes etched into every surface. It’s where the werewolves keep their most dangerous knowledge: ancient treaties, forbidden magic, blood contracts sealed in glass. And, if I’m careful, the flaw in the Blood Moon Treaty that could unravel it all.
The librarian is an old werewolf, his eyes milky with age, his hands trembling as he scans the scrolls. I step forward, my voice calm. “I need to study the treaty clauses. The original draft.”
He eyes me. “Only envoys with clearance.”
“I’m the Wolf King’s mate,” I say, lifting my chin. “I have full access.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Section C. Third shelf. Don’t touch the red seals.”
I thank him and move deeper into the stacks—towering shelves of black oak, scrolls bound in leather, books with covers of bone and iron. The air is thick with dust and magic, the silence broken only by the soft crackle of ancient pages.
I find the treaty draft—massive, bound in wolf hide, the ink dark and shimmering. I unroll it carefully, scanning the clauses, the land grants, the alliance oaths. My magic stirs beneath my skin, ready. If I can find the loophole—the clause that ties the treaty’s magic to a single bloodline, to Kael’s life—if I can twist it, corrupt it, make it self-destruct—
“Looking for something?”
The voice is a growl, low and dangerous.
I freeze.
Kael.
He stands in the shadows between the shelves, his gold eyes burning, his presence a storm. He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t give any warning. Just… appeared.
“I was studying,” I say, voice steady. “The treaty is complex. I want to understand it.”
“Liar,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re looking for a way to break it. To destroy me.”
My breath hitches.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing the edge of the scroll. “You think I don’t know what you are? A witch with fae blood, hiding behind lies. A girl who watched her mother die and swore revenge. You came here to kill me. I know.”
“Then why keep me?” I snap. “Why not just execute me and be done with it?”
“Because I want to see what you’ll do when you’re cornered,” he says, stepping closer. “When you have no choice but to fight—or surrender.”
He grabs the scroll, rolls it shut, and sets it aside. Then he’s on me—pinning me against the bookshelf, his body pressing into mine, his heat overwhelming. His hand slides under my robe, fabric tearing as his fingers brush bare skin.
“You want to destroy me?” he whispers, his fangs grazing my neck. “Then do it with your hands. Not with tricks. Not with lies.”
My breath comes fast. My skin burns. The bond flares—sharp, insistent—a pulse between my thighs. My nipples tighten beneath my robes.
He feels it.
Of course he does.
A dark smile curls his lips. “You’re aroused,” he murmurs. “Even now. Even here. You want this. You want me to touch you. To claim you. To break you.”
“I want you dead,” I hiss.
“Same thing,” he says, leaning in. “Because when I’m done with you, you’ll be mine in every way. And you’ll thank me for it.”
His hand moves higher, his thumb brushing the edge of my breast. A moan escapes my lips before I can stop it.
And then—
The door slams open.
“The Blood Queen demands audience,” a guard announces.
Kael doesn’t move. Doesn’t release me. Just turns his head slightly, his voice low, dangerous. “Let her wait.”
The guard hesitates, then closes the door.
Silence.
And then—
Kael leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “You’ll get me. Soon. When the bond breaks you. When you’re on your knees, begging for my hands on you, my mouth on you, my fangs in your neck—”
“Never,” I whisper.
He smiles—slow, dark. “You already are.”
He releases me with a shove, steps back. “Come. The bond will be stronger tonight. And I won’t be there to stop it.”
I don’t answer.
I follow, silent, shaking.
As we walk back through the corridors, the bond hums between us—stronger, hotter, hungrier. And for the first time, I wonder—
What if I don’t want to win this war?
What if I want to lose?
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.
Because part of me—small, broken, awake—doesn’t want to.