I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m waking in his arms, my body still humming from the fire he lit inside me.
The memory of his mouth on my neck, his hands on my skin, the slow, deliberate way he claimed me—without taking me fully, without crossing that final line—burns like a brand. The bond-heat is gone, sated, the fever broken not by denial, but by surrender. Not of my body. Not of my mission. But of the lie I’ve been telling myself: that I don’t want him.
I do.
And that terrifies me more than any blade, any betrayal, any death.
Sunlight slices through the shutters, painting gold lines across the stone floor. The hearth is cold. The fortress is quiet. Kael lies beside me, one arm draped over my waist, his breath steady against my neck. His scent—pine, fire, raw male—clings to my skin, to my hair, to my soul. I should pull away. Should roll from the bed, dress, plan, remember who I am.
But I don’t.
For one heartbeat. One breath. One fragile, stolen moment—I let myself feel it.
The warmth of his body. The strength of his arm. The way his heartbeat matches mine, slow and sure, like we’ve always belonged like this.
Then I remember.
My mother’s body at his feet. Her silver circlet in his hand. The temple burning to ash.
I press two fingers to the mark on my shoulder. It pulses faintly—golden, warm, claimed. Not just by the bond. By him. By last night. By the way I begged for his touch, the way I arched into him, the way I whispered, *Yes.*
I came here to destroy him.
And instead, I let him break me.
I slip from the bed, careful not to wake him. My bare feet meet cold stone. The torn robes from the public claim lie crumpled in the corner—midnight blue silk, split from hem to hip. I avoid them. Instead, I pull on the gray robes from the chest—simple, heavy, marked with werewolf sigils. Armor. A shield. A lie.
Kael stirs. “Morgana.”
“Don’t,” I say, voice low. “Don’t pretend last night meant something.”
He sits up slowly, the sheets pooling around his waist, his chest bare, his scars a map of battles I don’t know. His gold eyes lock onto mine—burning, possessive, knowing. “It meant everything.”
“It meant survival,” I snap. “I didn’t want to go mad. I didn’t want to die.”
“And yet,” he says, stepping out of the bed, “you didn’t say no. You said *yes*. You *wanted* it.”
“I wanted the fever to stop.”
“Same thing,” he says, moving closer. “Because the fever is the bond. And the bond is *us*.”
He reaches out, his thumb brushing the edge of my robe where it slips off my shoulder. “You’re mine. And you always will be.”
“I’ll never be yours,” I whisper.
“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 at noon. And you’ll be at my side.”
He leaves.
I stand 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.
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.
Thorne, Lord of the Crimson Spire, steps forward—tall, pale, dressed in a tailored black coat that looks more like a funeral shroud than clothing. His eyes are black as ink, his fangs just visible as he smiles. He’s the Vampire Lord, one of the most powerful beings in Atheria. And he’s watching me like I’m a feast.
“Envoy Morgana,” he says, bowing slightly. “A pleasure to see you again. Though I must say—” His gaze flicks to Kael. “—you look… ruined.”
My face burns.
“It was unexpected,” I say, voice steady.
“Mm.” He steps closer, his 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.
Thorne ignores him, his 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.”
“Lies,” I say.
“Are they?” He reaches out, his 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 Thorne’s wrist, crushing it. “Touch her again,” he says, voice low, dangerous, “and I’ll rip your arm from your socket.”
Thorne doesn’t flinch. Just smiles. “Possessive, aren’t we? But tell me, Kael—” He tilts his head. “—does she want you? Or is she just afraid of the bond?”
“She’s mine,” Kael says. “And that’s all that matters.”
Thorne chuckles. “For now.”
He turns to me, his voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. “If you ever want out… my offer still stands. Immortality. Power. Freedom from him.”
My breath catches.
He winks. “Just say the word.”
Then he’s gone, melting into the crowd.
I stand there, my pulse racing, my skin still tingling where he touched me. Not from fear. From awareness. From the dangerous, traitorous thought: What if he’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 him 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 Thorne. On his offer. On the way his cold fingers sent a shiver through me, not of fear, but of something else.
And on Kael.
On the way his grip tightened when Thorne 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 vampire envoys are quartered.
Thorne’s chamber is easy to find—black stone, silver runes, the scent of roses and blood thick in the air. I knock once.
The door opens.
He stands there, shirt unbuttoned, his chest pale, his eyes gleaming. “I knew you’d come.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, stepping inside. “I’m not here for you.”
“No?” He closes the door. “Then why are you trembling?”
I don’t answer.
He steps closer, his fingers brushing my cheek. Cold. Deliberate. “You want out. I can smell it. The bond is breaking you. And he—” He sneers. “—he’s too blind to see it.”
“He sees everything,” I say.
“But he doesn’t feel,” Thorne says. “Not like I do. Not like I could make you feel.”
He leans in, his fangs grazing my neck. “One taste. That’s all I ask. Let me drink from you. Let me show you what it means to be wanted.”
My breath hitches.
Not from fear.
From need.
And then—
The door slams open.
Kael.
His eyes are gold fire, his presence a storm. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stares at Thorne’s fangs at my neck, at my parted lips, at my trembling hands.
And then he roars.
It’s not a sound. It’s a force—a wave of pure dominance that rips through the room, shattering the glass in the sconces, knocking Thorne back. I stumble, disoriented—
And then Kael is on me.
He grabs my wrist, yanks me to him, his other hand at my throat—not choking, just holding, feeling my pulse race. His eyes burn into mine.
“You lied,” he growls.
“I didn’t—”
“You wanted him to bite you,” he snarls. “You wanted it.”
“No—”
“Liar.” He spins me, pins me against the wall, his body pressing into mine. His hardness digs into my hip. My breath catches. My core clenches.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he whispers, his fangs grazing my ear. “You think I don’t smell the game you’re playing? You wanted me to see. You wanted me to feel it.”
My heart stops.
He knows.
“And you did,” I whisper.
He growls—low, dark—and grinds against me, his hips pressing into mine, his heat overwhelming. “You don’t get to play with fire, little witch. Not with me.”
His hand slides down my arm, to my waist, pulling me tighter against him. I should fight. Should shove him away. Should remind him that I hate him.
But I don’t.
Instead, I tilt my head, baring my neck.
He freezes.
His breath hitches.
And then—
I bite his lip.
Hard.
Blood blooms on his mouth, dark and rich. I taste it—iron, fire, him—and a moan escapes me.
He stills.
Then, slowly, he licks the blood from my lip, his tongue hot, possessive.
“You want to play?” he murmurs. “Then play.”
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
Violent.His mouth crashes into mine, his fangs scraping my lips, his tongue claiming me like he owns me. And I—
I kiss him back.
My hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer, my body arching into his, my core aching, needing. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on my shoulder glowing, the air crackling with magic.
Thorne is forgotten.
The room is forgotten.
There’s only him.
Kael breaks the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes wild. “You don’t get to leave,” he growls. “You don’t get to choose anyone else. You’re mine.”
“I’ll never be yours,” I gasp.
He smiles—slow, dark. “But you want to be.”
He releases me with a shove, steps back.
“Come,” he says, turning to the door. “We’re done here.”
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.
That night, I dream of blood.
Not mine. Not Kael’s.
My mother’s.
She’s on her knees, her silver circlet gone, her hands bound behind her back. The temple burns behind her. Kael stands over her, his sword raised, his gold eyes cold. She doesn’t beg. Doesn’t cry. Just looks at me—hidden in the shadows—and whispers, *Run.*
Then the blade falls.
I wake with a gasp, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. The room is dark. Kael is gone—on patrol, Riven said. The fortress is quiet. The bond hums, faint but steady, a reminder that he’s still out there, still mine, still the monster who killed her.
I press two fingers to the mark. It pulses—warm, alive, hungry.
And then—
A knock.
Not at the door.
At the window.
I freeze.
Another knock—soft, deliberate.
I rise slowly, the gray robes slipping from my shoulders, and move to the shutters. I pull them open.
Thorne.
He floats outside, suspended in the air, his coat billowing like wings. Moonlight cuts across his face, turning his pale skin to silver. His black eyes lock onto mine.
“You’re awake,” he says. “Good. I was afraid you’d be dreaming of him.”
“What do you want?” I whisper.
“The same thing I’ve always wanted,” he says, stepping onto the sill. “You.”
He slips inside, silent as shadow. The room grows colder. His scent—roses and iron—fills the air.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, backing away. “If Kael finds you—”
“He won’t,” Thorne says, stepping closer. “He’s miles away. And even if he weren’t, I’d be gone before he could reach you.”
He reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek. Cold. Deliberate. “You’re afraid. I can smell it. But not of me. Of what you feel when he touches you. Of what you felt when you kissed him last night.”
My breath hitches.
“You think he loves you,” Thorne says. “But he doesn’t. He *owns* you. And ownership is not love.”
“He took a blade for me.”
“Because the bond demanded it,” Thorne says. “Not because his heart did.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know more than you think,” he says. “I know why he executed your mother.”
My breath stops.
“He didn’t kill her for treason,” Thorne says. “She was framed. By the Fae High Court. They wanted her dead because she refused to betray her people. Kael made it look like a werewolf crime to protect you.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He steps closer. “Ask the High Court. Ask Riven. Or wait—” His voice drops. “—and I’ll show you the truth.”
He reaches into his coat, pulls out a vial of dark liquid. Blood.
“Drink this,” he says. “And you’ll see what really happened the night your mother died.”
My hands tremble. “Why would you help me?”
“Because I want your blood,” he says. “Not just a taste. All of it. But I’d rather have a willing donor than a corpse.”
“You’re a monster.”
“And you’re a queen,” he says. “One who’s been lied to. One who’s been used. One who’s been *broken*.”
He holds out the vial. “Drink. Learn the truth. And then decide—do you still want to kill the Wolf King? Or do you want to save him?”
I stare at the vial.
At the blood.
At the man who claims to hold the truth.
And for the first time, I wonder—
What if the monster isn’t the one I came to destroy?
What if it’s the one who’s been protecting me all along?
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 I don’t know if I want to be anyone else.
And because, for the first time—
I’m not sure he’s the villain.