The days bleed together—war room meetings, patrols along the northern border, quiet hours in the library where I pore over ancient texts on bond-breaking rituals that no longer apply. The curse is gone. The Heartstone pulses with steady gold light, no longer blackened by Vexis’s poison. My mother’s soul has been freed. I should feel victorious.
But I don’t.
I feel… raw. Exposed. Like a nerve stripped of its sheath.
The bond hums beneath my ribs—constant, insistent, a second heartbeat that echoes Kaelen’s even when he’s across the palace. It’s not painful. Not anymore. But it’s present. A living thing, coiled deep in my blood, whispering his name in every breath, every pulse, every flicker of magic.
And now, it’s hungry.
—
It starts in the dead of night.
I wake to heat.
Not the feverish burn of bond sickness. Not the desperate fire of my first heat surge. This is different. Deeper. A slow, molten tide rising in my veins, pooling low in my belly, tightening between my legs. My breath hitches. My skin feels too tight. My clothes—thin linen, meant for sleep—cling to me like chains.
No.
Not chains.
Cravings.
I press my back to the headboard, fingers digging into the furs, trying to ground myself. But the heat doesn’t listen. It climbs. Burns. consumes. My magic hums—not with control, but with need. Not just for release. For him.
I can feel him.
Even through the stone walls, even through the silence, even through the miles of corridor between our chambers—he’s there. His heat. His pulse. His hunger. The bond flares—hot, jagged, needing—and I know he feels it too.
But he doesn’t come.
Not this time.
After the last heat surge, after he broke down my door, after he held me through the fire, I told him I didn’t want him to interfere. That I could handle it. That I wasn’t helpless.
And he listened.
Too well.
—
I kick off the furs, pace the room, bare feet silent on cold stone. The torches flicker, casting long shadows across the walls. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. My hands tremble. My thoughts scatter—fragments of memory, of desire, of him.
Kaelen’s mouth on mine. His hands on my waist. His fangs grazing my neck. The way he growled, “You’re mine,” like it was the only truth that mattered.
The way I bit him back. The way our blood mingled. The way the curse shattered.
The way he held me after the assassin’s blade. The way he whispered, “I’d rather die than let you be hurt.”
The heat spikes—white-hot, blinding—and I cry out, doubling over, fingers clawing at my thighs. My magic spirals, wild, uncontrolled, flaring from my fingertips in green sparks that scorch the stone. The bond screams—hot, bright, needing—and I know I can’t fight it.
Not this time.
Not alone.
—
I don’t knock.
Don’t call out.
I just go.
Boots on stone. Heart pounding. Breath ragged. The bond pulls me forward, a current, a tether, a lifeline. His scent—pine, smoke, iron—floods my senses before I even reach his door. His magic hums beneath my skin, not calm, not controlled, but strained. He’s fighting it too. Holding back. Waiting.
And I’m done waiting.
I kick the door open.
It doesn’t splinter. Doesn’t burst. Just swings wide, like it was expecting me.
And there he is.
Standing at the window, shirtless, moonlight carving his body into shadows and light. His back is to me, muscles taut, scars mapping his skin like a battlefield. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak. Just breathes—slow, controlled, like a man holding himself together by a thread.
“You feel it,” I say, voice rough.
He doesn’t answer.
But his shoulders tense. His fingers curl into fists.
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t pretend you don’t want me.”
He turns then, golden eyes blazing, fangs elongated, his wolf close to the surface. “I want you,” he growls. “Every damn second. But I won’t take you like this. Not when you’re burning. Not when you’re not in control.”
“I am in control,” I snap. “And I’m not asking.”
“Then what are you doing?”
I step forward. Boots echoing. Heart pounding. The heat coils in my belly, tight, insistent. “I’m taking what I need.”
“And if I say no?”
“You won’t.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me—gold eyes fierce, hungry, terrified. Not of me. Of what he’ll do. Of what I’ll make him feel.
And that’s when I know—
I’m not the only one who’s afraid.
—
I close the distance in two strides.
He doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t push me away. Just stands there, a wall of heat and muscle and power, his breath hot on my skin, his scent thick in my lungs.
And then—
I touch him.
One hand flies to his chest, pressing against the scar over his heart, feeling the wild beat beneath my palm. The other tangles in his hair, pulling his head down, my mouth crashing onto his—fierce, desperate, real. He gasps, and I take it, deepening the kiss, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. The bond erupts—white-hot, blinding—magic surging between us, merging, spiraling.
He doesn’t fight.
He answers.
One hand grips my waist, the other slides into my hair, holding me in place as he takes control of the kiss, his fangs grazing my lip, drawing a bead of blood. I moan, and he swallows it, growling low in his chest, his body pressing me back against the door.
“Amber,” he rasps. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I say, biting his lower lip, drawing more blood. “But I want to.”
And I do.
Not because the heat demands it.
Not because the bond pulls me.
But because he does.
Because I’ve spent my life fighting for control. For power. For vengeance.
And now, for the first time, I want to surrender.
Not to the curse.
Not to the bond.
But to him.
—
I push him back.
Not hard. Not violent.
With intent.
One hand on his chest, I walk him backward, step for step, until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He doesn’t resist. Just lets me, his golden eyes blazing, his breath ragged, his body coiled tight.
And then—
I straddle him.
Not slowly. Not carefully.
With hunger.
My thighs clamp around his hips, my body grinding against his, seeking friction, seeking release. His hands fly to my waist—not to push, but to hold, to keep. His eyes blaze gold, his fangs elongating, his breath hot on my neck.
“You’re killing me,” he growls.
“Then die,” I whisper. “But don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t.
His hands slide up my back, under my tunic, calloused palms burning against my skin. He pulls me down, mouth crashing onto mine—teeth scraping, tongue demanding. I gasp, and he takes it, deepening the kiss, claiming me like he’s been waiting a lifetime to do it.
The bond erupts—white-hot, blinding—magic surging between us, merging, spiraling. My heat spikes, not with pain, but with pleasure. I grind against him, my body arching, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands tighten on my waist, his hips lifting, meeting me, matching my rhythm.
“You feel it?” I gasp against his lips. “The bond? The heat? The way it’s pulling us together?”
“Yes,” he growls. “It’s not just magic. It’s us.”
And it is.
Not just the bond. Not just the heat. But something deeper. Something real.
—
I rip off my tunic, toss it aside. My boots. My pants. Until I’m kneeling over him in nothing but my underclothes, skin glistening with sweat, breath coming in ragged gasps. He doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t look away. Just watches me—gold eyes fierce, hungry, possessive.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice rough.
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I mean it,” he growls. “You’re not just strong. Not just fierce. You’re mine. And I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”
My breath hitches.
And the heat—
It explodes.
I lunge at him, not with magic, not with weapons, but with need. My hands fly to his tunic, rip it open, buttons flying, skin meeting skin. He doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t fight. Just lets me, his breath ragged, his wolf growling low in his chest.
“Amber,” he gasps. “Wait—”
“No,” I snarl. “I need you. Now.”
I push him back, straddle his lap, my thighs clamped around his hips, my body grinding against his, seeking friction, seeking release. His hands fly to my waist, not to push, but to hold, to keep. His eyes blaze gold, his fangs elongating, his breath hot on my neck.
“You’re killing me,” he growls.
“Then die,” I whisper. “But don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t.
His hands slide up my back, under my underclothes, calloused palms burning against my skin. He pulls me down, mouth crashing onto mine—teeth scraping, tongue demanding. I gasp, and he takes it, deepening the kiss, claiming me like he’s been waiting a lifetime to do it.
The bond erupts—white-hot, blinding—magic surging between us, merging, spiraling. My heat spikes, not with pain, but with pleasure. I grind against him, my body arching, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands tighten on my waist, his hips lifting, meeting me, matching my rhythm.
“You feel it?” I gasp against his lips. “The bond? The heat? The way it’s pulling us together?”
“Yes,” he growls. “It’s not just magic. It’s us.”
And it is.
Not just the bond. Not just the heat. But something deeper. Something real.
—
A jolt tears through me—sharp, electric, blinding.
I cry out, back arching, fingers clawing at his shoulders. The heat peaks—white-hot, consuming—my magic spiraling out of control, my body trembling, my breath ragged.
And he’s there.
Not pushing. Not controlling.
Just holding.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Let it happen. Let go.”
And I do.
The climax hits—wave after wave of pleasure, magic, fire—ripping through me, leaving me gasping, trembling, ruined. My head falls to his shoulder, my breath hot on his skin, my body limp in his arms.
And the bond—
It sings.
Not with war.
With truth.
—
When I come back to myself, I’m in his arms.
Not on the floor. Not in the hearth. But in the bed—furs warm, torches low, his body a wall against the cold. I’m still half-naked, skin glistening with sweat, his tunic draped over me like a shield.
He’s beside me, propped on one elbow, golden eyes watching me, his thumb brushing my lower lip.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough.
I nod, still breathless. “I… I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want,” he says. “And if you think I’m complaining—” he smirks “—you don’t know me at all.”
I don’t smile. Don’t laugh. Just stare at him—this man who broke into my room, who held me through the heat, who let me take what I needed.
“You didn’t have to,” I whisper.
“Yes, I did,” he says. “Because you’re mine. And I’m not letting you suffer alone.”
My breath hitches.
And the bond—
It sings.
But then—
A new scent cuts through the air.
Sweet. Cloying. Familiar.
Blood and roses.
My stomach drops.
“Selene,” I whisper.
He tenses. “No. Not her.”
Then—
A knock.
Soft. Deliberate.
“Alpha,” a voice calls from the hall. “It’s urgent.”
Riven.
Kaelen exhales. “Stay here,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll handle this.”
He stands, pulls on a fresh tunic, strides to the door. I don’t move. Just lie there, the bond humming, the heat fading, the truth settling in my chest like a stone.
I came here to destroy him.
And instead, I’ve become his.
Not because of the curse.
Not because of the bond.
But because of this.
Because he didn’t run.
He stayed.
And when I needed him—
He let me take everything.
—
The knock comes again.
Harder. Louder.
And then—
The door creaks open.
Not Kaelen.
Not Riven.
But a shadow.
Small. Silent.
And the scent—
Blood.
And roses.
My breath stops.
Because I know who it is.
Not Selene.
But someone worse.
Someone who knows the truth.
Someone who wants me to burn.
And as the figure steps into the torchlight, I realize—
The war isn’t over.
It’s just begun.
And this time, it’s not about the curse.
It’s about me.