I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m on my knees, trembling in his arms.
The memory of his lips on my wrist burns like a brand, searing through the fever, the pain, the hallucinations. One touch—soft, deliberate, *claiming*—and the bond erupted. Not with agony this time, but with something worse. Something deeper. A surge of magic so intense it ripped through me like a storm, lighting up every nerve, every vein, every secret part of my body I’ve spent years locking away.
I screamed.
Not from pain.
From pleasure.
White-hot, blinding, unstoppable. My back arched. My thighs clenched. My core flooded with heat so sharp it bordered on pain, yet I wanted more. I needed more. My fingers dug into his arms, not to push him away, but to pull him closer. My breath came in ragged gasps, my pulse a wild drum against his lips.
And he felt it.
Of course he did.
He lifted his head slowly, his gold eyes burning into mine, a predator savoring the moment. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough with something darker than triumph. “Let it in. Let me in.”
I turned my face away, shame flooding me. I’d come here to destroy him, to avenge my mother, to reclaim my birthright. And instead, I’d just come from his touch—no penetration, no real intimacy, just a kiss on the wrist—and I’d shattered like glass.
“You’re weak,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “You’re broken.”
He laughed—low, dark. “No. You’re alive. And for the first time, you’re not fighting it.”
He stood, pulling me up with him, his grip firm but not cruel. My legs buckled, still weak from the aftermath, and he caught me, one arm wrapping around my waist, holding me against him. His heat surrounded me. His scent filled my lungs. The bond hummed between us, no longer screaming, but purring, satisfied.
“You’re coming with me,” he said.
“I’m not your prisoner,” I hissed, though my voice lacked conviction.
“You’re my mate,” he corrected. “And you’re going to attend the Blood Binding tonight. All fated pairs must participate. It strengthens the bond. Aligns our magic.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m not a werewolf.”
“The bond doesn’t care,” he said, steering me toward the door. “And neither do I.”
The guards outside snapped to attention as we emerged. Kael didn’t release me. His hand stayed at my lower back, possessive, guiding. I wanted to shove him away. To spit in his face. To remind him that I was not his, that I would never be his.
But my body betrayed me.
Every step sent a ripple through me—a low throb in my core, a pulse at the mark on my shoulder, a whisper of warmth where his hand pressed against my spine. The silver collar was gone, stripped from my neck in the holding chamber, and without it, the bond was raw, exposed, hungry.
“You’ll wear this tonight,” Kael said, nodding to a servant who stepped forward with a folded garment.
I took it, unfolded it.
And my breath caught.
It wasn’t a robe. Not armor. Not even proper clothing.
It was a slip of crimson silk, so thin it was nearly transparent, embroidered with golden runes that pulsed faintly with magic. The neckline plunged, the hem barely covering my thighs. It was meant to be seen. Meant to be felt.
“This is obscene,” I said, voice tight.
“It’s tradition,” Kael replied, watching me. “The Blood Binding requires skin-to-skin contact. The magic flows through touch. Through heat. Through desire.”
My face burned. “I’m not doing it.”
“You don’t have a choice.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a growl. “Refuse, and the bond will punish you. You’ll be back in that cell by midnight, writhing on the floor, begging for my hands on you. Or—” He reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of the silk. “—you can wear this. Let the ritual do its work. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll survive the night without breaking.”
I glared at him. “You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy watching you fight,” he said. “But I’ll enjoy watching you surrender even more.”
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the corridor, the silk gown heavy in my hands.
I made it back to his chambers on unsteady legs, the bond a constant thrum beneath my skin. The room felt different now—smaller, hotter, charged with the memory of his touch. I dropped the gown on the bed and paced, my mind racing.
I had to get out.
The mission was failing. I’d tried to poison the treaty. I’d failed. I’d tried to resist the bond. I’d failed. I’d come here to kill him, and instead, I was becoming his mate.
No.
I wouldn’t let it happen.
I stripped off the gray robes, the ones marked with werewolf sigils, and stepped into the crimson silk. It slid over my skin like liquid fire, the fabric clinging to every curve, the runes warming as they touched my flesh. The neckline dipped low, exposing the mark on my shoulder, the silver chain gone but the bond still pulsing beneath it.
I looked in the mirror.
A stranger stared back.
Her eyes were wild, her lips swollen, her skin flushed. The silk clung to her like a second skin, the golden runes glowing faintly, syncing with the rhythm of her pulse. She looked like a queen. A consort. A mate.
I hated her.
I hated me.
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I said, voice flat.
Kael stepped inside, dressed in black leather, his hair slightly tousled, his presence filling the room. His eyes swept over me—slow, deliberate—and I saw the hunger in them, the raw, unfiltered need.
“You look… appropriate,” he said.
“Don’t start,” I snapped.
“I’m not starting anything,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m finishing it.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing the strap of the gown where it slipped off my shoulder. “The ritual begins at moonrise. We’ll be the center of attention. The fated pair. The bond will flare. The magic will surge. And you—” His thumb traced the edge of the mark. “—will feel everything.”
“I’ll resist,” I said.
“You’ll fail,” he said simply. “And when you do, I’ll be there to catch you.”
He turned toward the door. “Come.”
I followed, my bare feet silent on the stone.
The Blood Binding Chamber was deep within the fortress—a circular room of white marble, the floor etched with a massive spiral of runes, glowing faintly red. Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering with unnatural blue at the edges. The air was thick with the scent of iron and incense, of magic and something darker—blood.
Werewolves filled the space—Alphas, Betas, elders—standing in a ring around the dais. At the center stood a stone altar, carved with ancient symbols, a shallow basin at its center, already filled with dark liquid.
Blood.
Kael led me forward, his hand at my back, guiding me to the center. The crowd fell silent as we stepped onto the dais, the runes beneath our feet flaring brighter, reacting to the bond.
The High Elder stepped 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 strengthen the bond that ties you. Let the ritual begin.”
He gestured to the altar. “Place your palms upon the blood.”
Kael didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, stripped off his gloves, and pressed his hands into the basin.
“Your turn,” he said, looking at me.
I didn’t move.
“Do it,” he said, voice low. “Or I’ll make you.”
I stepped forward, my breath shallow. The blood was warm. Thick. It smelled like iron and salt and something ancient. I hesitated—
And then I pressed my palms into it.
The moment my skin touched the liquid, the runes on the floor blazed red.
Fire.
Not real fire. Not physical. But magic—raw, unfiltered, alive—surging through the blood, through my hands, up my arms, into my chest. I gasped as it hit me, my back arching, my fingers curling into the basin.
And then—
Kael grabbed my wrists.
He pulled my hands from the blood and pressed them against his chest, over his heart. His skin was hot beneath my palms, his heartbeat wild, matching mine.
“Feel it,” he growled. “Feel the bond. Feel me.”
The magic surged.
Not just from the ritual. Not just from the blood.
From him.
It poured into me—heat, power, dominance—fusing with my own magic, my witch blood, my fae blood, swirling together in a storm of energy. My vision blurred. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. My core clenched, wet and aching, the pleasure building, unstoppable.
“Kael—” I gasped.
“Don’t fight it,” he said, his voice rough, strained. “Let it take you.”
I tried. I wanted to. But it was too much—too intense, too deep, too right.
And then it hit.
The climax—sudden, violent, uncontrollable.
My body arched into his, my fingers digging into his chest, a cry tearing from my throat as pleasure ripped through me, wave after wave, so intense it bordered on pain. My thighs trembled. My breath came in sobs. My magic flared, golden light erupting from my palms, from the mark on my shoulder, from the runes on the gown.
The crowd roared.
“The bond is strong!” the Elder shouted. “The magic accepts her!”
Kael held me through it, his arms locked around me, his breath hot against my ear. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Let it in. Let me in.”
When it finally subsided, I collapsed against him, weak, trembling, ruined.
He didn’t let go.
He lowered his head, his lips brushing my ear. “That was just the first touch,” he whispered. “Imagine what the rest will feel like.”
I lifted my head, my eyes blazing. “I’ll kill you before you touch me again.”
He smiled—slow, dark, utterly unafraid. “You’ll beg for it first.”
He turned me, guiding me toward the edge of the dais. The crowd parted for us, their eyes on me—on the flush of my skin, the wildness in my eyes, the way I still leaned into him.
They saw it.
They all saw it.
I didn’t hate him.
Not in that moment.
I wanted him.
And that terrified me more than any blade ever could.
We walked back to his chambers in silence, the bond a low, insistent hum between us. I kept my head high, my spine straight, but inside, I was shattered. The ritual had broken something in me—something I’d spent years building. Control. Discipline. Purpose.
Now, there was only need.
Kael opened the door, stepped aside to let me in. I walked past him, not looking back.
He followed, closed the door.
And then—
“You’re not wearing the gown tomorrow,” he said.
I turned. “Excuse me?”
“You’ll wear something less… revealing,” he said, stripping off his gloves. “But you’ll still attend the Council. Still stand beside me. Still let them see what you are.”
“And what am I?” I asked, voice low.
He stepped closer, his eyes burning into mine. “Mine. Whether you admit it or not.”
“I’ll never be yours.”
“You already are,” he said. “Your body knows it. Your magic knows it. And soon—” He reached out, his thumb brushing the mark on my shoulder. “—your heart will know it too.”
I stepped back. “I came here to kill you.”
“And yet,” he said, “you’re still alive. Still breathing. Still here.”
He turned toward the hearth. “Sleep. The bond will be stronger tomorrow. And I won’t be there to stop it.”
I didn’t answer.
I walked to the bed, the silk gown whispering against my skin. I didn’t undress. I couldn’t. Not with him in the room. Not with the bond still pulsing, still hungry.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, the moon rose, full and red.
And inside, the fever returned.
But this time, I didn’t fight it.
Because part of me—small, broken, awake—didn’t want to.