The Obsidian Spire rose from the heart of Geneva like a fang of night, its black stone veins pulsing with ancient wards. I stepped through the arched entrance, my boots silent on the rune-carved marble, and felt the weight of a hundred eyes lock onto me. Vampires in tailored obsidian coats. Fae nobles shimmering behind veils of glamour. Werewolves in leather and silver, their scents sharp with challenge. And me—Cordelia Vale, last daughter of the Veil, walking into the lion’s den with nothing but a dagger, a lie, and a heart full of fire.
My mother had stood here once, robed in white, her voice ringing with prophecy. They called her the High Seer. They called her mad when she refused to sign the Midnight Accord’s secret clause—when she said the vampires would bleed us dry. They called her a traitor when she wouldn’t bow. And then they called her nothing at all.
Because Lysander Duskbane had her executed.
And now I was here to make him answer for it.
The grand hall stretched before me, a cathedral of power and deceit. Chandeliers of frozen bloodlight hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting long shadows across the faces of the Supernatural Council. Twelve members—three from each species—seated in a circle of thrones carved from the bones of the old world. The air was thick with incense—blood-oath resin, fae musk, the iron tang of werewolf dominance. It clung to the back of my throat, but I didn’t flinch. I’d spent years training for this. Years learning to mask my scent, to silence my pulse, to lie with a straight face.
My target stood at the center of it all.
Lysander.
He hadn’t changed. Not really. Still tall, still carved from shadow and sin, his jet-black hair swept back from a face that belonged on a Roman coin—cold, perfect, lethal. His crimson eyes scanned the room with detached precision, his jaw tight beneath the sharp line of his cheekbones. He wore armor forged from blackened steel, the sigil of House Duskbane emblazoned over his heart: a serpent coiled around a dagger. Power radiated from him like heat from a blade.
And I wanted to see it buried in his chest.
I kept my face neutral as I moved toward the dais, where the Contract Stone stood—an ancient monolith of veined obsidian, etched with runes older than nations. It pulsed with dormant magic, a relic from the Bloodfire War, said to bind oaths between species. The Summit’s opening ritual required each faction leader to touch it, sealing their presence with a drop of blood. A formality. A show of unity.
And my chance to expose him.
Hidden in the inner seam of my cloak was a vial of truth-ink, distilled from my mother’s last journal. One drop on the Stone would reveal any hidden oaths tied to it—any secret clauses, any blood debts. If Lysander had signed the order to destroy my coven, the Stone would scream it to the world.
I just had to get close enough to use it.
The Council Speaker, an ancient vampire with eyes like cracked marble, raised his hand. “Let the Summit begin. By the Pact of Ashes, we gather in peace. Let the leaders step forward and seal their presence.”
One by one, the faction heads approached. A fae queen in gilded frost, her fingers brushing the Stone with a whisper of wind. A werewolf alpha, his clawed hand leaving a smear of blood. Then Lysander. He stepped forward, his movements fluid, controlled. He pressed his palm to the Stone, and the runes flared crimson—his blood accepted, his presence confirmed.
Then it was my turn.
I stepped onto the dais, my pulse steady, my expression blank. The whispers started immediately.
“Who is she?”
“Vale blood. Thought they were extinct.”
“She looks like she wants to start a war.”
I ignored them. My fingers trembled—just once—as I reached into my cloak. Not from fear. From fury. The vial was cool against my skin. I uncapped it with my thumb, ready to smear the ink across the runes—
And then I touched the Stone.
Not with the vial.
With my bare hand.
The moment my skin met the obsidian, the world exploded.
A jolt of raw magic tore through me, searing up my arm like liquid fire. I gasped, staggering back—but I couldn’t pull away. My hand was fused to the Stone, my palm glowing with writhing crimson runes. They burned into my skin, etching symbols I didn’t recognize, pulsing with a rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
And then I felt him.
Lysander.
His presence slammed into me like a physical force—cold, sharp, intoxicating. I could feel his pulse in my veins, his breath in my lungs. Our magic twisted together, binding, merging. I turned my head, and his eyes locked onto mine—wide, shocked, furious.
Because his hand was on the Stone too.
His palm glowed with the same runes, the same fire. Our marks mirrored each other, twin halves of a cursed equation.
The Council Speaker stepped forward, his voice booming with ancient power. “By blood and bone, by oath and throne, you are bound until the debt is known.”
Gasps rippled through the hall.
“The Contract Stone has spoken,” the Speaker declared. “Cordelia Vale and Lysander Duskbane are now Allied Signatories under the Midnight Accord. Their union is binding. To break it is to break the peace. War will follow.”
I yanked my hand back—finally free—but the runes remained, glowing faintly on my palm. I stared at them, my breath coming fast. *Allied Signatories?* That was a political marriage. A forced alliance. A death sentence for any attempt to expose him.
I turned on Lysander, my voice a blade. “You did this.”
He stepped toward me, his eyes blazing. “I didn’t touch you. The Stone chose this. And now you’re mine.”
“Not even in death,” I spat.
He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the cold radiating from his skin, smell the dark spice of his blood. “Then you’ll die bound to me.”
The crowd erupted—shouts, whispers, the scrape of weapons being drawn. Fae nobles exchanged knowing glances. A werewolf beta growled low in his throat. I felt exposed, trapped, my mission crumbling before it had even begun.
But beneath the rage, something else flickered.
Heat.
It started in my chest, a slow burn spreading through my limbs. My skin prickled. My breath hitched. And when I looked at Lysander, I saw it in him too—his pupils dilated, his jaw clenched, his fangs just visible behind his lips.
The bond.
It wasn’t just political. It was *physical*. A live wire of magic and desire, humming between us, pulling me toward him like gravity.
I took a step back. The heat lessened.
Another step.
And then pain—sharp, sudden—lanced through my skull. I staggered, clutching my head. The runes on my palm flared, and I felt the bond *pull*, like a leash tightening around my chest.
Lysander didn’t move. “Ten feet,” he said coldly. “That’s how far you can go before the bond fever starts. Try to run, and it will break you.”
I glared at him. “I don’t need to run. I’ll destroy you from right here.”
He almost smiled. “Try.”
The Council Speaker raised his hand again. “The bond is sealed. You will share quarters in the Duskbane wing. Appearances must be maintained. The Summit continues at dawn.”
Applause. Laughter. Whispers of scandal.
“They’re mated.”
“Look at her—she’s already marked.”
“Duskbane’s finally found a witch who can match his fire.”
Lysander turned and walked away, his boots echoing on the stone. I had no choice but to follow. Every step away from him sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull, my muscles seizing, my vision blurring. By the time we reached the corridor, I was trembling.
He stopped, turned, and caught me as my knees buckled.
His arms were like iron, his body cold against mine. I could feel the power in him, the restraint, the hunger barely leashed. His breath brushed my ear.
“You wanted a war,” he murmured. “Now you’ve started one. And you’re on the wrong side.”
I shoved against him, but he didn’t let go.
“Let me go.”
“Or what?” His voice dropped, velvet over steel. “You’ll scream? Run? They’ll hear you. They’ll see you. And they’ll know you’re weak.”
“I’m not weak.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re dangerous. And that’s why I won’t let you go.”
He lifted me into his arms—effortless, like I weighed nothing—and carried me down the hall. My heart hammered. My skin burned where he touched me. The bond pulsed between us, a living thing, feeding on every breath, every glance.
I should have hated him.
And I did.
But gods help me, as he carried me through the shadows, his scent filling my lungs, his strength holding me close—I wanted to kiss him.
And that terrified me more than any curse.
He set me down only when we reached the suite—a vast chamber of black marble and silver fire. A canopy bed dominated the center, draped in dark silk. A hearth burned with blue flames. And between us, the air crackled with tension.
Lysander closed the door, then turned to me. “You’ll stay here. With me. Until the Summit ends. Try to leave, and the fever will drop you to your knees.”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t take orders from murderers.”
“And I don’t tolerate lies,” he shot back. “But here we are.”
He stepped closer. The bond flared—heat, pain, need. I took a step back, but the wall stopped me.
He leaned in, one hand braced beside my head. “You came here to ruin me. But you’ve already failed. The world sees us as allies. As *mates*. And every move you make now will be seen as an attack on the Accord.”
“Then let them see the truth.”
“There is no truth,” he said. “Only power. And right now, I have it.”
His other hand lifted, his fingers brushing the rune on my palm. The touch sent a shock through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. I gasped. He watched me, his crimson eyes dark with something I couldn’t name.
“You feel it too,” he murmured. “The pull. The hunger. It’s in your blood now. In your bones.”
“It’s magic,” I hissed. “Not desire.”
“No,” he said, his voice low. “It’s both.”
And then he was gone, striding to the other side of the room, leaving me trembling against the wall.
I slid down, my back against the stone, my breath ragged. The rune on my palm still glowed, a brand of fire.
I had come here for vengeance.
But now, I was bound to the man I hated.
And the worst part?
Part of me didn’t want to break free.
The bond hummed in my veins, a whisper, a promise, a threat.
*You’re mine now,* it seemed to say.
And for the first time in my life… I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it.