The fire in the hearth burned low, casting flickering blue shadows across the vaulted ceiling. I sat on the floor with my back against the cold marble wall, knees drawn to my chest, my breath still uneven. The rune on my palm pulsed faintly, a dull throb that matched the ache behind my eyes. Ten feet. That was the limit. Ten feet from *him*, or the bond would punish me like a disobedient dog.
Lysander stood at the far end of the suite, his silhouette sharp against the arched window that overlooked Geneva’s skyline. The city glittered below, unaware of the war brewing in the spire above. He hadn’t spoken since his last cruel truth—*“You’ve already failed.”* He didn’t need to. The silence was worse. Every second stretched, thick with unspoken threats, with the weight of what had just happened.
I was bound to him.
Not by choice. Not by love. By magic. By a cursed stone that had fused our fates the moment I touched it. And now, I was trapped—forced to share this opulent prison with the man who had ordered my mother’s death.
My fingers curled into fists. I had come here to expose him. To smear truth-ink on the Contract Stone and watch his empire crumble. But instead, I’d activated a bond that made me complicit in his power. Allied Signatories. A political union. The Council had declared it with finality, and now the entire supernatural world would see me as his partner. His *mate*.
The word made my skin crawl.
And yet…
And yet, when he’d carried me through the hall, his arms locked around me, his scent—dark spice and old blood—filling my lungs, something in me had *responded*. Not just the bond. Not just the magic. Something deeper. A traitorous flicker of warmth, of *want*, that I couldn’t explain and refused to name.
I pressed my palms to my temples, trying to steady my thoughts. This was manipulation. Psychological warfare. He wanted me off-balance. Vulnerable. And I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I pushed myself up, ignoring the flare of pain as I stepped farther from the wall. Seven feet. Six. My head throbbed, a dull pressure building behind my eyes. I clenched my jaw and kept moving.
Lysander turned, his crimson eyes locking onto me. “Going somewhere?”
“I’m not your prisoner,” I said, voice steady. “I can walk where I please.”
“Within ten feet,” he reminded me, stepping forward. “Beyond that, the bond fever takes hold. First dizziness. Then muscle spasms. Then collapse. Try it, if you want to prove a point.”
I took another step.
Five feet.
The pain spiked—sharp, sudden—like a knife behind my left eye. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of a blackwood table. A silver goblet clattered to the floor.
Four feet.
My vision blurred. My breath came in short gasps. The rune on my palm flared, burning like a brand. I could feel the bond *pulling*, a phantom tether yanking me back toward him.
Three feet.
I dropped to one knee, my fingers clawing at the marble. The world tilted. My muscles seized, locking up in waves of agony. I bit back a cry, refusing to let him hear me break.
And then—hands.
Strong, cold, gripping my arms, lifting me. I tried to fight, but my body was no longer mine. He pulled me against his chest, one arm locked around my waist, the other cradling my head. His breath was a whisper against my ear.
“I told you,” he murmured. “Stay.”
I shuddered, not from pain this time, but from the sheer *intimacy* of it. His body was hard against mine, his heartbeat a slow, steady rhythm beneath my ear. The bond hummed between us, no longer a threat, but a *connection*—deep, primal, undeniable.
I turned my face into his neck, instinctively seeking relief. His scent flooded me—ancient, powerful, intoxicating. My fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, not to push him away, but to *hold on*.
And then, impossibly, I felt it—his lips brush the top of my head. A whisper of a touch. Gone before I could process it.
He carried me back to the center of the room, where the distance between us was minimal, and set me down gently on the edge of the bed. The silk sheets were cool beneath my palms. I kept my eyes closed, trying to steady my breath, to reassert control.
When I opened them, he was watching me.
Not with triumph. Not with cruelty.
With something else.
Curiosity. Maybe even… concern?
“The fever will pass,” he said, his voice lower now. “But it will return if you push too far. The bond isn’t just a leash. It’s a tether. Break it, and it breaks you.”
“Then I’ll break it,” I whispered. “Even if it kills me.”
He didn’t flinch. “You’d rather die than be bound to me?”
“You murdered my mother.”
“I signed an order,” he corrected. “I didn’t pull the trigger.”
“You gave the command.”
“And if I told you there was more to it?”
I froze. “What?”
He stepped back, his expression unreadable. “You came here to expose me. To paint me as a monster. But you don’t know the full truth. And until you do, you’re just another witch with a grudge.”
My blood ran cold. “Don’t you *dare* twist this. You don’t get to play the victim.”
“I’m not,” he said quietly. “I’m saying you don’t have all the pieces.”
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To claw the smug certainty from his face. But the bond hummed in my veins, a constant reminder that I wasn’t free to act. That every move I made was now tied to him.
I stood abruptly, pacing the small space between us. “Fine. Let’s say you’re telling the truth. Let’s say there’s some tragic backstory that explains why you slaughtered my family. It doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t bring my mother back.”
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
He moved to the hearth, stirring the blue flames with a silver rod. “But it might change what you do next.”
I scoffed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned, his eyes catching the firelight. “You want justice. I want peace. The Accord is fragile. One misstep, and war erupts. If you try to expose me, if you break this bond, you won’t just destroy me—you’ll destroy *everything*. Witches, vampires, fae, werewolves. Millions will die.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“No,” he said. “But you’ll be the spark.”
I stared at him, my pulse pounding. He wasn’t lying. I could feel it—the truth of his words resonating in the air between us. The bond didn’t just connect our bodies. It made us *aware* of each other in ways I couldn’t explain. A whisper of emotion, a flicker of intent. And right now, he believed every word he was saying.
But that didn’t make him innocent.
“You don’t get to blackmail me with the fate of the world,” I said. “You made your choices. Now live with them.”
He exhaled, a slow, controlled breath. “I do. Every night.”
For the first time, I saw it—the shadow behind his eyes. Not guilt. Not regret. *Grief*.
And it unnerved me.
I turned away, crossing to the window. The city stretched below, peaceful, oblivious. I pressed my palm to the glass, letting the cold seep into my skin. “I need to send a message,” I said. “To an ally. Just to let them know I’m alive.”
“Mira,” he said.
I stiffened. “How do you know her name?”
“I know a lot about you, Cordelia Vale,” he said, stepping closer. “Your training. Your strengths. Your weaknesses. I knew you’d come. I just didn’t expect the Stone to bind us.”
“You *knew* I was coming?”
“Of course. You’re not the first witch to seek revenge. But you’re the first one the Stone has claimed.”
I spun to face him. “Then you’ve been waiting for me.”
“Not like this,” he said. “Never like this.”
There was something in his voice—rough, raw—that made my breath catch. I looked away, afraid of what I might see in his eyes.
“I need to contact Mira,” I repeated. “Just a coded note. No names. No plans. Just confirmation.”
He studied me for a long moment. Then, with a slow nod, he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded slip of black paper. “Use this. Blood-ink. It can’t be traced.”
I took it, surprised. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I don’t want you to feel trapped,” he said. “Not completely. But don’t test me, Cordelia. One misstep, and I’ll burn every message you send.”
I held his gaze. “And if I do?”
“Then I’ll remind you exactly who holds the leash.”
I turned back to the window, my fingers trembling as I unfolded the paper. I bit my thumb, letting a drop of blood fall onto the page. The ink bloomed, forming a simple sigil—*I live. The bond is real. Watch for lies.*
I didn’t say *I’m safe*. Because I wasn’t.
I folded the note and slipped it into the inner seam of my cloak, next to the vial of truth-ink I hadn’t gotten to use. Two weapons. One failed. One still hidden.
When I turned, Lysander was closer than before. Too close. The bond flared—heat, awareness, *need*—and I stepped back instinctively.
He didn’t follow.
“You should rest,” he said. “The fever will return if you don’t stay close. And tomorrow, we face the Council together. You’ll need your strength.”
“I don’t need *you* to tell me when to rest.”
“No,” he agreed. “But you’ll do it anyway. Because the bond will force you.”
I glared at him. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Having me at your mercy.”
“I don’t enjoy it,” he said quietly. “I *hate* it.”
I froze. “What?”
He looked away, his jaw tight. “This bond—it’s not what I wanted. You think I asked for this? That I *chose* to be tied to the woman who wants to destroy me?”
“Then why not break it?”
“Because I can’t,” he said. “Only the Stone can sever it. And only when the debt is known.”
“What debt?”
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, I saw uncertainty in his eyes. Real, unguarded. And it made him look… human.
I swallowed hard, turning back to the window. “Then we’re both prisoners.”
“Yes,” he said. “We are.”
Long silence.
Then, softly: “There’s a bath. If you want it. The wards will keep it warm all night.”
I didn’t answer.
I heard him move away, heard the rustle of fabric as he undressed. I didn’t look. I kept my eyes on the city, on the distant lights, on anything but the man who was now bound to me in blood and bone.
But I felt him. Every breath. Every shift of muscle. The bond pulsed between us, a constant, living thing.
And when I finally turned, he was gone—vanished into the sleeping chamber on the other side of the suite, leaving me alone with the fire, the night, and the truth I couldn’t escape.
I was bound to him.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be free.
Not yet.
Not until I knew the truth.
Not until I decided whether he deserved to burn.