The world was fire and ice.
One moment, I was standing in the Grand Atrium, my body screaming from the brand on my collarbone, Kaelen’s hand like a vise on my arm, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on me. The next, I was dragged through a corridor of black stone, the air thick with ozone and old magic, my boots slipping on the slick floor as Kaelen hauled me toward the Obsidian Spire’s inner sanctum.
“Let go of me,” I hissed, wrenching my arm. “I can walk.”
He didn’t slow. Didn’t look at me. His grip only tightened, fingers pressing into the fresh wound on my skin. The sigil—his sigil—throbbed in time with my pulse, a cruel tattoo of black thorns wreathed in frost. It burned. Not just the pain of the brand, but something deeper. A pull. A hunger. Like my blood had been rewritten, and now it sang only for him.
“You don’t get to walk away from this,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Not after what you did.”
“I saved your life,” I snapped. “And the Council’s. That’s not a crime.”
“No,” he agreed. “But lying to the High Court is. Impersonating a noble. Infiltrating the Winter Court. And now—” His jaw clenched. “This.”
He didn’t say *bonded mate*. He didn’t have to. The word hung between us, thick as smoke.
We reached a set of double doors carved with runes. They swung open at his approach, revealing a circular chamber lit by floating orbs of cold blue flame. The walls were lined with ancient tomes, sigil-covered scrolls, and vials of glowing liquid. At the center of the room, a stone dais rose from the floor, etched with the same black runes that had flared in the atrium.
The Mate-Bond Ritual.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I said, planting my feet. “I’m not doing this.”
Kaelen turned, his silver eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t have a choice.”
“There has to be a way to reverse it,” I insisted, backing up. “A counter-ritual. A loophole. I’ve read about bond-dampeners—”
“This isn’t a casual pact,” he cut in. “This is ancient magic. Blood-deep. Fate-bound. The moment Mordrek invoked the Concord’s law, the bond was sealed. The ritual merely… activates it.”
“Then let it stay dormant.”
“It won’t.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “You felt it, didn’t you? When you saved me. That heat. That… recognition.”
I did. Gods, I did. The second my dagger had struck the assassin’s throat, something had *snapped* inside me. Like a wire pulled taut. My skin had flushed. My breath had caught. And the ache between my legs—low, insistent, *wrong*—had flared to life.
But I wouldn’t admit it.
“I felt adrenaline,” I lied. “Not some cursed bond.”
He stepped closer. One step. Then another. The air between us thickened, charged. My pulse kicked. The sigil on my collarbone burned hotter.
“Don’t,” I warned, raising a hand. Fire flickered at my fingertips. “I’ll burn you before I let you touch me.”
“You already have,” he said.
And then he moved.
Fast. Inhumanly fast. One second he was in front of me, the next behind, his arms locking around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggled, kicking, twisting, but he was solid as stone, his strength overwhelming. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me to the dais.
“Let me go, you bastard!” I snarled, thrashing. “I’ll kill you for this!”
“You already tried,” he murmured in my ear. His breath was cold, but his body was warm—too warm. “And failed.”
He set me down on the stone. Before I could move, he raised his hands. Frostfire erupted from his palms, swirling in the air above the dais. The runes beneath me flared to life, glowing crimson, then white-hot. The sigil on my collarbone pulsed in response, sending waves of heat through my veins.
“No,” I whispered, panic clawing up my throat. “Don’t—”
The magic hit me like a tidal wave.
It wasn’t pain. Not exactly. It was *invasion*. A flood of energy pouring into me, rewriting me from the inside out. I screamed as my body arched off the stone, my back bowing, my hands clawing at the air. My skin burned and froze at the same time. My blood turned to liquid fire. My thoughts scattered.
And then—
His touch.
He was on the dais with me. Kneeling. His hands on my shoulders, holding me down. His eyes—those cold, merciless silver eyes—were inches from mine.
“Breathe,” he commanded.
I couldn’t. My lungs seized. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst.
“Look at me,” he growled. “Opal. Look at me.”
Somehow, I did.
And in that moment, the world fractured.
I wasn’t just feeling the bond.
I was *experiencing* it.
Flashes. Sensations. Fragments of him—his memories, his emotions, his *hunger*—flooded into me.
A child, small and alone, locked in a tower for being half-blood. A wolf howling in the snow, rejected by his pack. A woman—my mother—pleading in a tribunal, her voice breaking as they sentenced her. And me. *Me.* Watching him from the shadows. The dagger in my hand. The fire in my eyes.
He’d seen me. He’d *known* me. And he’d wanted me—long before the bond.
The realization hit like a blade.
And then, worse—
I felt it.
The heat.
Not just in my core. Not just in my blood.
But between my legs.
A slow, aching throb. A pulse of need so deep it made my thighs clench. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. My skin flushed. My nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric of my gown.
And he felt it too.
I saw it in his eyes. The way his pupils dilated. The way his breath hitched. The way his hands tightened on my shoulders, not to restrain, but to *hold on*.
“You feel it,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t lie.”
“I hate you,” I gasped, tears burning in my eyes. “I hate you for this.”
“Good,” he said. “Hate me. Fight me. But don’t pretend this isn’t happening.”
The magic surged again. The runes flared. The bond *snapped* into place.
I screamed.
Not from pain.
From *pleasure*.
A wave of sensation tore through me—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My back arched. My mouth fell open. A moan ripped from my throat, raw and unbidden.
And then—
His mouth.
Not on mine.
On my neck.
His lips brushed the pulse point just below my ear. Cold. Then hot. Then colder still, as frostfire licked across my skin. A shiver tore through me. My hands fisted in his coat. My hips lifted, pressing against nothing, against *him*, against the ache that had no right to exist.
“Stop,” I begged, voice breaking. “Please—”
He didn’t stop.
He kissed me again—lower this time, just above the sigil. His tongue flicked out, tracing the raised skin. The sensation was unbearable. Exquisite. Torturous.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice dark, possessive. “Whether you want to be or not.”
I should’ve fought. Should’ve burned him. Should’ve used the fire in my veins to reduce him to ash.
But I couldn’t.
Because my body had already betrayed me.
The heat between my legs was a firestorm. My breath came in ragged pants. My skin burned where he touched me. And the bond—this cursed, magical, *unfair* bond—was humming in my blood, singing in my bones, whispering one terrible truth:
You belong to him.
And worse—
You want to.
The ritual ended as suddenly as it began.
The runes dimmed. The frostfire vanished. The magic receded, leaving me gasping on the dais, trembling, drenched in sweat, my body still thrumming with need.
Kaelen pulled back. Slowly. Reluctantly. His chest rose and fell, his eyes still dark with something I couldn’t name—desire, yes, but also guilt. Regret. A flicker of something almost like *fear*.
He stood, offering me a hand.
I slapped it away.
“Don’t touch me,” I spat, scrambling to my feet. My legs shook. My voice shook. “Don’t you *dare* touch me.”
He didn’t flinch. “The bond is complete. You’re marked. The Court will expect you to—”
“I don’t care what they expect!” I whirled on him, fire flaring in my palms. “This changes nothing. I’m still here to burn your precious system to the ground. And you—” I stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You’re still the man who let my mother die.”
For the first time, something cracked in his expression.
Not anger. Not coldness.
Pain.
“I didn’t let her die,” he said, voice low. “I tried to save her.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I voted against her execution. I argued for mercy. But Mordrek overruled me. The Council sealed the verdict.”
My breath caught. My heart stuttered.
It could be a lie. A trick. A way to manipulate me.
But the bond—this cursed, all-knowing bond—would’ve flared if he’d lied. The magic between us was tied to truth, to emotion. And I felt no deception.
Only truth.
And guilt.
My hands trembled. The fire in my palms sputtered out.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why would you try to save her?”
He looked away. “Because she was innocent. And because—” He hesitated. Then met my eyes. “Because she reminded me of someone I failed to protect.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Didn’t know what to feel.
One moment, I was consumed by rage. The next, by need. And now—by *this*? This confession that shattered everything I thought I knew?
Before I could respond, the doors burst open.
Lady Nyx stood in the threshold, draped in silver silk, her lips curved in a venomous smile. Her eyes—sharp as daggers—flicked to the sigil on my collarbone, then to Kaelen, still standing too close to me.
“How… touching,” she purred. “The Alpha and his new pet, sharing secrets.”
I straightened, wiping the sweat from my brow. “I’m not his pet.”
“Aren’t you?” She stepped forward, heels clicking on stone. “Bound by magic. Marked by his sigil. Forced to obey his every command.” Her smile widened. “Tell me, Opal—did he make you beg during the ritual? Or did you moan from the start?”
Heat flooded my face. Not from shame. From fury.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, voice icy.
“Oh, I do.” She reached up, slowly unbuttoning her gown. “I know exactly what it feels like to have his hands on me. His mouth. His fangs.” She let the fabric slip, revealing a pale shoulder—and a deep, jagged bite mark, glowing faintly with magic. “He marked me once. A real claim. Not some Council-mandated farce.”
My breath caught.
Kaelen stepped between us. “That was over a century ago, Nyx. And it meant nothing.”
“It meant *everything*,” she hissed. “And it still does. You think this half-blood witch can satisfy you? She’s fire and fury, Kaelen. But I’m ice and desire. I know how to please you. How to *own* you.”
I should’ve been disgusted.
But all I felt was jealousy.
Hot, sharp, *unfair*.
The bond flared, a surge of heat between my thighs. My hands clenched. My magic crackled.
“Get out,” I said, voice low. “Before I burn that lie off your skin.”
Nyx laughed. “Oh, darling. The only lie here is your claim to him.” She turned, gliding toward the door. “Enjoy your *bonded* night. I’ll be watching.”
The door closed behind her.
Silence.
Then—
“She’s lying,” Kaelen said, turning to me. “The bite—it’s enhanced with glamour. It’s not real.”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth didn’t matter.
What mattered was that she’d been with him. That she knew him. That she’d touched him in ways I never had.
And the bond—this cruel, relentless bond—was screaming at me to *fix it*.
To claim him.
To make him mine.
I turned and walked to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To my chambers,” I said, not looking back. “Unless you’re going to lock me in a cell?”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
“No,” I said, hand on the door. “I’m your mate. Bound by magic. Marked by your sigil. Forced to obey your every command.” I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Sound familiar?”
He didn’t answer.
And as I walked away, the bond pulsed beneath my skin, a constant, aching reminder.
I was marked.
But I wasn’t broken.
And if Kaelen Vire thought this bond would make me his obedient queen—
He had no idea what kind of fire he’d just unleashed.