The Blood Moon Festival was a farce.
A glittering, ice-encrusted lie, draped in velvet and deception. The Grand Atrium of the Winter Court had been transformed—chandeliers of living frost hung from the vaulted ceiling, their light shifting from silver to blood-red as the moon rose. Nobles in masks and furs waltzed across the polished marble, their laughter sharp as broken glass. Vampires in long coats sipped from crystal goblets filled with stolen warmth. Werewolves prowled the edges, their eyes glowing amber in the dim light, collars marked with ancient runes that bound them to their alphas. And at the center of it all—me.
Opal of the Ember Circle.
Bonded mate to Kaelen Vire.
Dressed in the gown he’d left for me—black silk, deep V-neck, slit to the thigh—like some dark offering on an altar of ice. The sigil on my collarbone pulsed with every beat of my heart, a constant, maddening reminder that I wasn’t free. That I wasn’t alone. That I was *his*.
And worse—
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be free.
Since the library, since the truth-sense, since that soft, devastating kiss in the shadows—something had shifted. Not just between us. Inside me. The fire that had burned for twelve years—cold, controlled, fueled by vengeance—had begun to flicker with something else. Something warmer. Something dangerous.
Desire.
Not just for him. But for *this*. For the way his hand had brushed my waist when we passed in the hall. The way his voice dropped when he said my name. The way his wolf growled in approval when I walked into a room, unafraid, unbroken.
I hated it.
I craved it.
And I couldn’t afford either.
I stood near the edge of the dance floor, a goblet of bloodwine in my hand—untouched. I didn’t trust anything in this court. Not the wine. Not the smiles. Not the man who had just stepped into the atrium, his silver eyes locking onto mine from across the room.
Kaelen.
He wore black, as always, his coat cut like armor, his presence a blade drawn across the air. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold. He didn’t smile. Didn’t bow. He just walked toward me, the crowd parting like water before a storm.
My pulse roared.
The bond flared—heat crawling down my spine, pooling between my thighs. My skin flushed. My nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric of the gown. I wanted to run. Wanted to slap him. Wanted to press my body against his and *burn*.
He stopped an arm’s length away.
“You wore it,” he said, voice low.
“You commanded it,” I replied, lifting my chin.
“I said you’d dance with me.”
“And if I refuse?”
His lips twitched. Not a smile. A warning. “Then I’ll carry you onto the floor.”
“Try it,” I said, stepping closer. “And I’ll set your coat on fire.”
He didn’t flinch. His gaze dropped to my lips. “You already have.”
The memory hit me like a blade—the kiss in the library, soft and yielding, his mouth hot on mine, my body arching into his. The way I’d *moaned*. The way I’d *burned* him, just to prove I still had control.
“That was a mistake,” I lied.
“Liar,” he murmured. “The bond would’ve flared.”
It hadn’t.
Because it hadn’t been a mistake.
It had been a surrender.
Before I could respond, a fanfare rang through the atrium. The High Chancellor, Mordrek, stepped onto the dais, his ancient face pale, his staff glowing with cold fire. The crowd turned, falling silent.
“Welcome,” he intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber. “To the Blood Moon Festival. A night of unity. Of peace. Of *bonded love*.”
His eyes flicked to me. Cold. Calculating.
“And tonight,” he continued, “we honor the newest bond in our court. Opal of the Ember Circle and Kaelen Vire, Alpha of the Black Thorn Pack. May their union strengthen the Concord and remind us all—” his voice darkened—“that even the most dangerous fires can be tamed.”
A ripple of laughter. Whispers. Smirks.
My hands clenched.
He wasn’t just mocking me.
He was threatening me.
Kaelen stepped forward, his voice cutting through the silence. “The bond is not tamed,” he said. “It is *awake*.”
The crowd stilled.
Mordrek’s eyes narrowed. “Spoken like a true Alpha.”
“Spoken like a man who knows his mate,” Kaelen corrected.
And then he turned to me.
Offered his hand.
Not a command. Not a demand.
A *choice*.
I hesitated.
Every instinct screamed to refuse. To walk away. To remind him—and the court—that I wasn’t his puppet. That I wasn’t broken.
But the bond pulsed beneath my skin, hot and insistent. My body remembered his touch. My blood remembered his kiss. And the fire inside me—no longer just vengeance—whispered one dangerous truth:
Dance with him.
I placed my hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine—warm, strong, *possessive*. He pulled me toward the center of the floor, the music shifting to a slow, haunting waltz. The crowd parted, forming a circle around us. Lady Nyx watched from the shadows, her lips curled in a venomous smile. Silas stood near the pillars, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Kaelen’s other hand settled on my waist, pulling me close. Too close. Our bodies aligned, chest to chest, hip to hip. I could feel the heat of him, the strength of his frame, the slow, steady beat of his heart. My breath hitched.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear.
“It’s cold,” I lied.
“No,” he said, spinning me slowly, his hand sliding lower on my back. “It’s *this*.”
He pressed me closer, until there was no space between us. My thighs brushed his. My breasts pressed against his chest. The sigil on my collarbone burned, a brand of fire and ice. My pulse roared. My skin flushed. My core ached.
“Stop it,” I whispered.
“Stop what?”
“This. The touch. The heat. The way you’re looking at me like you already own me.”
“I do own you,” he said, voice dark. “And you own me.”
My breath caught.
He was right. The bond wasn’t just magic. It wasn’t just fate. It was *mutual*. A chain that bound us both. And the more I fought it, the tighter it pulled.
“You think I want this?” I snapped, trying to pull away.
He didn’t let me. His grip tightened. “No. I think you’re afraid of it. Afraid of what it means. Afraid that after twelve years of hating me, you might *want* me.”
“I don’t—”
And then—
Chaos.
It happened fast. A flash of shadow from the upper balcony. A silver dart, tipped with Dusk venom—just like the one that had struck Mordrek at the gala. But this time, it wasn’t aimed at the Chancellor.
It was aimed at *me*.
Kaelen moved before I could blink. He spun, shielding me with his body, the dart embedding in his shoulder. He grunted, but didn’t fall. Frostfire flared in his palm, freezing the venom in his veins.
“Down,” he growled, shoving me to the floor.
I didn’t argue. I dropped, rolling behind a marble pillar as more assassins leapt from the balconies—hooded, faceless, blades drawn. The atrium erupted into chaos. Nobles screamed. Guards lunged. Vampires hissed, fangs bared. Werewolves shifted, fur sprouting, claws tearing through silk and flesh.
And in the center of it all—Kaelen fought.
He was a storm of frost and fury, his magic freezing one assassin mid-lunge, his dagger slicing through another’s throat. But there were too many. They weren’t just after me. They weren’t just after him.
They were after the Council.
And they were winning.
I scrambled behind the pillar, my heart pounding. The bond screamed—pain, fear, *him*. I could feel his injuries, the venom burning through his veins, the strain of holding it back. He was weakening.
And I was trapped.
Another assassin lunged at me, blade raised. I rolled, drawing my dagger, but he was faster. He pinned me, his weight crushing my chest, his knife at my throat.
“Mordrek sends his regards,” he hissed.
I struggled, but he was too strong. My dagger was out of reach. My fire magic flickered—too weak, too scattered. I was going to die. Here. Now. After everything.
And then—
Shouting.
From the dais. From Mordrek.
“Seize them!” he roared. “The witch and the Alpha—they orchestrated this! They’re the traitors!”
No.
He was framing us.
Using the chaos to destroy us both.
The assassin above me grinned. “Looks like you’re already dead, mongrel.”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t fight.
And then—
I saw it.
Kaelen, bleeding, frostfire flickering in his hands, fighting his way toward me. His eyes—silver, desperate—locked onto mine.
He was coming.
But he wouldn’t make it in time.
Unless—
Unless I gave them a reason to look away.
My mind snapped into focus.
The bond. The court. The lie they were selling.
I had one chance.
One desperate, dangerous move.
I turned my head—slow, deliberate—and kissed the assassin.
Not on the lips.
On the neck.
And then—
I bit him.
Hard.
He gasped, his grip faltering. I used the distraction to twist, driving my knee into his groin. He howled, falling back. I rolled, grabbing my dagger, and slashed across his throat.
He dropped.
But I didn’t stop.
I ran—toward Kaelen. Toward the dais. Toward the only place we might survive.
He saw me coming. Nodded once.
We reached the base of the dais together, back-to-back, surrounded by assassins. Frostfire and wildfire crackled in our palms. The bond roared between us—heat, power, *unity*.
“They’re framing us,” I hissed.
“I know,” he said. “But they’ll believe anything they see.”
I understood.
And I hated that I did.
“On three,” he said.
I nodded.
“One—”
The assassins lunged.
“Two—”
I braced.
And then—
“Three.”
But I didn’t move.
Because before I could, Kaelen turned—fast—and pulled me into his arms.
And kissed me.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Desperate. *Survival*.
His mouth crashed against mine, hot and demanding, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. I gasped, but he took it, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming, devouring. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, *unstoppable*.
Heat tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My body arched into his, my hands fisting in his coat, my hips pressing against his. My core throbbed, aching, *needing*. I moaned—low, broken, *unfiltered*—and the sound was swallowed by his kiss.
And then—
Time stopped.
The atrium. The assassins. The Council.
It all faded.
There was only *this*. Only *him*. Only the way his lips moved against mine, the way his breath mingled with mine, the way his body burned with mine. The bond wasn’t just magic anymore.
It was *truth*.
And in that moment, I didn’t care about vengeance. Didn’t care about lies. Didn’t care about anything but the man who had just saved my life with a kiss.
We broke apart—gasping, trembling, *shattered*.
The atrium was silent.
Every eye was on us.
The assassins had stopped. The guards had frozen. Even Mordrek stood still, his face unreadable.
And then—
“Hold them,” Mordrek said, his voice cold. “For treason. For conspiracy. For *defiling the sanctity of the bond*.”
Kaelen stepped in front of me, frostfire blazing in his palms. “Touch her,” he growled, “and I’ll burn this court to the ground.”
I placed a hand on his back—warm, steady.
He didn’t need to protect me.
Not anymore.
Because I had just done the one thing I swore I’d never do.
I had let him in.
And the bond—this cursed, relentless, *beautiful* bond—was no longer just a chain.
It was a vow.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to break it.
“That was survival,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
Kaelen turned, his silver eyes burning into mine. “Then why,” he said, voice rough, “did you moan?”