THYME
His mouth is fire.
Not soft. Not gentle. The moment my lips meet his, it’s like striking a match to oil—heat explodes between us, sharp and sudden, scorching through every lie I’ve told myself. My hands fly to his chest, not to push him away, but to *hold on*, fingers curling into the thin fabric of his shift as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine with a hunger that steals my breath.
The bond *screams*.
Not just flares. Not just pulses. It *roars*, a living thing beneath my skin, feeding on the contact, the taste of him—pine and iron and something dark, something feral. The sigil on my thigh ignites, pleasure arcing up my spine, pooling low in my belly, so intense I whimper into his mouth.
And he *feels* it.
He groans, one hand tangling in my hair, the other sliding down my back, pressing me flush against him. I can feel every hard line of his body, the heat of him, the way his cock stiffens against my stomach. He’s already hard. Already *ready*.
And so am I.
Dripping. Aching. *Needing*.
“Kaelen—” I gasp when he finally breaks the kiss, my voice ragged, unrecognizable.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath hot on my lips. “Say it again,” he growls.
“Say what?”
“My name.”
“Kaelen.”
He shudders. “Again.”
“Kaelen.”
“*Again*.”
“Kaelen—”
And then the mirrors around us *shatter*.
Not with sound. Not with force.
With *light*.
A pulse of silver-blue magic rips through the Hall of Whispers, cracking the glass, sending shards spiraling through the air like frozen rain. The bond surges, *sealing* something deeper than magic—something primal, something *claimed*.
We don’t move.
We don’t breathe.
We just stand there, pressed together, hearts pounding, lips still tingling, the weight of what just happened settling over us like a vow.
And then—
Silas clears his throat.
“The ritual,” he says, voice carefully neutral, “is complete.”
Kaelen doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t look away from me. “Then leave us.”
“Kaelen—”
“*Now*, Silas.”
The Beta hesitates. Then bows. “As you command.”
The door shuts behind him.
And we’re alone.
Again.
“You kissed me,” I whisper.
“You kissed me first.”
“That was—”
“Inevitable.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. “You’ve wanted this since the moment you stepped into my court.”
“I wanted to destroy you.”
“And you will.” His eyes burn into mine. “But not before you’re mine in every way.”
I should pull away.
I should slap him.
I should remind him that this is a marriage of convenience, of survival, of political necessity.
But I don’t.
Because the truth is—
I *wanted* that kiss.
I *craved* it.
And the worst part?
Part of me wants more.
“You’re dangerous,” I say, stepping back, my voice unsteady.
“So are you.” He doesn’t follow. Just watches me, his gaze dark, possessive. “But you’re *mine* now. And I’m not letting you go.”
“You don’t own me.”
“No.” He smiles, slow, dangerous. “But you belong to me. And you know it.”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because he’s right.
And I hate that more than anything.
—
The rest of the day passes in a blur.
There’s a feast in the Great Hall—long tables groaning under roasted venison, silver goblets filled with moonwine, wolves howling in celebration as firelight dances across the vaulted ceiling. I sit at Kaelen’s right, dressed in a new gown of deep green silk, the color of the Verdant Coven, the fabric clinging to my curves like a second skin. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t speak. But his presence is a constant hum against my nerves, his scent wrapping around me, his heat searing through the thin space between us.
And then—
She appears.
Mira.
She glides into the hall like a shadow given form, dressed in crimson silk that hugs every curve, her lips painted blood-red, her eyes gleaming with something sharp and cruel. She doesn’t look at me at first. Just moves through the crowd, whispering to vampires, laughing at wolves, her presence a ripple of tension that spreads through the room.
And then—
She stops.
Right in front of me.
“Thyme,” she purrs, tilting her head. “How… *quaint* you look. Like a little forest sprite playing queen.”
I don’t rise. Don’t flinch. “And you look like you’re wearing his shirt.”
The hall goes silent.
Because she is.
Not just any shirt.
His shirt.
Black. Silver-trimmed. The crest of the Northern Pack stitched over the heart. The same one he wore the night he dragged me to his chambers. The same one that still smells like him.
And she’s wearing it—*open*, just enough to reveal the curve of her breasts, the pale skin of her collarbone.
Like a trophy.
Like a challenge.
Her smile widens. “Oh, this? Kaelen let me borrow it. After our last night together.”
My stomach drops.
“That’s a lie,” I say, voice steady, though my hands clench beneath the table.
“Is it?” She leans in, her breath cold against my ear. “We shared a bed for three moons, little witch. He *loved* the way I screamed when he bit me. The way I begged for more. The way I—”
“Enough.”
Kaelen’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade.
He stands, towering over her, his silver eyes blazing. “You were never in my bed. You were never *mine*. And if you don’t leave this hall in the next ten seconds, I’ll have you thrown out.”
Mira doesn’t flinch. Just laughs, low and throaty. “Still so possessive. But she already knows, doesn’t she? That you can’t resist a woman who fights you. That you *crave* the ones who hate you.”
My breath catches.
Because she’s not wrong.
He did kiss me after I threatened to destroy him.
He did touch me after I called him a monster.
And the bond—
It *responded*.
“Get. Out.” Kaelen’s fangs lengthen. “Now.”
Mira steps back, hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. But we’ll talk soon, Thyme. About what he’s really like in bed. About how long it takes him to lose control. About how he *always* bites the ones he can’t have.”
And then she’s gone.
The hall remains silent.
Everyone watches me. Waiting. Watching for weakness. For rage. For tears.
I give them nothing.
Just rise, smooth my gown, and walk out—head high, spine straight, heart *breaking*.
—
I don’t go to our chambers.
I don’t go to the Archive.
I go to the gardens.
The Northern Packlands are frozen this time of year, the earth locked beneath ice, the trees skeletal and bare. But the royal gardens are warded—protected by ancient magic that keeps the cold at bay, allowing rare moonblooms to grow, their silver petals glowing in the dim light.
I sit on a stone bench, my breath fogging in the air, my hands clenched in my lap.
And I let myself *feel* it.
The jealousy.
Hot. Sharp. *Unfair*.
Because I shouldn’t care. I came here to destroy him, not to *love* him. I don’t *want* to be his mate. I don’t *want* to crave his touch, his voice, his kiss.
And yet—
I do.
And the thought of him with her—of his hands on her skin, his fangs in her neck, his body moving inside hers—
It *destroys* me.
“You’re not the only one who’s jealous.”
I don’t turn. I know that voice.
Silas.
He sits beside me, not too close, not too far. Calm. Observant. The only wolf in the court who doesn’t seem afraid of me.
“I’m not jealous,” I say.
“You’re glowing.”
I frown. “What?”
He gestures to my thigh. “The sigil. It’s pulsing. Brighter than I’ve ever seen it. And your scent—honey and fire. That’s not calm. That’s *hunger*.”
I press a hand to the sigil, but it’s still warm, still alive. “It’s the bond.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “The bond amplifies what’s already there. And right now, you’re *furious*.”
“She was wearing his shirt.”
“She wasn’t.”
I look at him. “What?”
“That shirt was destroyed ten years ago. In the fire that killed your mother.”
My breath catches. “How do you know that?”
“Because I was there.” His voice is quiet. “I watched her burn. I watched him try to save her. And I watched him burn that shirt after—because it was the only thing left of her.”
Tears burn my eyes.
“Then why would she—”
“To hurt you.” He turns to me. “Mira’s not just a vampire noble. She’s Veylan’s spy. She’s been trying to weaken Kaelen for years. And now, she sees you as the perfect weapon.”
“By making me doubt him?”
“By making you *hate* him. By making you leave.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” He stands. “Because he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Never growled at anyone like he does for you. Never *kissed* anyone like he did today.”
And then he’s gone.
Leaving me alone with the truth.
Mira lied.
Kaelen never slept with her.
And the shirt—
It was a lie. A trick. A game.
But the jealousy—
That was real.
And so is the ache in my chest.
Not just from her words.
From the terrifying realization—
I don’t want to destroy him.
I want to *keep* him.
—
I return to our chambers just before midnight.
The fire is low. The room dim. Kaelen stands at the window, his back to me, silhouetted against the moonlight. He doesn’t turn when I enter. Doesn’t speak.
But I feel him.
The bond hums, warm and steady, but beneath it—
Fear.
Not of me.
Of *losing* me.
“She lied,” I say.
He turns. “I know.”
“About the shirt. About the bed.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you say something? In the hall?”
“Because I wanted you to see her for what she is.” His voice is rough. “A liar. A manipulator. A pawn of Veylan’s.”
“And you?” I step closer. “Are you any different?”
“No.” He doesn’t flinch. “I’m a monster. A tyrant. A killer. But I’m *yours*. And I won’t let anyone take you from me.”
“Even if I want to go?”
“Then I’ll follow.”
“Even if I hate you?”
“Especially then.”
And then—
I do it.
I cross the room, grab his face, and kiss him.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Hard. Desperate. *Furious*.
And he responds—immediately—his hands tangling in my hair, his mouth crashing against mine, his body pressing me back against the wall. The bond flares, *screaming*, feeding on the contact, the emotion, the raw, unfiltered *need*.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my lips.
“And you’re mine,” I whisper back.
“Say it again.”
“You’re mine.”
He groans, lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist, his cock pressing hard against me. “Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Let me claim you.”
“No.”
“*Yes*.”
“Not yet.”
He stills. “Why?”
“Because I need to know,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I need to know if you really tried to save her. If you really loved her. If you’re lying to me like everyone else.”
His eyes search mine. “You think I’d lie about that?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
He exhales, slow, controlled. Then sets me down gently. “Then come with me.”
“Where?”
“To the Archive.”
My breath catches. “You said after the ceremony—”
“I lied.” He takes my hand. “I’ve been waiting ten years to show you this.”
And as he leads me from the room, I don’t feel like a prisoner.
Or a pawn.
Or even a spy.
I feel like a woman standing on the edge of a truth.
One step forward—
And I fall into fire.
One step back—
And I lose myself.
So I do the only thing I can.
I walk forward.
Hand in hand with the man I came to destroy.
And for the first time—
I wonder if the truth will save me.
Or break me.
And then—
Just as we reach the door—
She appears.
Mira.
Leaning against the wall, smirking, her voice a whisper in the dark.
“He only wants you because you’re forbidden.”
And I know—
This isn’t over.
Not even close.