IRIS
The silver bit into my wrists, a slow, chemical burn that ate away at my concentration. My own magic, usually a comforting hum beneath my skin, felt muted and distant, suppressed by the cold metal. The Council Hall of Aeridor was a cavern of obsidian and starlight, its high, arched ceiling enchanted to reflect the night sky outside the veil. Hundreds of eyes were on me—the representatives of every supernatural faction, their collective gaze a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders. But only one pair of those eyes mattered.
He stopped his circling. Alpha King Kaelen. A towering figure clad in black leather and steel, his presence filling the hall with a predatory stillness that was more terrifying than any roar. His hair was the color of midnight, a stark contrast to eyes the pale, chilling silver of a winter moon. He didn't look at me like a man, or even a king. He looked at me like a wolf eyeing a wounded deer, assessing the kill. The cold fingers of his free hand gripped my chin, forcing my head up. His touch was an insult, a claim of ownership before the contract was even sealed.
"Look at me," he commanded. His voice was a low growl, a vibration that sank straight into my bones and resonated with the part of me I tried so hard to deny—the primal, instinctual part that recognized an apex predator.
I met his gaze, pouring every ounce of hatred I could muster into my stare. I would not break. I would not cower. I was a witch of the Thornwood line, and I would not be felled by a glorified dog.
A faint, cruel smile touched his lips, as if he could hear my thoughts. "The Restorative Bond is invoked," the officiant, a withered old Fae, intoned from the dais. Her voice echoed in the silence. "For the breaking of the Blood Treaty of 1888, the line of the offender shall be bound to the line of the aggrieved. Let their lives be tethered, their fortunes shared. Let one not harm the other without bringing ruin upon themselves. Let this union ensure the peace of the Accords."
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. A treaty broken by an ancestor I'd never known, a debt paid by a life I'd barely begun to live. It was a monstrous injustice, a political machine grinding me into dust for the sake of order.
Kaelen's thumb brushed my jawline, a deceptively gentle gesture that made my skin crawl. "The contract is sealed by blood and bite, witch," he murmured, his voice a dark caress meant only for me.
He sank to one knee before me, a gesture that looked like reverence to the watching crowd but felt like damnation to me. The scent of pine and midnight rain washed over me, clean and wild, the scent of the deep forest after a storm. It was intoxicating, and I hated myself for noticing it.
His head lowered. I saw the glint of his elongated canines, not quite human, not quite wolf. My entire body tensed, every muscle screaming for me to flee, to fight, to do something. But the silver chains held me fast, a prisoner in my own skin. The gasps from the court were a distant hum, the pounding of my own blood the only sound in my ears.
His fangs grazed the pulse point on my neck. The touch was sharp, electric. A shiver, entirely unwanted, traced a path down my spine. Then, he bit down.
Pain. It was a white-hot, searing agony that blotted out everything else. It wasn't just a puncture; it felt like he was pouring molten silver into my veins, a poison that burned from the inside out. A strangled cry escaped my lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated torment. My back arched, my body convulsing against the chains.
But mixed with the pain was something else. Something infinitely more horrifying.
Pleasure.
It was an electric jolt, a current of raw, unadulterated need that shot through me with the force of a lightning strike. It coiled in my stomach, hot and potent, a dark, treacherous bloom that made my body ache with a sudden, desperate longing. My magic, suppressed by the silver, surged in response to the violation, a chaotic burst of energy that sought his, clashed with his, and then… merged.
A collective gasp echoed through the court. I felt it more than saw it—a magical flare, a blinding silver and indigo light that erupted from where his mouth met my skin. It was visible only to us, a private cataclysm in a public ceremony. The light illuminated our entwined shadows on the obsidian wall, twisting them together until they were one inseparable shape—a prophecy of a shared throne or a shared grave.
He pulled back, his lips stained with my blood. The sight should have revolted me. Instead, a fresh wave of that terrifying heat washed over me. His pupils were blown, the silver of his irises almost completely swallowed by black. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched my own frantic gasps. He looked as stunned by the intensity of it as I was. For a fleeting second, the mask of the tyrant king slipped, and I saw something raw and feral in his eyes. A reflection of my own shock, my own horror.
The bond snapped into place. It wasn't a metaphor. It was a physical, tangible thing inside me, a new limb I couldn't control, a new sense I couldn't shut off. I could feel him. Not just his presence, but his emotions. A tidal wave of cold, hard control, fighting a desperate, losing battle against a raging inferno of possessive lust. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that he could feel me, too. He could feel my pain, my fear, and most damningly, that traitorous, shaming pulse of desire.
The world began to swim. The starlight ceiling blurred, the faces of the council members melting into indistinct shapes. The silver chains felt impossibly heavy, pulling me down into the darkness. My knees, already bruised from the hard stone, finally gave out. I slumped forward, my strength gone.
Before I could hit the floor, an arm banded around my waist, catching me. It was Kaelen. He pulled me against him, my back flush with his chest. His scent enveloped me, that maddening mix of pine and rain. His body was a furnace, the heat of him seeping through my thin dress, a stark contrast to the cold of the chains. His arm was a band of steel, holding me upright, holding me captive. I was a prize he had just won, and he was displaying me to his court.
My head lolled back against his shoulder, my vision narrowing to a single point. I saw her then, standing in the shadows near the grand archway. A woman with hair the color of spun gold and eyes like ancient amber. She was beautiful in the way of a venomous snake, all elegant lines and deadly grace. Isolde. Kaelen's former consort. I didn't know her name then, but I knew who she was. Her smile was venomous, a triumphant slash of red across her face. Her hand rested possessively on a discarded shirt—a black training shirt, damp with sweat and smelling faintly of pine and rain. His shirt. He had been with her just hours before this ceremony.
The sight was a physical blow, cutting through the haze of pain and pleasure. The political marriage was a trap. The bite was a curse. And the searing, unwanted attraction between us was the most dangerous weapon of all. This wasn't just about a broken treaty. This was about a ghost in his bed, a rival in his court. I wasn't just being bound to a tyrant king. I was being thrown into a den of vipers, naked and bleeding.
Kaelen's grip tightened, a subtle warning. He had felt my spike of emotion—my shock, my sudden, sharp jealousy through the new, raw bond. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear, his voice a low, menacing whisper that was for me alone.
"You belong to me now, witch. Body, magic, and soul. Get used to it."
The darkness finally claimed me, but his words followed me down, a brand on my soul as permanent as the one on my neck. I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that this was only the beginning. To survive this gilded cage, I would have to tame the tyrant—or become the monster he believed me to be.