IRIS
Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but as a slow, seeping tide of awareness. The first thing I registered was the scent. It was everywhere, an inescapable presence that filled my lungs and coated my skin. Pine and midnight rain. It was the scent of the Lycan King, a scent that now lived inside me, a phantom limb of a connection I hadn't asked for. The second thing I registered was the softness beneath me. Not the cold, hard stone of the Council Hall, but something impossibly plush, a bed that seemed to swallow me whole.
I forced my eyes open. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a crackling fire in a massive stone hearth. The walls were rough-hewn gray stone, but the furnishings were the height of masculine luxury—dark wood, thick furs, and heavy, deep-colored fabrics. This was a bedroom. A king's bedroom. His bedroom.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the fog in my head. I sat up too quickly, a wave of dizziness washing over me. My hand flew to my neck. The bite was still there, a throbbing, tender spot beneath my fingers. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but the skin felt hot, inflamed. When I brushed my fingers over it, a strange echo of that horrifying pleasure-pain jolted through me, a ghost of the bond's activation. I snatched my hand away as if I'd been burned.
A dull ache throbbed in my wrists, and I looked down. The silver chains were gone. In their place were two angry red bracelets, the skin raw and blistered. He'd had them removed. A flicker of something I refused to name as gratitude was immediately extinguished by a wave of fury. He hadn't done it out of kindness. He'd done it because a damaged asset was a useless asset.
"You're awake."
The voice came from the shadows near the fire, deep and low. I flinched, my heart hammering against my ribs. Kaelen stepped out of the gloom, into the flickering firelight. He had changed from the formal leathers of the ceremony into simple black trousers and a loose-fitting gray shirt that did nothing to hide the powerful lines of his chest and shoulders. He was holding a glass of something dark and amber, swirling it lazily. He looked completely at ease, a predator in his lair, while I felt like a trapped field mouse.
"Where am I?" My voice was a hoarse croak, dry and unfamiliar.
"My chambers. In the Lycan stronghold," he said, taking a slow sip of his drink. His silver eyes tracked my every move, a cool, assessing gaze that made me feel naked and exposed. "The bond requires proximity. For the first month, we cannot be more than a hundred feet apart without… consequences."
Consequences. The word hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken threats. I swung my legs off the bed, my bare feet sinking into the thick, wolf-skin rug. My head was still swimming, but I refused to show weakness. "And what consequences are those?"
"Pain. Sickness. A magical backlash that will feel like your soul is being torn from your body," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion, as if he were discussing the weather. "The Restorative Bond is not a suggestion, witch. It is a law of magic, older than the Accords. It will enforce its own terms."
I stood up, swaying slightly, and wrapped my arms around myself. The thin, silk nightgown I was wearing—definitely not my own—did little to ward off the chill in the room, or the chill in his gaze. "So I'm your prisoner."
"You are my bond-mate," he corrected, his tone hardening. "There is a difference. A prisoner has no value. You…" He let the sentence trail off, his eyes raking over me in a way that was both insulting and unnervingly intimate. "You have value."
I wanted to slap him. Instead, I channeled my fury into sarcasm, my oldest and most reliable shield. "Oh, I'm thrilled to hear that. I've always dreamed of being valuable property. Does my value increase or decrease with my level of sass?"
A flicker of something crossed his face—annoyance, maybe, or was it amusement? It was gone too quickly to be sure. "Do not test me, Iris."
He knew my name. Of course, he knew my name. But hearing it from his lips, in that low growl, felt like another violation. "My value seems to be entirely dependent on you," I shot back. "And let me guess, the rules of this gilded cage are yours to make?"
He set his glass down on the mantelpiece with a soft click. "You will not leave these chambers without my escort. You will not perform any magic without my express permission. You will obey my commands without question." He took a step toward me, and I instinctively took one back. "In return, you will be fed, clothed, and kept safe. A fair exchange, I think."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Safe? You bit me, bound me to you against my will, and you talk about keeping me safe? The only thing I need to be safe from is you."
His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in his cheek. The air in the room grew thick, heavy with his rising anger. I could feel it through the bond, a hot, prickling sensation against my skin. "This bond was not my choice," he snarled, his control finally cracking. "But it is our reality. You would be wise to accept it."
My throat was dry, and my eyes landed on a pitcher of water and a glass on a small table across the room. Thirst warred with pride, but thirst won. I started to walk toward it, my movements stiff with defiance. I would not ask him for anything. I would not show any weakness.
He didn't move, just watched me cross the room. As I reached for the pitcher, my fingers brushed against his. He had moved so silently I hadn't even heard him. He was standing right beside me, his hand also reaching for the pitcher. The touch was accidental, fleeting, nothing more than the brush of skin on skin.
But it was enough.
The bond exploded.
It was like a lightning strike, pure and absolute. The air crackled. The scent of rain and pine intensified a thousandfold, flooding my senses, wiping every coherent thought from my mind. My magic, which had been a low hum, roared to life, a chaotic, desperate surge that sought his. And his… his power answered. It was a dark, primal force, a wild, untamed energy that crashed into mine, not in a battle, but in a violent, magnetic collision.
My gasp was swallowed by the sudden, overwhelming heat that engulfed me. It was an inferno, a need so potent and all-consuming it was terrifying. Every nerve ending in my body came alive, screaming for his touch. My knees went weak, my body trembling with a force that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a raw, animalistic lust that horrified me to my core.
I saw the same shock mirrored in his eyes. His pupils dilated, the silver swallowed by a blackness so deep it seemed to absorb the light of the fire. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated need. He looked as horrified as I felt. His control, his precious, iron-fisted control, was shattering into a million pieces, and I was the cause.
In one fluid, impossibly fast motion, he moved.
My back slammed against the cold, hard stone of the wall. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the fire raging through my veins. His body pinned mine, his hips pressed flush against me, a hard, undeniable weight that held me captive. One of his hands was braced on the wall beside my head, the other gripping my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh with bruising force.
We were both breathing heavily, the sound ragged and loud in the sudden silence of the room. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, and I could feel the frantic, heavy rhythm of his own heart through his chest, pressed against mine. The scent of him was in my very breath, a potent drug that clouded my judgment and made my body ache with a desperate, hollow emptiness.
"Don't… ever… touch me," he ground out, the words a harsh, guttural rasp against my ear. But his body was telling a different story. His grip on my hip tightened, pulling me closer, and I could feel the hard, thick length of him straining against his trousers, a blatant, physical proof of his desire. A desire that was mirrored in the treacherous, throbbing heat between my own legs.
My own body's betrayal was a nauseating wave of shame. I hated him. I hated everything he represented. But my body, my traitorous, wretched body, craved his with a single-minded intensity that overrode every rational thought. I wanted him to close the scant inches between us, to crush his lips to mine, to finish what the bond had started. The thought was so vile, so alien, that a whimper of pure despair escaped my lips.
The sound seemed to break through his own haze of lust. His head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine. For a split second, I saw it all—the war raging within him. The primal urge to claim, to take, to possess, warring with his iron will, his ingrained need for control. He was losing the battle. And it was destroying him.
He hated this. He hated me for being the catalyst for this loss of control. He hated the bond for forcing this upon him. And in that moment, I hated it, too. This wasn't passion. It was a curse. A chemical reaction. A magical compulsion that stripped us of our will and left us nothing but slaves to a primal, animalistic urge.
His gaze dropped to my lips, and my own breath hitched. He was going to kiss me. I knew it with a certainty that was both terrifying and, to my deepest shame, exhilarating. His head started to lower, slowly, inexorably, as if pulled by an invisible string.
This was it. The point of no return.
Then, a sharp, loud knock echoed from the heavy oak door of the chamber.
"Kaelen? Ronan is here with the patrol reports. We have a situation at the eastern border."
The voice was muffled, but it was enough. It was a bucket of ice water poured over the raging fire between us.
Kaelen froze. His entire body went rigid, the muscle in his jaw working furiously. For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't move. He just stared at me, his eyes a turbulent storm of fury, frustration, and something that looked suspiciously like self-loathing.
Then, with a snarl of pure rage, he pushed himself away from me. He didn't just step back; he recoiled, as if I were a contagion he'd barely managed to escape. He stumbled back a few steps, running a hand through his dark hair, his chest heaving.
I sagged against the wall, my legs trembling so badly I was surprised they could still hold me. The air between us crackled with unspent energy, with the ghost of a desire so intense it had felt like it could burn the world down. The sudden absence of his touch was a physical ache, a cold void where his heat had been.
He turned his back on me, his shoulders rigid. "Get dressed," he bit out, his voice rough and raw. "Stay here. Do not leave this room. Do not touch anything."
He strode to the door, yanking it open with enough force to make it slam against the stone wall. He didn't look back. He just disappeared into the hallway, leaving me alone, trembling, and more terrified than I had been in the Council Hall.
I slid down the wall, my body giving out completely, and landed in a heap on the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in my hands. I could still feel him. The ghost of his body pressed against mine, the echo of his scent in my lungs, the lingering thrum of his power in my blood. The bond was a living thing inside me, a hungry, insatiable beast that had tasted its first meal and now wanted more.
My hatred for him was a cold, hard stone in my gut. But my fear of this… this connection, this terrifying, magnetic pull that made my body betray my mind… that was a thousand times worse. I wasn't just his prisoner. I was his addiction. And he was mine. And as I sat there in the fading firelight, a single, horrifying truth began to dawn on me.
Surviving this wouldn't just be about taming the tyrant. It would be about surviving myself.