The Council chamber smelled like old blood and lies.
I sat rigid in the carved obsidian chair, my wrists bound not by rope or iron, but by thin silver cords threaded with binding runes—supposedly to “stabilize” the bond, but really just a prettier version of chains. The cuffs pulsed faintly against my skin, humming with vampire magic that scraped against my own like sandpaper. Across the long, polished table, Kaelen watched me. Not with anger. Not with cruelty. With something far more dangerous: *hunger.*
His gaze was a physical thing—slow, deliberate, tracing the line of my throat, the pulse at my temple, the way my fingers twitched against the armrest. I refused to look at him. Refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I studied the others seated around the table—the Fae High Envoy with her glittering, too-perfect smile; the Werewolf Alpha whose golden eyes flickered with amusement; the Witch Elder who kept her face hidden behind a veil of smoke. All of them pretending this was justice. Pretending this was protocol.
It was a farce.
They weren’t here to judge me. They were here to exploit the bond. To use me as a political pawn in their endless game of thrones.
“The Eternal Vow has been activated,” the Fae Envoy said, her voice like honey poured over glass. “By law, the fated pair must be verified, their bond assessed, and a path forward decided by unanimous vote.”
“Verification?” I snapped, my voice sharp. “You felt the magic. You saw the runes flare. What more do you need?”
“Ritual confirmation,” the Witch Elder replied, her voice muffled by smoke. “A shared chamber. A night under observation. To ensure the bond is genuine—and not the result of coercion or enchantment.”
I barked a laugh. “You think *he* enchanted me? The man who threatened to destroy me the moment we touched?”
“And yet,” the Werewolf Alpha rumbled, leaning forward, “you’re still alive. Most who defy Kaelen end up drained or dismembered. You’re not just alive. You’re *bound*.”
My stomach twisted. He wasn’t wrong. Kaelen had every reason to kill me the moment he recognized me. Instead, he’d claimed me. Protected me. Touched me like I was something sacred, even as he promised to ruin me.
And gods help me, my body remembered every second of it.
The memory of his lips at my throat, the heat of his breath, the way my skin had arched into his touch—it played behind my eyes like a curse. I clenched my jaw, forcing the image down. This wasn’t about desire. It wasn’t about *us*. It was about power. About the Blood Crown. About the truth buried beneath ten years of lies.
“The vote is called,” the Fae Envoy announced. “Shall the pair be granted provisional alliance status, pending ritual verification?”
Hands rose. One by one. The Witch Elder. The Werewolf Alpha. The Fae Envoy. Even the silent vampire delegates—Kaelen’s own councilors—nodded their approval.
Unanimous.
Of course it was.
They weren’t voting for *me*. They were voting for stability. For peace. For the illusion of unity in a world teetering on the edge of war. And I was the key. The fated mate of their king. The living proof that the Eternal Vow still held power.
“Then it is decided,” the Envoy said, smiling. “Onyx—”
“Elira,” I corrected, my voice icy.
She ignored me. “—and King Kaelen shall share the East Diplomatic Suite for the duration of the verification period. No weapons. No magic. No outside contact. The chamber will be warded and observed. At dawn tomorrow, the bond’s strength will be assessed.”
My blood ran cold.
One night. Trapped. With *him*.
“I refuse,” I said, standing. The silver cuffs tightened, biting into my skin. “This is a violation of my neutrality. I am not a political tool to be bartered—”
“You are bound by the Vow,” the Witch Elder interrupted. “And the Vow answers to no neutrality. You are part of this now, whether you like it or not.”
“Then I’ll break the bond,” I said, my voice rising. “I’ll sever it myself before I spend a single night under his roof.”
“You can’t,” Kaelen said.
I turned to him. He hadn’t moved. Still seated, still watching me with those storm-gray eyes. But now, there was something else in them. A challenge.
“The Eternal Vow cannot be broken by force,” he said, his voice low, calm. “Only by death. Or consummation.”
My breath caught.
Consummation.
The word hung in the air like a blade.
Sex. Union. A claiming that would bind us not just by magic, but by blood and breath and body. The bond would stabilize. The pain would stop. The fever that already simmered beneath my skin would ease.
And I would lose.
Because if I gave in—if I let him touch me, if I let myself *want* him—then my mission was over. I wouldn’t be avenging my family. I’d be joining the man who’d stolen everything from me.
“Then I’ll die,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “Before I let you claim me.”
He stood then, slow, deliberate, his coat falling open to reveal the hard lines of his chest beneath the silk. He stepped around the table, moving toward me like a predator closing in.
“No,” he said. “You won’t.”
He reached me in three strides. One hand cupped my jaw, forcing my face up. His touch was fire and ice, sending shocks through my body. His thumb brushed my lower lip, and I felt it everywhere—my throat, my chest, the deep, aching heat between my thighs.
“You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice a whisper only I could hear. “And tonight, you’ll learn what it means to be mine.”
I slapped him.
My palm cracked against his cheek, the sound echoing through the chamber. For a heartbeat, silence. Then his eyes went black. Not with anger. With *need.*
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just smiled—a slow, feral thing that made my stomach drop.
“Good,” he said. “Fight me. I like it when you fight.”
Then he turned, gripping my wrist, and pulled me forward.
—
The East Diplomatic Suite was a gilded cage.
Black marble floors, crimson drapes, a bed so large it looked like a sacrificial altar. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine—*his* scent—and something darker, something metallic. Blood. Power. Desire.
The moment the door closed behind us, the wards activated. A low hum filled the air, and the silver cuffs around my wrists flared, then dissolved into smoke. The binding magic was no longer needed. The room itself was the prison now—walled in enchanted onyx, sealed by vampire sigils, monitored by unseen eyes.
I stepped away from him, my back to the wall. “Don’t come near me.”
Kaelen shut the door, then turned to face me. He didn’t rush. Didn’t threaten. Just watched me, his gaze stripping me bare.
“You’re afraid,” he said.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’re afraid of *this*.” He took a step forward. “Of what you feel. Of what I make you feel.”
Another step.
“You think I don’t feel it too?” he said. “The bond pulls at me every second. Your anger. Your fear. The way your pulse jumps when I look at you. The way your body *aches* for me, even now.”
“Liar,” I whispered.
“Am I?” He closed the distance, one hand bracing against the wall beside my head, caging me in. His other hand slid to my waist, pulling me against him. My breath hitched. His body was hard, unyielding, his heat searing through the thin fabric of my dress. I could feel him—his cock, thick and heavy against my stomach, pressing into me like a promise.
“You want me,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “You hate me, and you want me. And that terrifies you.”
“Let me go,” I said, my voice breaking.
“No.”
His hand slid lower, fingers slipping beneath the hem of my dress, tracing the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist. My skin burned where he touched me. My breath came in shallow gasps. The bond flared, a surge of heat that made my knees weak.
“You think I don’t know what you are?” he said, his voice rough. “The girl who survived the fire. The heir who vanished. The witch who learned to hide her magic, her blood, her *name*.”
His fingers crept higher, skimming the edge of my thigh.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said. “But you’re not here to kill me, Onyx. You’re here because the bond called you. Because your soul *knew* me before your mind did.”
His hand slid under my dress, palm pressing against the heat between my thighs.
I gasped.
My body arched into his touch, betraying me. The ache was unbearable—deep, pulsing, desperate. My core tightened, wetness soaking through my panties. I wanted to push him away. Wanted to claw at him, to fight.
But I didn’t.
I stayed still. Trembling. Burning.
His thumb brushed over my clit, once, slow, deliberate.
“You’re soaked,” he murmured. “For me. Even now.”
“Stop,” I whispered, but it came out like a plea.
“No.” His voice was a growl. “You don’t want me to stop. You want me to touch you. To taste you. To make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
His fingers moved, pressing against me through the fabric, circling, teasing. My breath came faster. My hips rocked forward, just slightly, just enough.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you want me.”
“I hate you,” I gasped.
“Liar.” He pressed harder, and I whimpered. “You don’t hate me. You’re afraid of how much you *need* me.”
The bond flared again, hotter this time, a wave of magic that made my vision blur. My magic surged in response, lighting the air between us with crimson sparks. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to his touch, to his presence, to the truth I couldn’t deny.
I was his.
Not by choice. Not by will.
By fate.
His hand moved, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, skin meeting skin. I moaned, low and broken. His touch was fire. His fingers traced my slit, slow, maddening, before dipping inside.
“So tight,” he groaned. “So wet. For *me*.”
I bit my lip, trying to stifle the sound, but it escaped anyway—a soft, desperate cry.
He curled his fingers, pressing against that spot deep inside me, and stars exploded behind my eyes. My hips jerked. My thighs clenched around his hand. The pleasure was too much, too sharp, too *real*.
“Come for me,” he whispered. “Let go. Let me feel you.”
I shook my head, tears burning in my eyes. “No— I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” He added a second finger, stretching me, filling me, his thumb circling my clit in tight, relentless strokes. “You’re going to come. And when you do, you’ll know the truth.”
“What truth?” I gasped.
“That you’re mine.”
And then he kissed me.
Not gently. Not sweetly. A brutal, claiming thing—his mouth crashing into mine, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting, conquering. I tried to fight. Tried to bite. But my body betrayed me, melting into his, my lips parting, my tongue tangling with his.
He tasted like power. Like danger. Like *home.*
His fingers fucked me harder, faster, his thumb pressing, circling, and the pleasure built, coiled, *snapped.*
I came with a cry, my body arching, my nails digging into his arms, my magic exploding in a burst of crimson light that shattered the nearest lamp.
He caught me as I collapsed, holding me against his chest, his breath ragged, his fingers still buried inside me.
“You see?” he whispered, nipping at my ear. “You can’t fight it. You’re *mine*.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because as the aftershocks trembled through me, one truth burned brighter than all the others:
He was right.
And that terrified me more than anything.
—
The room was silent now. The only sound was our breathing—mine shaky, his controlled but not calm. His fingers were still inside me, but he didn’t move. Just held me, his other arm wrapped around my waist, keeping me upright.
I should have fought. Should have pushed him away. Should have summoned every ounce of magic I had and torn him apart.
But I didn’t.
I stayed. Leaning into him. Letting him hold me.
And when the lights flickered—once, twice—the whisper in the dark didn’t come from him.
It came from the bond.
You want me. I can taste it.