The Obsidian Chamber smelled of iron and old magic.
My boots made no sound on the black stone floor, but my pulse thundered in my ears. I kept my breathing steady, my spine straight, my hands folded at my waist like a proper envoy. The ceremonial robes—deep indigo with silver sigils stitched along the hem—itched against my skin. I hadn’t worn anything this formal since Mother’s funeral. That night, the moon had been full. The same as tonight.
The Blood Moon.
It hung above the Citadel like a wound in the sky, spilling red light through the arched stained-glass windows. The runes etched into the chamber floor pulsed in response, glowing faintly beneath my feet. I could feel them humming through the soles of my boots, a low vibration that made my teeth ache. Magic was awake tonight. And so was I.
Twelve members of the Supernatural Council stood in a semicircle around the central dais. Vampires in tailored black coats, fae lords draped in shimmering silks, witches in hooded cloaks, werewolves in leather and steel. All of them here to renew the truce. All of them blind to the truth.
And then there was him.
Kael Arcturus, Blood Moon Alpha, stood at the center of it all. Towering. Imposing. His dark hair was pulled back, revealing a face carved from ice and shadow. His eyes—pale gold, like molten metal—scanned the room with cold precision. He wore no ceremonial robe. Just a black tunic, open at the collar, the mark of his pack branded into his chest: a crescent moon with a wolf’s howl etched through it.
I’d seen his face a hundred times in the coven’s records. I’d studied his movements, his habits, the way he held his blade. I’d memorized the night he led the raid on the Lunar Coven. The night he slaughtered my mother.
And now, I was standing ten feet away from him.
My fingers twitched toward the dagger strapped to my thigh. Not the ceremonial kind. This one was forged from moonsteel, its edge laced with sleeping venom. One cut. That’s all it would take. A single slice across his throat, and the world would be one monster shorter.
But not yet.
The ritual had to begin first. The Blood Moon Ritual was the only time the wards around the Citadel dropped. The only time I could escape after the kill.
“Silence,” boomed the High Priestess, a fae elder with silver eyes and a voice like cracked ice. “The Blood Moon rises. Let the pact be renewed.”
Chants began in low, guttural tones. The runes flared brighter. I stepped forward with the other envoys, my pulse steady, my expression blank. I was here as a neutral envoy from the Ember Circle—a lie, but a convincing one. My half-fae blood masked my true lineage. My ritual expertise made me believable. And my hatred? That was the one thing I didn’t have to fake.
We each took our place around the dais. Kael stood opposite me, his gaze locking onto mine for a fraction too long. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Let him see the fire in my eyes. Let him feel the weight of what was coming.
“Blood of the Alpha,” the High Priestess intoned, “spill for the truce.”
Kael stepped forward. A ceremonial blade appeared in his hand—obsidian, edged with silver. Without hesitation, he sliced his palm open. Blood welled, dark and thick, and dripped onto the altar.
Then it was my turn.
“Blood of the envoy,” she said. “Spill for balance.”
I reached for the dagger at my thigh. My fingers brushed the hilt—cool, familiar. But as I drew it, my hand trembled. Not from fear. From rage.
I pressed the blade to my palm and cut.
Pain flared, sharp and clean. Blood bloomed across my skin, crimson against pale flesh. I held my hand over the altar, letting the drops fall.
And then—
A spark.
Not from the runes. Not from the magic.
From us.
My blood hit his on the stone, and the moment they touched, the air ripped open.
A shockwave exploded from the altar, throwing everyone back. I stumbled, my vision blurring, my body slamming into the wall. Screams filled the chamber. The runes blazed to life, searing white-hot, etching themselves into the air like living fire.
And then—
I was flying.
Not through the air.
Through him.
One second, I was on the ground. The next, I was inside him. I could feel his heartbeat, his breath, the cold fury in his bones. I could taste the iron of his blood, smell the wild musk of his skin, hear the growl in his throat. And he—
He was in me.
My memories. My grief. My mother’s last words. My hatred for him. He knew. He felt it all.
Our bodies collided in the center of the chamber, mouths crashing together in a kiss that wasn’t ours. Not passion. Not desire. Agony. Our souls twisted, fused, burned. I tried to pull away, but his hands were in my hair, holding me in place. His fangs grazed my lip. My nails tore into his shoulders. Magic surged between us, a current of fire and ice, pulling us closer, deeper, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
“Stop it!” someone screamed.
But it wasn’t a scream.
It was a command. And it came from me.
I wrenched my mouth from his, gasping, blood on my tongue. His eyes were wide, his chest heaving. For the first time, the ice in his gaze cracked. He looked… shaken. Human.
And then the bond settled.
Like a brand pressed into my neck. Like a chain wrapped around my heart. A sigil flared to life on my skin—just below my ear—a crescent moon with a wolf’s howl etched through it. His mark.
“No,” I whispered.
But it was too late.
The High Priestess stepped forward, her voice trembling. “The Blood Moon Bond… it has been forged.”
Gasps. Whispers. A vampire lord hissed, “Impossible. The ritual wasn’t meant to—”
“It has happened,” she said, her voice sharp. “Their blood fused. Their souls are linked. The bond is law.”
I turned to Kael, my breath ragged. “This isn’t real. It can be broken.”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at me with those gold eyes, unreadable, calculating. And then, slowly, he reached out.
His thumb brushed the mark on my neck.
Fire shot through my veins. My breath hitched. My body ached. It wasn’t pain. Not exactly. It was—need. A deep, primal pull that made my skin burn and my pulse race.
He felt it too. I could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his nostrils flared. His hand dropped, but the connection remained. A thread of magic, invisible but undeniable, tethering us together.
“You,” I said, voice low, “are the last person I would ever bind myself to.”
He stepped closer. So close I could feel the heat of his body. “And yet,” he murmured, “here we are.”
“This changes nothing,” I snapped. “I came here to—”
“To kill me?” he interrupted, his voice a low growl. “I know why you’re here, Opal of the Lunar Coven. I know what you think I did.”
My blood ran cold. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know your scent,” he said. “Witchcraft and moonlight. And lies.”
I stepped back, but the bond pulled me forward. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I gasped, clutching at my ribs.
“Deny it,” Kael said, “and the bond will punish you. Stay within ten feet of me, or the fever will take you. Hallucinations. Madness. Death.”
“You’re lying,” I said, but my voice wavered.
He didn’t answer. Just turned to the Council. “The bond is formed. She is mine.”
“By law,” the High Priestess confirmed, “Opal of the Ember Circle is now Kael Arcturus’s Blood-Marked Consort. Her life is tied to his. Her magic, her fate, her breath—all bound.”
Laughter rippled through the chamber. A vampire noble leaned in, whispering, “She seduced him to infiltrate. How poetic.”
Another added, “Or perhaps the Alpha finally found a woman who can tame him.”
I ignored them. My mind was racing. The bond. The mark. The pain. If he was telling the truth, then killing him would kill me too.
My mission was compromised.
But not over.
I could still break the bond. There had to be a way. A ritual. A loophole. A spell hidden in the Blood Pact Archives.
And until I found it—
I would play his consort.
I would wear his mark.
I would smile when he touched me.
And then, when the time was right—
I would destroy him.
Kael turned to me, his expression unreadable. “You will stay at my side,” he said. “No exceptions.”
I met his gaze, my voice steady. “For now.”
He smirked. “You think you’re in control, witch. But the bond knows the truth. You want me as much as I want you.”
“I want you dead,” I hissed.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “And yet, your body trembles when I touch you. Your magic sings when I’m near. The bond doesn’t lie, Opal. And neither does your pulse.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me more than anything.
The Council began to disperse, murmuring, casting glances our way. Kael took my arm, his grip firm, possessive. I didn’t pull away. Not yet. Let them see the lie. Let them believe I was his.
But inside, I was already planning.
The Archives. The records. The truth about my mother.
And the knife still hidden at my thigh.
One way or another, I would have my revenge.
Even if it killed me.
Opal’s Blood Moon
The Blood Moon rises over the Blackthorn Citadel, its crimson glow painting the stone spires in blood. Inside the Obsidian Chamber, Opal stands disguised in ceremonial robes, her pulse steady, her fingers brushing the hidden dagger at her thigh. She came to kill the Alpha. Not to be bound to him. But when the ritual begins—meant to renew the truce between species—her blood spills onto the altar… and his. The moment their essences mix, the runes ignite. A shockwave throws them together. His mouth crashes against hers—not in passion, but in agony. Their souls twist, fuse, burn. The council screams. The bond is forged. Now, Opal is no longer a spy. She is Kael’s Blood-Marked Consort—a political liability, a magical anomaly, and the only woman who can trigger his primal heat. He wants to control her. She wants to destroy him. But the bond punishes denial: fever, pain, hallucinations. And when the moon swells, their bodies betray them—pressed together in fevered dreams, his teeth grazing her throat, her nails scoring his back, neither knowing if it’s real or magic. A shadow looms—the real mastermind behind her mother’s death still walks free, manipulating both packs and courts. And Kael may be the only one strong enough to protect her… or the final obstacle to her revenge. From the first chapter, Opal’s goal is clear: break the bond, kill the Alpha, reclaim her birthright. But by Chapter 3, she’s forced into a public alliance. By Chapter 8, she’s fighting jealousy, a seductive vampire mistress, and her own body’s betrayal—when a midnight mission ends with her straddling Kael’s lap, breathless, his hand under her shirt, the door slamming shut behind them. Their love will be forged in fire, blood, and the heat of the Blood Moon.