The fire in the hearth had burned low, its embers pulsing like a dying heart.
Outside, the Blood Moon still hung heavy over the Blackthorn Citadel, its crimson light bleeding through the narrow windows, painting the stone walls in streaks of rust and shadow. The night was silent—too silent. No wind. No distant howls from the Northern Pack encampment. Just the quiet crackle of dying flame and the slow, steady rhythm of *her* breath.
Opal.
She stood by the window, her back to me, wrapped in the crimson robes I’d given her. The bond mark on her neck glowed faintly beneath the high collar, a sigil of my making, a brand of my blood. She hadn’t touched it since the ceremony. Hadn’t flinched when I’d bitten her. Hadn’t screamed. Just stood there, trembling—not from pain, but from something deeper. Something I couldn’t name.
And now, she was here. In my chambers. Under my roof. Bound to me by law, by magic, by the unbreakable thread of the Blood Moon Bond.
And I still didn’t know if I could trust her.
Her scent filled the room—moonlight and witchcraft, laced with something darker. Fear. Rage. *Lies.* I’d smelled it the moment she stepped into the Obsidian Chamber. Felt it when our blood fused. Seen it in the way her fingers twitched toward the dagger at her thigh.
She’d come to kill me.
And if the bond hadn’t fused us, she might have succeeded.
“You’re staring,” she said, voice cool, not turning.
“You’re in my room,” I replied, arms crossed. “I’m allowed to look.”
She finally turned, her silver-blue eyes catching the dim light like shards of ice. “This isn’t your room. It’s a prison.”
“Then you should’ve thought of that before you tried to assassinate me.”
Her breath hitched. Just slightly. A flicker in her expression—surprise, maybe, that I’d said it so plainly. But she recovered fast. Too fast.
“I didn’t try to assassinate you,” she said. “I bled for the ritual. Just like you.”
“With a dagger hidden at your thigh,” I countered. “And a lie on your lips. You’re not from the Ember Circle. You’re Opal of the Lunar Coven. My scouts confirmed it the moment you crossed the border.”
She didn’t deny it. Just lifted her chin, defiant. “And yet, here we are. Bound. Marked. *Mated.*” She spat the last word like it tasted bitter. “So what now, Alpha? Are you going to lock me in a cell? Execute me for treason?”
“No,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m going to find out why you’re really here.”
She didn’t back down. Stood her ground, even as I closed the distance between us. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat—fast, but steady. Brave. Foolish.
“You already know why,” she said. “Revenge. My mother died in the last Blood Moon Ritual. The coven records say you led the raid. That you slaughtered her to stabilize your pack’s power.”
I flinched.
Not from guilt. Never that.
But from the weight of the lie. The cover-up. The truth I’d buried for thirteen years.
“The records are wrong,” I said, voice low.
“Then why did you let me believe it?” she demanded. “Why let me hate you? Why let me come here with a knife?”
“Because the truth would’ve shattered the truce,” I said. “And war would’ve followed. Thousands would’ve died. I did what I had to.”
“For the greater good?” she sneered. “How noble. But it was *my* mother who paid the price.”
“And I’m sorry for that,” I said, meaning it. “But I didn’t kill her.”
She stared at me, searching my face. “Then who did?”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
The truth was a blade I wasn’t ready to wield. Not yet. Not with her standing so close, her magic humming beneath her skin, the bond pulling us together like gravity.
Instead, I reached out.
Not to touch her face. Not to grip her arm.
My fingers brushed the bond mark on her neck.
She gasped.
Her body arched toward me, just slightly—a betrayal of her own making. Her breath came faster. Her pupils dilated. The scent of her arousal cut through the room like a knife—warm, sweet, undeniable.
And I felt it too.
The pull. The heat. The *need.*
It wasn’t just the bond. It was *us.* Two predators circling, drawn together by blood and magic and something darker, deeper.
“Don’t,” she whispered, stepping back. But her hand flew to her neck, covering the mark. “Don’t use the bond against me.”
“I’m not,” I said, voice rough. “I’m testing you. Seeing how far the lie goes.”
“The only lie here is the one you’re living,” she shot back. “You claim to want peace, but you rule through fear. You say you didn’t kill my mother, but you let the world believe it. You mark me in front of everyone, but you won’t tell me the truth.”
“And you,” I countered, stepping closer again, “claim to want justice, but you came here with a weapon. You say you hate me, but your body betrays you every time I touch you. You call this a curse—but your magic *sings* when I’m near.”
Her breath caught.
She looked away, but not before I saw it—the flicker of doubt. The crack in her armor.
Good.
Let her doubt.
Let her question.
Because the bond wasn’t just a tether. It was a mirror. It showed us the truth we tried to hide.
And I needed her to see it.
“You were in the Blood Pact Archives,” I said, changing tactics. “Two nights ago. I smelled the ink. The old parchment. You were searching for your mother’s ritual records.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine. Sharp. Defensive. “And if I was? They’re my mother’s records. I have a right to know what happened.”
“The Archives are restricted,” I said. “No one enters without permission. Not even me.”
“Then how did I get in?” she asked, a challenge in her voice.
I smirked. “You’re clever. Used a glamour to bypass the wards. Half-fae blood gives you an edge. But not enough. I could smell you the second you stepped inside.”
She didn’t deny it. Just narrowed her eyes. “And? Did you follow me? Watch me from the shadows like some kind of stalker?”
“No,” I said. “I let you look. Wanted to see what you’d find.”
“And?”
“You found nothing,” I said. “Because her name was erased. The records were altered.”
Her breath stilled. “By who?”
“I don’t know,” I lied.
She studied me, her gaze sharp. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“You know more than you’re saying,” she said. “You’ve *always* known. That’s why you let me believe it was you. That’s why you covered it up.”
“Maybe I did,” I said, stepping closer. “Maybe I’ve spent thirteen years burying the truth to keep the peace. But you? You came here with a knife. You tried to kill me. And now you want *me* to trust *you*?”
She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze, unblinking. “I came here to kill the man I believed murdered my mother. But the bond changed everything. I can’t kill you without dying too. So now, I have to find another way. And that means finding the truth.”
“And what if the truth destroys you?” I asked. “What if it destroys *us*?”
“There is no *us*,” she snapped.
But the bond flared between us, a pulse of heat and magic that made her gasp. Her hand flew to her chest. Mine followed, pressing against the sigil over her heart.
Our breaths mingled.
Her skin burned beneath my palm.
And for a moment—just a moment—I let myself imagine it.
Not as enemies.
Not as predator and prey.
But as something else.
Something real.
Then she shoved me back.
Hard.
I stumbled, surprised by the force of it. She was strong. Stronger than she looked.
“Don’t,” she said, voice trembling. “Don’t pretend this is anything more than a curse. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. Don’t—”
Her voice broke.
And I saw it then.
Not just the hatred.
Not just the rage.
But the *fear.*
Fear of the bond.
Fear of me.
Fear of what she felt when I touched her.
And that—that was dangerous.
Because fear made people reckless.
And Opal was already on the edge.
“You’re right,” I said, stepping back. “This is a curse. But it’s *our* curse. And until we break it—or learn to wield it—we’re stuck together.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to hold the pieces together. “Then let’s stop pretending. You want control. I want revenge. The bond ties us, but it doesn’t change who we are.”
“Doesn’t it?” I asked. “You think I don’t feel it? The way your magic responds to mine? The way your body heats when I’m near? The bond doesn’t just punish denial. It *reveals* truth.”
“Then what’s the truth, Alpha?” she challenged. “That you want me? That you *need* me? Is that why you marked me in front of everyone? To prove I’m yours?”
“Yes,” I said, not denying it. “You’re mine. The bond says it. The mark says it. Your body says it.”
“I am *not* yours,” she hissed.
“Aren’t you?” I stepped forward again, closing the distance. “You’re in my chambers. You wear my mark. You share my bed—”
“I do *not* share your bed,” she snapped.
“Not yet,” I said, voice low. “But you will. The bond demands proximity. And when the moon swells, it demands more.”
Her breath caught.
She knew I was right.
The bond dreams were coming. We’d both felt them—fleeting, fevered visions of tangled limbs, biting lips, desperate hands. Real? Magic? We didn’t know. But they were getting stronger. Closer.
And soon, we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
“You think you can break the bond,” I said. “You think you can kill me and walk away. But you’re wrong. The bond is part of you now. Part of *me.* And if you try to sever it, it’ll destroy you.”
“Then I’ll die trying,” she said, voice fierce. “But I won’t live as your prisoner. I won’t be your *pet*.”
“You’re not my pet,” I said, stepping so close our bodies nearly touched. “You’re my equal. My match. The only one who can stand against me. The only one who can *challenge* me.”
Her breath trembled.
Her eyes searched mine—looking for a lie, a weakness, a crack.
But I gave her nothing.
Only truth.
“You want me dead,” she whispered.
“And I want you broken,” I said, voice low, rough. “I want you to admit you can’t win. That you can’t escape. That you’re *mine.*”
She didn’t look away.
Didn’t flinch.
Just stared at me, her pulse racing, her magic simmering beneath her skin.
And then—
She smiled.
Not a kind smile. Not a soft one.
A predator’s smile.
“You want me broken?” she said, stepping into me, her body pressing against mine. “Then try, Alpha. Break me. *Try.*”
My breath caught.
Her heat seared through the fabric of our clothes. Her scent wrapped around me, intoxicating. The bond flared, a surge of magic that made my fangs ache, my claws threaten to emerge.
And for the first time in my life—
I hesitated.
Because this wasn’t just a game.
This wasn’t just power.
This was *her.*
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to win.
“Get out,” I said, stepping back. “Now.”
Her smile faded. “What?”
“You heard me,” I said, voice cold. “Leave. Before I do something we’ll both regret.”
She studied me, her eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, she turned and walked to the door.
But before she opened it, she looked back.
“You’re afraid of me,” she said. “Not of my knife. Not of my magic. But of what I make you *feel.*”
She didn’t wait for a reply.
Just opened the door and stepped into the corridor, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
I stood there, alone, the fire dying in the hearth.
And I let myself admit it.
She was right.
I was afraid.
Not of her blade.
Not of her revenge.
But of the truth the bond was forcing us to face.
That I didn’t want to break her.
I wanted to *keep* her.
And that—that was the most dangerous thing of all.
The door clicked shut.
But the war wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.