I’ve killed men for less than a sideways glance.
Yet here I stand, watching her sleep like some lovesick pup.
The room is silent, the obsidian walls swallowing sound, the only light the faint glow of the wall sconces—cold, blue flames fed by trapped spirits. She’s curled on her side, half-buried in the black velvet of the bed, one arm flung above her head, the other tucked beneath the pillow. Her silver dress is still half-unlaced from last night, the bodice slipping off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone—and the mark.
The wolf sigil.
It pulses faintly beneath her skin, a silver ember in the dark. The bond’s first claim. Not mine. Not hers. The magic’s. Ancient. Unforgiving. It marked her the moment the High Elder declared our union—sealed not by consent, but by law and bloodline. And now it lives in her veins, in mine, a tether neither of us asked for, neither of us can break.
I shouldn’t be here.
I should be in the war room, reviewing border reports, assessing the Northern Packs’ readiness for the unrest brewing in the East. I should be interrogating the rogue vampire caught skulking near the Veil Gates. I should be doing anything but standing in the shadows of this tomb-like suite, watching the woman I’m supposed to marry breathe.
But I can’t move.
She’s a storm in silk. Even asleep, she’s coiled tight—muscles taut, jaw clenched, fingers twitching like she’s fighting shadows in her dreams. I saw her last night, when the bond-fever took her. Saw the way her body arched under my hands, the way her breath hitched when I touched her. She fought it. Fought me. Even as her veins burned, she spat curses like blades.
And then, for one fractured moment—when I poured my energy into her to stabilize the bond—I felt it.
Not just the magic. Not just the pull of the fated tie.
Her.
Her thoughts, raw and jagged: I won’t be tamed. I won’t be used. I’ll make them pay.
And beneath that—fear. Not of death. Of him. Malrik. The High Elder. The man who ordered the purge of her bloodline. The man who still thinks he controls me.
She doesn’t know the truth.
That I tried to stop it.
That I argued in the shadows, in back rooms, in blood-oaths sworn under moonlight. That I failed.
And that I kept her mother’s journal—hidden in the stone vault beneath my quarters—not as a trophy, but as a promise. A vow that one day, the truth would rise.
But I can’t tell her.
Not yet.
Because if she knows I opposed the purge, she’ll see weakness. She’ll think I’m bargaining for her trust. And if Malrik finds out I withheld that knowledge—
A knock at the door.
Sharp. Precise. Three raps.
Taryn.
I don’t turn, but I answer, voice low. “Enter.”
The door opens, and my Beta steps inside—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair cropped short, his expression neutral. Taryn doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Doesn’t move unless ordered. He’s loyalty carved into flesh. And right now, his eyes flicker to the bed, to Sage, then back to me.
“The Council has summoned you,” he says. “Emergency session. In the Eclipse Chamber.”
I don’t move. “What for?”
“They’ve set the date for the claiming ritual.”
My jaw tightens. “I thought it was seven days.”
“They’ve moved it up. Five days.”
“Why?”
“Malrik says the bond must be solidified before the full moon. That instability risks war.”
Lies.
He’s afraid. Afraid that in seven days, she’ll find a way to expose him. That the bond will fracture. That I’ll choose her over the council.
And he’s not wrong.
I exhale, slow and controlled. “Tell them I’ll be there.”
Taryn hesitates. “And… her?”
“Let her sleep.”
He nods, but doesn’t leave. Instead, he lowers his voice. “She’s dangerous, Kaelen. Not just to the council. To you.”
“I know.”
“She’s Moonblood. Hybrid. The bond with her—it’s not natural. It could break you.”
“It’s already trying.”
He studies me, then glances at Sage again. “I’ve never seen you hesitate.”
“Leave it, Taryn.”
He does. The door clicks shut behind him.
I stay another moment, watching her. Then I turn and stride to the door, my boots striking the stone with sharp, final beats.
I won’t hesitate.
I can’t.
But gods help me—I already have.
The Eclipse Chamber is a cavern carved from black basalt, its ceiling lost in shadow, its walls lined with torches that burn with violet flame. The Council sits in a crescent of obsidian thrones, twelve seats—three for each species. Vampires dominate the left, their pale faces sharp with arrogance. Werewolves occupy the right, their Alphas cloaked in furs, eyes wary. Witches and Fae sit in the center, silent, calculating. And at the apex—Malrik.
He smiles when I enter.
“Ah, Alpha-King. We were just discussing your… situation.”
I don’t bow. I don’t speak. I take my seat—third from the right, the highest rank among the werewolves—and fold my hands in my lap.
“The bond has been confirmed,” Malrik continues, steepling his fingers. “The mark is visible. The magic is stable. But stability is not enough. The claiming ritual must be performed.”
“It will be,” I say. “In seven days.”
“In five,” corrects a vampire elder, her voice like glass. “The full moon approaches. The bond must be sealed before the lunar peak, or the magic may unravel.”
“Unravel?” I ask, cold. “Or be exposed as a fraud?”
Malrik’s smile doesn’t waver. “Careful, Kaelen. You walk a thin line. The bond is real. The law is clear. And the consequences of failure—” he leans forward, “—are execution. For both of you.”
I don’t react. “Then I suggest you ensure the ritual is flawless.”
“Oh, it will be.” He gestures, and a scroll unrolls in the center of the chamber, suspended in midair by magic. “The rites are ancient. The bond must be publicly affirmed. You will stand before the court. You will declare her yours. And then—” his eyes gleam, “—you will claim her.”
“Claim her how?”
“With teeth.”
A ripple runs through the chamber. Even the witches stir.
“The ritual requires a bite,” Malrik explains. “A public marking. A final seal. Without it, the bond is incomplete. Without it, the peace is void.”
I feel it—my wolf, rising. Snarling. She is mine. But not like this.
“And if she refuses?” I ask.
“Then she dies.”
“And if I refuse?”
Malrik’s smile turns venomous. “Then you are no Alpha. And you will be replaced.”
I hold his gaze. “And who would you put in my place? One of your lapdogs? A vampire puppet?”
“Better a puppet than a traitor.”
The word hangs in the air.
Traitor.
He knows. Or suspects.
That I opposed the Moonblood purge. That I’ve hidden the truth. That I may not obey.
I rise. “The ritual will be performed. Five days. I’ll be there.”
“And she?”
“She’ll be there.”
“Good.” Malrik leans back. “We’ll see then whether the bond is real… or whether it’s just another lie.”
I don’t answer. I turn and walk out.
My blood is ice. My pulse is fire.
Five days.
Five days to prepare her. To convince her. To stop her from doing something reckless—like trying to kill Malrik in the library, or exposing the council before the bond is solid.
Because if she dies—
I stop in the corridor, pressing a hand to the stone wall.
The bond thrums, a low, insistent pulse. I can feel her—still asleep, but restless. Dreaming. I close my eyes and reach through the tether, just a brush, just a whisper—
And I see it.
Fire. Screams. A woman burning on a pyre, her face twisted in agony. A child watching, screaming, Mother!
Sage’s memory.
Her mother’s execution.
I pull back, gasping.
Gods.
No wonder she hates me.
No wonder she wants revenge.
And no wonder Malrik wants her silenced.
I return to the suite slowly, my mind racing. The door opens silently, and I step inside.
She’s awake.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her bare feet on the cold stone, her arms wrapped around herself. Her dress is fixed, the bodice laced, but her hair is a mess, tangled from sleep. Her eyes—dark, sharp, furious—lock onto mine the moment I enter.
“Where were you?” she demands.
“Council meeting.”
“And?”
I don’t answer right away. I move to the stone chest, retrieving a clean tunic. I strip off the one I’m wearing, feeling her eyes on me, the air thickening. I pull the new one on, rolling the sleeves to my elbows.
“They’ve set the date for the claiming ritual,” I say, voice flat. “Five days.”
Her breath catches. “Five? Why?”
“They say the bond must be sealed before the full moon.”
“Liar.”
I look at her. “Believe what you want. But the ritual is mandatory. And it’s not just vows.”
“What else?”
I hold her gaze. “A bite. A public marking. Final seal of the bond.”
Her face pales. “You’re going to mark me? Like an animal?”
“It’s the law.”
“Then the law is barbaric.”
“And if you refuse?”
“I’ll die?”
“We both will.”
She stands, backing away. “Then I’ll take Malrik with me.”
“And start a war?” I step forward. “Is that what you want? Blood in the streets? Packs turning on covens? Fae manipulating the chaos?”
“Better than being your bitch.”
I close the distance in one stride, caging her against the wall, one hand braced beside her head. Her breath hitches. Her pulse flares. The bond hums between us, alive, hungry.
“You think I want this?” I growl. “You think I enjoy being paraded like some prize stud, forced to bite the woman who despises me?”
“Then stop it.”
“And let Malrik install a puppet Alpha? Let him tighten his grip on the packs? No.”
“So I’m just a pawn in your power game?”
“You’re a weapon,” I say, voice low. “And right now, you’re pointed at the wrong enemy.”
Her eyes blaze. “My enemy is the man who killed my mother.”
“And mine is the man who’s trying to control us both.”
She freezes. “What?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not yet.
Instead, I step back. “Five days, Sage. Prepare yourself. Or don’t. But when the time comes—” I meet her gaze, “—you will stand beside me. And you will let me mark you. Because if you don’t, you’ll die. And I—” I pause, the words raw, “—I can’t let that happen.”
She stares at me, stunned.
And for the first time, I wonder if she saw it—the flicker in my eyes, the crack in my voice.
Not possession.
Not duty.
Fear.
I turn and walk to the far side of the room, to the stone chest where I keep my things. I open it, reaching for the hidden compartment beneath the false bottom.
My fingers close around cold leather.
Her mother’s journal.
I don’t pull it out. I just hold it, feeling its weight.
Five days.
Five days to decide whether to give it to her.
And risk everything.
Or keep it hidden.
And lose her forever.
She doesn’t sleep that night.
I know because I don’t either.
I lie on the floor, on a pallet of furs, my back to the bed, my eyes open, listening to her breathing. Shallow. Uneven. Restless.
And once—just once—I hear it.
A whisper.
So soft I almost miss it.
“I hate you.”
I close my eyes.
And for the first time in seven years, I wonder what it would feel like to be forgiven.