I wake to the scent of pine and smoke.
And blood.
My eyes fly open, heart slamming against my ribs, breath catching in my throat. The room is dim—gray dawn bleeding through the high, narrow windows of the suite, painting silver streaks across the obsidian floor. The air is thick with magic, heavy with the lingering pulse of the bond. But it’s not the darkness that steals my breath.
It’s the weight on me.
I’m not in my own bed.
I’m in his.
The massive black-wood frame looms above me, velvet drapes half-drawn, the mountain of pillows cradling my head. The sheets—dark, cool, silk—cling to my bare legs, tangled between my thighs. And across my waist, heavy and warm, lies Kaelen’s arm.
His bare arm.
His chest is pressed against my back, his breath a steady rhythm against my neck, his body a furnace at my spine. One leg is hooked over mine, caging me in. His scent—pine, smoke, wildness—wraps around me like a second skin. And his hand—broad, calloused, possessive—rests low on my stomach, just above the waistband of my trousers.
I don’t move.
Can’t.
Because something is wrong.
Something is very wrong.
I shift, just slightly, and pain flares on my shoulder—a sharp, hot throb, like a brand. My breath hitches. My fingers fly to the spot, tracing the skin beneath the torn strap of my tunic.
And then I feel it.
A ridge.
Swollen. Tender. Raised.
And beneath it—
A sigil.
Not the wolf mark on my collarbone, glowing faintly with the bond’s magic.
This is different.
This is his bite.
His teeth have broken my skin.
And the wound is still fresh.
My pulse roars in my ears. My blood turns to ice. I push his arm off me—gently, carefully—and roll onto my back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The tunic is half-undone, the bodice ripped at the shoulder, the fabric twisted around my waist. My boots are gone. My gloves. My dagger—missing.
And my memory?
Gone.
I remember the vault. The journal. Malrik’s hands around my throat. Kaelen storming in, slamming him against the wall, his voice raw with fury—She’s mine. I remember stepping back, my voice breaking—You lied to me. I remember him grabbing my face, his eyes blazing silver, his breath hot on my lips—
And then—
Nothing.
No kiss.
No touch.
No sound.
Just blackness.
And now I’m here.
Half-naked.
In his bed.
With his bite on my shoulder.
No.
No, no, no—
This isn’t right. This isn’t possible. The claiming ritual isn’t for days. The public bite hasn’t happened. The council hasn’t sanctioned it. And even if they had—
Would he have done it like this?
In the dark?
In secret?
Without my consent?
I sit up slowly, my body aching in ways I don’t want to name. My muscles are sore. My skin is hypersensitive. My thighs tremble. And between them—
I press a hand to my stomach, bile rising in my throat.
Did we—?
No. I’d know. I’d feel it. The loss, the pain, the shift in the bond. And I don’t. Not that. Not yet.
But the bite—
The bite is real.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold stone. My head spins. My vision blurs. The bond hums, a low, insistent pulse in my chest, tugging at me, pulling me back toward him. I ignore it. Stumble to my feet. Stagger to the polished obsidian wall—my makeshift mirror—and turn.
And there it is.
Clear. Unmistakable.
A crescent-shaped wound on my left shoulder, just above the bond mark. Swollen. Red. Oozing faintly. And around it—
A sigil.
Not glowing. Not magical.
But there.
Carved into my skin by fangs.
His fangs.
My breath comes in ragged gasps. My hands tremble. I press my palm to the wound—
And a flash hits me.
Heat. Darkness. His mouth on my neck. Teeth scraping. A moan—mine—ripping from my throat. His voice, low, rough, whispering my name like a prayer. “Sage… mine…”
I stagger back, slamming into the wall.
It wasn’t a dream.
It was a memory.
We were here. In this room. After the vault. After the kiss. I remember now—fragments, broken, hazy. He carried me back, his arms tight around me, his voice in my ear—Let me keep you safe. Let me keep you. I was shaking. Crying. And he held me. Kissed me. Stripped off my tunic. Pressed me into the bed.
And then—
I begged him.
Not to stop.
But to mark me.
“Do it,” I whispered. “Claim me. Make them see. Make them know.”
And he hesitated.
“Not like this,” he said. “Not in the dark. Not without the ritual.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I want it. I want you. I want the world to know I’m yours.”
And then—
He did.
His teeth sank into my shoulder.
And I came.
Not from touch. Not from penetration.
From the bite.
From the bond sealing deeper, from the magic flaring, from the raw, animal possession of it.
And then—
Darkness.
I passed out.
And he—
He stayed.
He held me through the night.
And now—
Now I’m awake.
And the truth is worse than I thought.
Not because he took something from me.
But because I gave it to him.
Freely.
Willingly.
And that terrifies me more than any lie, any betrayal, any threat.
Because it means I’m losing the war.
And I don’t even care.
I press my forehead to the cool stone, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My fingers trace the bite—pain and pleasure mixing, heat pooling low in my belly. I should be furious. Should be screaming. Should be tearing the sheets, breaking the furniture, demanding answers.
But I’m not.
I’m trembling.
Not from fear.
From want.
From the memory of his mouth on my skin. From the sound of his voice. From the way his body felt above mine, inside me—
No.
I stop the thought.
I can’t go there.
Not yet.
Because if I do—
If I let myself feel it—
I’ll never be able to hate him again.
And I need to hate him.
I need to.
For my mother.
For my mission.
For my soul.
I push off the wall and move to the stone chest, pulling out a clean tunic, my hands shaking. I dress quickly, lacing the bodice tight, covering the bite, hiding it from the world. My gloves. My boots. My dagger—there, on the chest, cleaned, sharpened, waiting.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Precise.
Three raps.
My breath catches.
Not Kaelen.
He wouldn’t knock.
He’d just enter.
Claim me again.
No.
This is—
“Enter,” I say, voice steady.
The door opens.
And she walks in.
Lira.
Her dark hair is loose, cascading over one shoulder. Her gown is crimson, slit to the thigh, hugging her curves like a second skin. And on her left hand—
A ring.
Not just any ring.
His ring.
The Alpha’s signet—black onyx set in silver wolf’s teeth. Worn only by the mate of the Northern Alpha. A symbol of ownership. Of legitimacy.
And she’s wearing it.
Smirking.
“Sage,” she purrs, stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind her. “You look… ravaged.”
My fingers tighten around my dagger.
“Get out,” I say, voice low.
She laughs, light, mocking. “Oh, don’t be like that. I just came to offer my congratulations.” She lifts her hand, flashing the ring. “I heard you and Kaelen had quite the night.”
My breath hitches.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” She steps closer, her hips swaying, her scent—jasmine and blood—clashing with Kaelen’s lingering musk. “I’ve been waiting for him to mark me for years. And now you—hybrid, unstable, reckless—get it in the dark, like a secret? How… pathetic.”
“He didn’t mark me,” I say, but my voice wavers. “Not officially.”
“Oh, but he did.” She smiles, slow, cruel. “I can smell it. The bond is deeper. The magic is different. You’re his now. Whether the council likes it or not.”
My stomach drops.
Because she’s right.
The bond is deeper.
Stronger.
And if she can smell it—
Then so can everyone else.
“And the ring?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Did he give you that too?”
She laughs. “No. But he will. Soon. After the claiming ritual. After he realizes you’re not what he needs.” She steps even closer, so close I can see the malice in her eyes. “You think he loves you? You think he chose you? He didn’t. The bond did. And bonds can be broken. Rewritten. Replaced.”
“He won’t replace me.”
“Won’t he?” She tilts her head. “He fed me his blood once, you know. Three nights. In the war room. He was injured. I offered myself. He didn’t refuse.”
My breath stops.
“Liar,” I whisper.
But the truth-seeker’s sigil behind my ear—
It doesn’t flare.
It stays silent.
Because she’s not lying.
Not completely.
He did drink from her.
Once.
Years ago.
And now she’s twisting it into something more.
Into a claim.
Into a threat.
“Ask him,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper. “Go on. Ask him if I’m lying. Ask him if he’s ever tasted another woman’s blood. Ask him if he’s ever let another woman wear his ring.”
My hands tremble.
“You’re trying to break me,” I say.
“No.” She smiles. “I’m just showing you the truth. That you’re not special. That you’re not chosen. That you’re just another woman who thinks she can tame the Alpha-King.” She steps back, turning toward the door. “And when he discards you—when he marks me in front of the council, in front of the world—remember this moment. Remember how you thought you could win.”
She opens the door.
And pauses.
“Oh,” she says, glancing back. “One more thing.”
I don’t answer.
“You’re not the only one he’s marked.” She lifts her hair, revealing the nape of her neck.
And there—
Faint. Faded.
But unmistakable.
A bite.
Old.
Healed.
But his.
My breath stops.
My vision blurs.
And then—
She’s gone.
Leaving only the echo of her laughter and the scent of her lies.
I don’t move.
Can’t.
Because the room is spinning.
The bond is screaming.
And my heart—
My heart is breaking.
Did he?
Did he really feed from her?
Did he really mark her?
And if he did—
What does that make me?
Not his mate.
Not his queen.
Just another woman in a long line of conquests.
Another pawn in his game.
Another body to be used and discarded.
I press my hand to my shoulder, to the fresh bite, to the magic still humming beneath my skin.
And for the first time since I walked into the Spire—
I feel it.
The crack.
The fracture.
The bond, for the first time, feels fragile.
Like glass.
Like it could shatter.
And if it does—
I’ll die.
But worse—
I’ll have died for a lie.
I don’t know how long I stand there.
Minutes?
Hours?
The dawn bleeds into morning. The light shifts. The bond hums, restless, pulling at me, urging me to find him, to touch him, to believe.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
Because I need to know.
Need to hear it from his lips.
Need to see his eyes when I ask—
Did you feed from her?
Did you mark her?
Am I just another woman to you?
The door opens.
I don’t turn.
Don’t have to.
I know his presence. Know his scent. Know the way my body reacts—heart stuttering, breath catching, skin burning.
“Sage.”
His voice.
Low.
Rough.
Like gravel and smoke.
I turn.
He stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the morning light, his silver eyes locked on mine. His hair is tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his chest bare beneath an open black tunic. He looks like a man who hasn’t slept. Like a man who’s been fighting.
And in his hand—
Her ring.
Not on his finger.
Not on hers.
But in his palm.
Crushed.
Shattered.
Black onyx in pieces. Silver wolf’s teeth bent and broken.
And his knuckles—
Bloody.
I stare at it.
At him.
And then—
“You gave it to her,” I say, voice hollow.
He doesn’t deny it.
Just steps forward, slow, deliberate, his boots striking the stone with finality.
“No,” he says. “I took it back.”
My breath hitches.
“She said you fed from her. That you marked her. That you—”
“I drank from her,” he interrupts, voice low. “Once. Years ago. After a battle. I was injured. She offered. I didn’t refuse. But I didn’t take. And I didn’t mark her.”
“Then what is that?” I gesture to her neck, my voice breaking. “The bite—”
“A scratch,” he says. “From a political meeting. She got too close. I warned her. She didn’t listen.”
“And the ring?”
“She stole it.” His voice turns dangerous. “From my war room. Wore it to humiliate you. To break you.”
My breath hitches.
“And did she?” he asks, stepping closer. “Did she break you?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because the truth is—
She almost did.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do.
And in his eyes—no mockery. No cruelty. Just fury. Raw. Unfiltered. And something else.
Regret.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he says, voice rough. “I didn’t want you to see the bite. I should’ve told you. Should’ve prepared you. But I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid you’d think I took something from you. That I claimed you in the dark because I couldn’t wait. But I didn’t.” He steps closer, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing my cheek. “You asked me. You begged me. You said you wanted the world to know you were mine.”
My breath hitches.
“And I said no. At first. Because I wanted it to be real. To be public. To be yours on your terms.” His voice drops. “But you were crying. Shaking. And all you wanted was to be mine. So I gave you what you asked for.”
Tears burn behind my eyes.
“And the ring?” I whisper.
“I’ll never give it to her.” His voice is a vow. “I’ll never give it to anyone but you.”
And then—
He drops to one knee.
Right there. On the cold stone. Blood on his knuckles. Broken silver in his palm.
And he holds it out to me.
Not the ring.
The pieces.
“I’ll forge a new one,” he says, voice raw. “With my blood. With your magic. With the truth of what we are. And when I give it to you—when I mark you in front of the council, in front of the world—it will be because you chose me. Not because the bond demanded it. Not because the council ordered it. But because you want to be mine.”
My breath stops.
My heart stutters.
And then—
Tears fall.
Hot. Silent. Unstoppable.
Because for the first time—
I believe him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of magic.
But because of the blood on his knuckles.
Because of the shattered ring.
Because of the man on his knees, offering me not power.
But trust.
And in that moment—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
Lira still a viper.
The council still a prison.
But I’m not fighting alone.
And I’m not just a weapon.
I’m not just a pawn.
I’m not just a hybrid.
I’m Sage of the Moonblood line.
And I am his.
And he is mine.
I step forward.
Take the broken silver.
And I don’t say yes.
I don’t say no.
I just lean down—
And kiss him.
Not furious.
Not desperate.
Not aching.
But soft.
Slow.
And full of something I haven’t felt in years.
Hope.
And when I pull back, I whisper—
“Prove it.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just stands.
Takes my hand.
And leads me to the bed.
Not to claim me.
Not to mark me.
But to hold me.
And for the first time—
I let him.