The fever broke at dawn.
Not with relief, but with shame.
I woke tangled in Kaelen’s sheets, his scent embedded in the fabric, my body still humming from the night’s forced intimacy. His heat lingered on my skin, a phantom touch that made my thighs clench and my breath catch. I hadn’t dreamed this time—just felt. His hands. His chest. The way my hips had rocked against his without permission. The way I’d whispered *“I need—”* before he stopped me.
Again.
Always.
He hadn’t touched me beyond what the bond required. No kiss. No caress. No claim. Just skin to skin, heart to heart, a cruel mimicry of closeness that left me aching for something deeper, something *real.*
And that was the worst part.
Not the fever. Not the bond. Not even the fact that I was now trapped in his quarters, forced to share his space, his bed, his damn *air.*
It was that I *wanted* him to claim me.
Wanted it with a desperation that terrified me.
I threw off the covers and stumbled to the washbasin, splashing cold water on my face until my skin burned. I scrubbed my arms, my neck, my collarbone—everywhere his hands had been—as if I could erase the memory of his touch. But it was useless. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a constant reminder that no matter how much I fought, my body knew the truth.
I wanted him.
And wanting him made me weak.
I pulled on a simple black tunic and trousers, strapping my dagger to my thigh. My glamour was gone, my cover blown. But I still had my mission. My revenge. And if I was going to survive long enough to see Prince Virell pay for what he did, I needed information.
The vampire archives.
Hidden beneath the eastern wing, guarded by blood wards and shifters loyal to the Council. It was a suicide mission. But I’d walked into worse.
Kaelen was already awake, standing by the hearth, stoking the fire into embers. He didn’t turn when I entered the room. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, broad-shouldered, silent, his presence pressing against my skin like a physical weight.
“I’m going out,” I said, voice flat.
He finally turned, his ember-bright eyes scanning me—my dagger, my stance, the set of my jaw. “Where?”
“None of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business now,” he said, stepping closer. “The bond ties us. Your actions affect me. Your enemies become mine.”
“Then maybe you should’ve thought of that before you forced me into this.”
“I didn’t force you,” he corrected. “The bond did. And you keep coming to me. Every night. Every fever. You *choose* to survive.”
“Survival isn’t surrender,” I snapped.
“No,” he agreed. “But it’s a start.”
I turned to leave, but he moved fast—wolf-fast—cutting me off before I reached the door. His body filled the space, blocking my path, his scent wrapping around me like a cage.
“You’re lying,” he said, voice low. “I can smell it. Your pulse jumps. Your breath hitches. You’re planning something dangerous.”
“And if I am?” I challenged, lifting my chin. “What will you do? Lock me in here? Chain me to your bed?”
His eyes darkened. “Tempting. But no. I’ll walk with you. Watch you. Protect you.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“You do,” he said. “Because if you die, I burn with you. And I’m not ready to die for a woman who won’t even admit she wants me.”
My breath caught. He saw it. Of course he did. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips.
“Go,” he said, stepping aside. “But I’m coming with you.”
I wanted to argue. To draw my dagger and fight my way past him. But the truth was, I couldn’t afford a scene. Not yet. Not when every second counted.
So I walked out, head high, Kaelen at my heels like a shadow.
The corridors were quiet this early, the torchlight casting long, flickering shadows on the stone walls. We passed a few servants—vampires in gray livery, fae with thorned circlets—bowing their heads as we passed. No one spoke. No one dared.
Kaelen D’Morn inspired silence.
And fear.
Good.
Let them fear him. Maybe they’d fear me too.
We reached the eastern wing without incident. The vampire archives were sealed behind a heavy iron door etched with blood sigils—only those with Council clearance could enter. But I wasn’t here to *enter.*
I was here to *hack.*
Witches didn’t need keys. We needed blood, breath, and a little chaos.
I pressed my palm to the door, whispering the incantation under my breath—*“Sanguis aperit, spiritus furat, veritas revelat.”* Blood opens, breath steals, truth reveals.
The sigils flared red. The door shuddered.
“What are you doing?” Kaelen’s voice was a low growl in my ear.
“Getting what I came for,” I said, focusing on the spell. “Stay back.”
“You’re breaking into the archives?” His hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me away from the door. “Are you insane? If the wards trigger, the entire wing will be on us.”
“Then help me disable them,” I snapped, yanking my wrist free. “Or get out of my way.”
He stared at me, his jaw tight, his eyes burning. “You’re not here to serve the Court. You’re here to destroy it.”
Ice flooded my veins. *He knows.*
But I didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Just met his gaze, unblinking. “And if I am? What will you do? Turn me in? Let them execute me?”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped back, arms crossed, watching me like a predator waiting for the kill.
“Fine,” I said. “Watch. But don’t touch me again.”
I pressed my palm back to the door, pouring more magic into the spell. The sigils flickered, then dimmed. A soft click echoed through the corridor.
The lock was disabled.
I reached for the handle—
And Kaelen moved.
One second he was behind me. The next, he had me pinned against the door, his body pressing me into the cold iron, one hand gripping both my wrists above my head, the other braced beside my face. His breath was hot on my neck. His chest pressed against mine. The bond flared between us, a live wire sparking under my skin.
“You’re not going in there,” he said, voice rough.
“Let me go,” I hissed, struggling against his hold. But he was stronger. Impossibly strong. My magic crackled, but the bond tethered me to him, siphoning my power, making me weaker.
“You think I don’t know what you’re after?” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “Prince Virell. The massacre. Your mother.”
My blood ran cold. “You knew.”
“I suspected,” he said. “Now I’m certain.”
“Then why haven’t you stopped me?”
He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to my lips, then my throat. “Because vengeance isn’t your purpose. It’s your wound. And I won’t let you bleed out on someone else’s altar.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I get to decide whether you live long enough to try.”
His thumb brushed over my pulse point, slow, deliberate. A jolt shot through me—pain and pleasure tangled together. My breath hitched. My body arched into his touch without permission.
“You feel it,” he said, voice dark. “The bond. The need. The way your body betrays you every time I touch you.”
“I hate you,” I whispered, but my voice trembled.
“Liar,” he said, leaning in until his lips were a breath from mine. “You don’t hate me. You’re afraid of how much you *want* me.”
And then—
A sound.
Footsteps. Fast. Heavy.
Kaelen’s head snapped toward the corridor. His grip on my wrists tightened for a second—possessive, warning—then he released me, stepping back just as two vampire guards rounded the corner.
“Alpha,” one of them said, bowing his head. “We heard a disturbance.”
Kaelen’s expression was stone. “False alarm. The witch was attempting to access the archives. I intervened.”
The guard’s eyes flicked to me—cold, assessing. “Unauthorized entry is punishable by death.”
“She’s under my protection,” Kaelen said, voice flat. “No further action will be taken.”
The guard hesitated, then nodded. “As you command.”
They left without another word.
But the damage was done.
They knew. The Council would know. My cover was gone.
Kaelen turned to me, his gaze unreadable. “You’re not ready for this fight.”
“I don’t need your protection,” I said, voice shaking. “I don’t need *you*.”
“You do,” he said. “And if you try something like this again—” he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a growl “—next time, I won’t stop at words.”
Then he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the corridor, my heart pounding, my body still humming from his touch.
I didn’t go back to the chambers.
I couldn’t. Not yet. Not when my skin still burned where he’d held me, when my pulse still raced from the nearness of his lips, when my mind still echoed with his words—*“You’re afraid of how much you want me.”*
So I walked.
Through the silent halls. Past the bloodwine fountains. Beneath the thorned chandeliers. I didn’t know where I was going. Just that I needed air. Space. Time to think.
But the Court had no mercy.
I turned a corner—and froze.
>Faelord Corin stood in the alcove, his silver hair catching the torchlight, his violet eyes locked on mine. He was young for a fae—barely two centuries—arrogant, charming, and known for his love of games. He smiled when he saw me, slow and knowing.“Sage,” he purred, stepping forward. “The Court is abuzz with your little… altercation.”
My spine stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do,” he said, circling me like a predator. “The Thorned Alpha, pinning you to a door. The way you trembled beneath his hands. The way your scent spiked with arousal.”
I didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Just kept my face blank. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the honeyed wine on his breath. “Or am I simply the only one brave enough to say what everyone’s thinking?”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re not just bound by the bond,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re *consumed* by it. By *him.*”
I laughed—cold, sharp. “You think I’m weak because I let him touch me?”
“I think you’re weak because you *want* him to.”
My dagger was in my hand before I even thought. The blade pressed to his throat, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
“Careful, fae,” I said, voice low. “Your words are a contract. One more insult, and I’ll cut out your lying tongue.”
He didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “There she is. The hunter beneath the glamour.”
Then his hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You could have power, Sage. Real power. Not just the Alpha’s leash. Not just the bond’s chains. You could be *free.*”
“And how?” I asked, not lowering the blade.
“Alliances,” he said. “Information. *Me.*”
I studied him. He was dangerous. Manipulative. But he was also connected. And if I was going to take down Virell, I needed allies.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“A favor,” he said. “In the future. When you have the power to grant it.”
“Vague.”
“Fae law,” he said with a shrug. “But I can give you something now. Proof. Prince Virell ordered the massacre. Not just to steal your coven’s magic. To *fear* them. Witches with lycan blood—uncontrollable. Unpredictable. A threat to the balance.”
My breath caught. “Proof?”
He reached into his coat, pulling out a small, bloodstained ledger. “His private records. Names. Dates. Payments to the hunters who killed your coven.”
I took it, my fingers trembling. This was it. The evidence I needed. The key to my revenge.
“Why give this to me?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Because I hate Virell,” he said simply. “And because I think you’ll burn this Court to the ground. And I want a front-row seat.”
I tucked the ledger into my belt. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“So are you,” he said, stepping back. “But at least you’re not alone.”
And then—
A growl.
Low. Dangerous. *Familiar.*
I turned.
Kaelen stood at the end of the corridor, his eyes burning, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. His gaze flicked from Corin to me, to the ledger in my belt, to the dagger still in my hand.
And then he moved.
Fast. Silent. *Deadly.*
He grabbed Corin by the throat, slamming him into the wall. “You touch her again,” he snarled, fangs bared, “and I’ll rip out your heart.”
Corin didn’t fight. Just smirked. “She’s not yours to claim, Alpha. The bond doesn’t own her.”
“No,” Kaelen agreed. “But she *will* be mine. And you? You’re nothing but a distraction.”
He threw Corin aside like trash, then turned to me, his gaze dark, possessive. “You’re done here.”
“I’m not your prisoner,” I said, lifting my chin.
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re my *mate.* And I don’t share.”
Then he grabbed my wrist and dragged me down the corridor, his grip unyielding, his presence a storm at my back.
I didn’t fight.
Not because I was weak.
But because I knew—
The game had changed.
And I was no longer just the hunter.
I was the prize.