The mark on my neck burned like a brand.
Not pain—no, that would have been easier to bear. This was *pleasure*. Deep, insidious, curling through my veins like smoke, pooling low in my belly, between my thighs. Every breath sent a pulse of heat radiating from the sigil—a thorned rose, glowing faintly beneath the skin, a public declaration of possession. *He claimed me.* Not in secret. Not in shadow. But under moonlight, before the entire court, with thorns drawn from his own flesh.
I pressed a hand to it, fingers trembling. The skin was warm. Sensitive. And beneath the surface—*alive*. The bond, though broken in truth, still pulsed, responding to proximity, to touch, to the way Cassian stood beside me now, silent, watchful, his presence a wall of heat and power.
He hadn’t spoken since marking me. Hadn’t touched me again. Just stood at my side like a sentinel, his gold eyes scanning the crowd, his jaw tight, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. I could feel him—his breath, his pulse, the way his magic hummed just beneath the surface, a low, dangerous thrum.
And I could feel *us*.
Not as lovers. Not as enemies.
As *siblings*.
The word still didn’t sit right. It felt like a lie, even though it was the truth. How could I call him brother when my body still remembered the press of his thigh between my legs, the heat of his mouth on my neck, the way my blood had *screamed* for him in the Healing Chamber? How could I stand beside him, knowing we shared the same mother, the same blood, the same curse—and not want to tear his clothes off and ride him until we both forgot our names?
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. This wasn’t desire. This was magic. The Blood Concordance wasn’t gone. It was *changing*. Adapting. Feeding on the truth instead of the lie. And if it wasn’t stopped—
“You’re thinking too loud,” Cassian murmured, not looking at me.
I didn’t answer. Just stared ahead, where the Fae nobles glided across the mossy floor, their laughter sharp, their eyes hungry. Veylan stood near the edge of the garden, speaking in low tones with a vampire elder, his serpent’s smile never wavering. And Lirien—
She was gone.
But her words remained.
“He’s marked me too. Deeper. Longer.”
I swallowed. The mark on my neck throbbed, as if in response.
—
The ball ended in silence.
No grand farewell. No final dance. Just a slow dispersal, the nobles vanishing into the silver trees like ghosts, their whispers trailing behind them like poison. Kaelen appeared at the edge of the garden, silent as shadow, his golden eyes glinting in the half-light. He didn’t speak. Just nodded, then fell into step behind us as we returned to the royal wing.
The corridors felt narrower now. The thorns on the vines twitched as we passed, their barbs glistening like wet teeth. The air hummed with magic, thick with the scent of sap and decay. And the bond—
It wasn’t fading.
It was *feeding*.
I could feel it—this thin, fragile thread between us, thrumming with something deeper than magic. Blood. Truth. History. And beneath it—*hunger*. Not for food. Not for sleep. But for *him*. For the heat of his skin, the taste of his breath, the way his body moved like liquid under his clothes.
I pressed a hand to my chest, where the sigil on my hand still pulsed faintly. The one on my neck burned hotter, a constant, insistent reminder. I hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t wanted it. But it was mine now. His mark. His claim. And no matter how many times I told myself we were siblings, my body refused to believe it.
We reached the archway between our chambers. The vines pulsed, their glow dimmed in the pale light filtering through the silver vines above. Cassian stopped, turning to me.
“You should rest,” he said, voice low. “The bond is still unstable. It’ll be stronger tomorrow.”
“And if I don’t rest?”
“Then it’ll take what it wants.”
I met his gaze. “And what does it want?”
His eyes darkened. “You know.”
And I did.
Not union. Not penetration. Not even climax.
Just *touch*.
Skin to skin. Breath to breath. Blood to blood.
The ritual didn’t require passion. It required *completion*. And if we didn’t give it what it needed, it would take it by force.
“Then I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, stepping into my room.
He didn’t answer. Just watched me, his expression unreadable, before turning and walking into his chambers. The door groaned shut behind him.
I didn’t sleep.
—
The next morning, I woke with the bond humming beneath my skin like a second pulse.
Not fire. Not need. But *awareness*. A thread, thin and fragile, connecting me to him. I could feel him—his breath, his pulse, the way his body moved just slightly ahead of mine, like he was leading, not following. And when I pressed a hand to the mark on my neck, it *throbbed*, a hot, insistent pulse, like a heartbeat not my own.
I dressed quickly—black silk, high collar, sleeves to the wrist. No temptation. No provocation. The knife was back in my corset. The poison, sewn into the hem. The scrap of ledger with Mira’s name tucked into a hidden pocket over my heart.
I was not here to be broken.
I was here to break *him*.
And the throne.
And the lies.
—
I found her in the Moon Garden, where the Truth-Sense Ceremony had been held.
Lirien stood beneath a silver tree, its weeping light casting her in pale glow. Dressed in a gown of liquid mercury, it clung to her like water, revealing the curve of her hip, the slope of her shoulder. Her bone-white hair was loose, falling over one breast. And on her hand—the ring. Still there. Still *worn*.
She smiled when she saw me. Slow. Sharp. Like a blade sliding between ribs.
“Seraphina D’Lune,” she purred. “Or should I say… *sister*?”
I didn’t flinch. “Lirien. I didn’t know you still had access to the royal chambers.”
Her smile widened. “I have access to *everything* he’s ever touched.”
She stepped closer, her heels silent on the moss. “You think you’re special? That the bond makes you unique? That *he* sees you?”
“He sees the truth,” I said. “And the truth is, you’re nothing to him.”
She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell her—jasmine and venom, just like before. “Truth? You mean the lie he told you about being siblings? How convenient. How *convenient* that the moment he starts to burn for you, he discovers you’re family.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “I’ve felt his hands on me. His mouth. His *teeth*. I’ve worn his ring. I’ve bled for him. I’ve *screamed* his name in the dark.”
She pulled back, smiling. “And you? You’re a *novelty*. A pawn. A distraction. When the summit ends, he’ll discard you like all the others.”
“And you?” I asked, turning to face her. “Will he keep you? Or have you already been discarded?”
Her smile faltered.
Just for a second.
But I saw it. The crack in the mask. The flicker of something raw—*hurt*.
And then it was gone.
“You think you’re clever,” she said, voice icy. “But you’re *nothing*. A half-breed with a stolen name and a borrowed face. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong *near* him.”
“Neither do you,” I said. “Not if he’s betrothed to me.”
“Betrothed?” She laughed—a sound like shattering glass. “A political farce. A *game*. He doesn’t *want* you. He’s using you. Just like he used me. Just like he’ll use every woman who dares to look at him with those *hungry* eyes.”
“Then why are you still here?” I asked. “If he’s used you, discarded you—why do you wear his ring? Why do you linger in his shadow?”
She stepped closer. “Because I know what he is. What he *needs*. And when the bond demands its price—when he’s desperate, when he’s *weak*—he’ll come back to me.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll make sure you’re gone before he has the chance.”
Then she turned, about to walk away—
And stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the collar of her gown.
And pulled it down.
Revealing her shoulder.
And there—
A bite mark.
Not faint. Not glamoured.
*Real*.
Deep. Jagged. The edges still pink, the center a dark, healing bruise. It looked fresh. Recent. As if it had been made only hours ago.
My breath stopped.
She smiled, slow and victorious. “He *bit* me, Seraphina. Not in passion. Not in rage. In *claiming*. He fed me his blood. He let me wear his ring. He *marked* me.”
“Liar,” I whispered.
“Am I?” She turned her neck, revealing another mark, just below her ear. “Or are you just afraid to admit that he chose me long before he ever saw you?”
“He wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he?” She stepped closer, her breath warm against my ear. “Ask him. Go ahead. Ask him if he’s ever bitten you. If he’s ever fed you his blood. If he’s ever let you wear his ring.”
She pulled back, smiling. “And when he says no—when he lies to protect you—remember this: I was here first. I was *his* first. And I will be his *last*.”
Then she was gone, vanishing into the silver trees like mist.
I stood there, trembling.
Not from fear.
From rage.
And something else—something I didn’t want to name.
Jealousy.
I clenched my fists. I didn’t care about her. Didn’t care about her ring, her blood, her *screams*. Cassian was a target. A symbol. A means to an end.
And yet—
I looked down at my hand. The mark still pulsed, faint but undeniable.
And between my thighs, the ache returned.
—
I found him in the training yard.
He was shirtless, sweat-slicked, his muscles moving like liquid under his skin as he sparred with Kaelen. A wooden staff in each hand, they moved in a blur of strikes and blocks, their movements too fast for mortal eyes. The air crackled with magic. The bond flared the moment I stepped onto the stone, a surge of heat that made my knees weak.
Cassian saw me.
He didn’t stop. Just fought harder, faster, his gold eyes blazing as he disarmed Kaelen with a single, brutal twist.
“You’re late,” Kaelen said, tossing his staff aside.
“Distracted,” Cassian replied, voice rough.
He turned to me, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His chest rose and falls, his scars gleaming in the sun. The bond *pulsed*, a molten wave crashing through me.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“Later.”
“Now.”
He exhaled, then nodded to Kaelen. “Dismissed.”
Kaelen shot me a look—something unreadable—before vanishing into the shadows.
Cassian stepped toward me, his presence pressing against me like a wall. “What is it?”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for the collar of my gown.
And pulled it down.
Revealing the mark on my neck—the thorned rose, glowing faintly beneath the skin.
“This,” I said, voice low. “Is your claim. Your mark. Your *truth*.”
He didn’t flinch. Just watched me, his expression unreadable.
“And Lirien’s?” I asked. “What about *her* mark?”
His eyes narrowed. “Lirien?”
“Don’t play innocent. I saw it. On her shoulder. A bite mark. Deep. Fresh. As if it was made last night.”
He didn’t deny it. Just watched me, his jaw tight.
“Did you bite her?” I asked, voice breaking. “Did you feed her your blood? Did you let her wear your ring?”
He stepped closer. “She’s been trying to get there for centuries. Wears my shirt like a trophy. Leaves bite marks she faked with glamour.”
“And this?” I pressed a finger to the mark on my neck. “This isn’t glamour. This is *real*.”
“So is mine,” he said, voice low. “But not on *her*.”
“Then where?”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached for the hem of his trousers.
And pulled them down.
Just enough.
Revealing his hip.
And there—
A bite mark.
Not on her.
On *him*.
Deep. Jagged. The edges still pink, the center a dark, healing bruise.
My breath stopped.
“He bit *you*?” I gasped.
Cassian shook his head. “No.”
And then—
He lifted his shirt.
Revealing his chest.
And there—
Another bite mark.
On his collarbone.
And another.
On his shoulder.
And another.
On his neck.
All of them fresh. All of them real.
“No,” I whispered. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” he said, voice rough. “But not from her.”
“Then who—?”
He stepped closer, his gold eyes blazing. “*You*.”
My breath punched out of me.
“Me?”
“In the Healing Chamber. When the storm hit. When the bond flared. You were on top of me. Your mouth was on my neck. Your teeth—*bit down*.”
I staggered back. “No. I wouldn’t—”
“You did.” He touched the mark, his fingers trembling. “And it wasn’t pain. It was *claiming*. You marked me, Seraphina. Not as a lover. Not as a mate. But as *family*.”
My vision blurred.
Not just a memory.
A *truth*.
I had bitten him.
In the heat of the storm. In the desperation of the bond. In the fire between us.
And I had *claimed* him.
“So she lied,” I whispered.
“She always does,” he said. “But the real question is—do you believe me?”
I looked at the marks on his skin. At the way his breath trembled. At the way his hand still hovered over the bite on his neck, as if it still burned.
And then—
I reached out.
And touched it.
Just a fingertip.
And the bond—
It didn’t flare.
It *roared*.
Outside, the wind stirred the thorns.
And somewhere, deep in the heart of the city, a wolf howled.
The full moon was coming.
And I was no longer sure which of us was the hunter.
And which was the prey.