The kiss should have changed everything.
It was brutal. It was desperate. It was the first time I hadn’t pulled away when Cassian touched me—when the bond flared, when the heat surged, when my body *knew* him in a way my mind refused to accept. I’d kissed him back. Hard. Hungry. Like I was starving and he was the only thing that could feed me.
And then he’d walked away.
Just like that.
No words. No explanation. Just a low, raw, “You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed,” before vanishing into the shadows of the training yard, leaving me pressed against the stone wall, my lips swollen, my breath ragged, my thighs slick with need.
I stood there for a long time, trembling.
Not from cold.
From the aftershock. From the way my body still hummed with the memory of his mouth, his hands, the hard press of his body against mine. From the way the bond pulsed beneath my skin, not in pain, not in fire—but in *satisfaction*, like a beast that had finally tasted its mate.
I hated it.
I hated *him*.
And worse—I hated that I *wanted* him.
I forced myself to move. Back to my chambers. To the knife in my corset, the poison in my hem, the scrap of ledger with Mira’s name. I needed focus. Needed clarity. Needed to remember that Cassian wasn’t just the man who had kissed me—he was the king who sat on the throne that had killed my mother. The symbol of everything I’d sworn to destroy.
But every step I took, the bond flared. A slow, insistent throb. A reminder.
He was close. Too close. And the arch between our rooms—*alive*, pulsing—only made it worse.
I avoided it. Stayed on my side. Slept with my back to the wall, as far from the threshold as I could get. But even in sleep, the bond reached for me. Dreams of fire. Of his hands on my skin. Of his mouth on my neck. Of him *claiming* me in ways I couldn’t name, couldn’t resist.
By morning, I was raw. Edges frayed. Temper short. The ache between my thighs a constant, shameful companion.
And then the storm came.
—
It began at dusk.
Not a natural storm. Not rain or wind. This was magic—wild, untamed, boiling up from the ley lines beneath Elderglen. The sky turned the color of bruised flesh, thick with swirling violet clouds that crackled with raw energy. The trees bent like supplicants. The thorns shrieked as they writhed against the stone.
And the bond—*screamed*.
I felt it the moment the first bolt of lightning split the sky. A jolt through my spine, a surge of heat so intense I gasped, doubling over in the middle of my chambers. My skin burned. My blood sang. My pulse roared in my ears. Between my thighs—*wet*, aching, *needing*.
I stumbled to the archway, pressing a hand to the pulsing vines. The connection between us—between *me and Cassian*—was no longer a whisper. It was a roar.
The storm was amplifying it. Feeding it. Turning the slow burn into a wildfire.
I tried to retreat. But the door to my chambers—locked. Sealed by magic. The windows—fused shut. The hearth—blazing to life, flames twisting into shapes that looked too much like *hands*, like *mouths*.
Trapped.
And then—movement.
The door to Cassian’s chambers burst open.
He stood there.
Barefoot. Shirtless. His coat discarded, his hair wild around his face. Moonlight caught the scars on his back, the hard lines of his abdomen, the way his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. His gold eyes—blazing, feral—locked onto mine.
“The storm,” he said, voice rough. “It’s triggering the bond. We need to stabilize it.”
“Then undo it,” I snapped, backing away. “Break the connection.”
“I can’t.” He stepped forward. “Not like this. Not without ritual. And not without *you*.”
“Then I’ll die before I let you touch me again.”
He didn’t flinch. Just watched me, his expression unreadable. “You won’t die. You’ll go mad first. And when the bond demands union, you’ll beg me to take you.”
Fire flooded my face.
“I’d rather burn.”
“Then burn.” He moved fast—too fast. One moment he was across the room, the next he had my wrist, pulling me toward the arch. “But not alone.”
I fought. Kicked. Twisted. But he was stronger. Immortal. Fae. And the bond—*alive*, *hungry*—worked against me, weakening my limbs, clouding my thoughts, making me *want* what I should fear.
We crossed the threshold together.
And the world *exploded*.
Not fire this time.
*Lightning*.
It ripped through me, molten and electric, surging from the point of contact straight to my core. My breath punched out of me. My knees buckled. I would have fallen if he hadn’t held me upright.
Heat. So much heat. My skin burned. My blood sang. My pulse roared in my ears, a drumbeat of pure, animal need. Between my thighs—*wet*. Aching. My nipples tightened against the fabric of my gown, sensitive, throbbing.
And worse—*him*. I could *feel* him. Not just his hand on my wrist. His thoughts, his hunger, his cold, controlled rage. A flicker of shock. A surge of something darker—*desire*, raw and unchecked. It slammed into me like a fist.
“We need to go to the Healing Chamber,” he said, voice strained. “Now.”
“No.” I wrenched my hand back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
But the storm answered for me.
A crack of thunder. A surge of magic. The walls of the royal wing groaned as the thorns *moved*, twisting, coiling, blocking every exit. The only path left—downward. Into the lower levels. Toward the Healing Chamber.
Cassian didn’t wait. He grabbed my hand again—bare skin to bare skin—and pulled.
The bond *screamed*.
—
The Healing Chamber was a cavern of living stone, its walls lined with glowing moss and veins of pulsing sap. At its center stood a circular dais of black marble, etched with sigils that flared to life as we entered. The air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and something deeper—*blood magic*.
Cassian released me the moment we crossed the threshold, but the bond didn’t let go. It pulsed between us, a live wire, feeding on proximity, on breath, on the way our bodies *knew* each other.
“Sit,” he said, nodding to the dais.
“No.”
“Seraphina.” His voice was low. Warned. “The storm is feeding the bond. If we don’t stabilize it, it’ll consume us. We’ll lose control. We’ll—”
“Die?” I snapped. “Good. Maybe then I’ll be free of you.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” I stepped back, pressing a hand to my chest. “You think I want this? This *curse*? This *claim*? You think I want to feel you in my blood, in my bones, in the space between my *thighs*?”
He flinched.
Just once.
But I saw it.
And then—
The storm hit.
Not outside.
*Inside*.
A wave of magic, raw and unfiltered, surged through the chamber. The sigils on the dais flared. The moss glowed. And the bond—*exploded*.
I screamed.
Not from pain.
From *need*.
It crashed into me like a tidal wave—heat, hunger, *desperation*. My body arched. My back hit the wall. My thighs clenched, slick with sudden, shameful wetness. I could *feel* him—his pulse, his breath, the way his cock was hard beneath his trousers, the way his hands trembled with the effort to *not* touch me.
And then he was there.
Not on the dais.
Not standing.
On his knees.
Before me.
“Look at me,” he growled.
I did.
His gold eyes—blazing, feral—locked onto mine. His breath came in ragged bursts. His hands gripped my hips, not to pull, not to push—but to *hold*.
“This isn’t about control,” he said, voice rough. “It’s about *survival*. The bond—it’s not just magic. It’s *alive*. And it’s *hungry*.”
“Then let it starve,” I whispered.
“I can’t.” He leaned in, his breath warm against my neck. “And neither can you.”
And then—
He pressed his forehead to my stomach.
Just that. Just contact. Just skin to skin.
And the bond—*screamed*.
I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders. Not to push. Not to fight.
To *hold on*.
My body betrayed me. Arching into him. Thighs parting. Heat pooling low in my belly. My breath came in ragged gasps. My heart pounded. My nipples tightened against the fabric of my gown, sensitive, aching.
And then—
He moved.
One hand slid up my side, slow, deliberate, until it rested just beneath my breast. The other gripped my hip, pulling me forward, until I was straddling his thigh.
“No,” I breathed.
But I didn’t move.
Didn’t pull away.
Just *felt*.
The hard muscle of his thigh pressing against my core. The heat of him. The way my body *knew* him, *craved* him, even as my mind screamed to run.
“You’re wet,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Dripping for me.”
“Liar,” I whispered.
But I was. And worse—he *knew*.
His hand slid higher, until his thumb brushed the peak of my breast through the fabric. A jolt of pleasure shot through me. My breath hitched. My hips rocked forward, seeking friction.
“You want this,” he said. “You want *me*.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
He pressed his thigh harder against me, and I *moaned*, the sound low, desperate, *shameful*. My hands fisted in his hair. My hips rocked. My body moved of its own accord, grinding against him, seeking release, seeking *him*.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not like in the training yard.
Not brutal.
Not angry.
*Slow*.
Soft. Deep. A claiming, not a conquest. His mouth moved over mine, coaxing, demanding, *devouring*. One hand slid up my back, pulling me closer, until our bodies were flush. The other stayed between my thighs, his thigh pressing against my core, giving me just enough friction to drive me insane.
I kissed him back.
Hard. Desperate. *Hungry*.
My body arched into his. My hips rocked. My breath came in ragged gasps. The bond—*screaming*, *pulsing*, *alive*—fed on every touch, every breath, every unspoken *want*.
I was losing myself.
And I didn’t care.
His hand slid down, gripping my ass, pulling me harder against him. I moaned into his mouth, my fingers digging into his shoulders. The heat between us was unbearable. My skin burned. My blood sang. My pulse roared in my ears.
And then—
My gown tore.
Not by magic.
By *teeth*.
He bit through the fabric, his mouth moving to my neck, his teeth scraping over my pulse point. I gasped, my back arching. His tongue followed, hot and wet, and I *whimpered*, the sound low, desperate, *shameful*.
“Say it,” he growled against my skin. “Say you want me.”
“No.”
He bit down—*hard*—and I *screamed*, the sound echoing through the chamber.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“I—”
And then—
The door exploded open.
Assassins flooded in—hooded, armed, moving fast. Blades flashed. Magic crackled. The sigils on the dais flared, reacting to the intrusion.
Cassian moved like lightning.
He shoved me behind him, his body shielding mine. Blood already dripped from his palm—where he’d cut it to activate his thorn magic. Vines erupted from the stone, wrapping around the attackers, *squeezing*, *crushing*, *killing*.
I stumbled back, gasping, my body still humming with need, my thighs slick, my lips swollen.
The moment was gone.
The bond—still pulsing, still *hungry*—would have to wait.
But as I watched Cassian fight, his body moving like a weapon, his eyes blazing with fury, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
This wasn’t just a mission anymore.
This wasn’t just vengeance.
This was *war*.
And I was no longer sure which side I was on.
Outside, the storm raged.
And somewhere, deep in the heart of the city, a wolf howled.
The full moon was coming.
And the bond was growing stronger.