The fire in my study had burned low by the time I returned, embers glowing like dying stars in the hearth. Midnight had passed. The keep was quiet—wolf sentries patrolling the outer walls, vampire shadows flitting between towers, fae whispers curling through the gardens. Peace. Fragile. Temporary.
I poured a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light. My knuckles ached. Not from fighting. From restraint. From carrying *her* through those halls, feeling the heat of her body pressed against mine, the way her thigh had grazed my cock when she shifted in my arms. From the scent of her—jasmine and iron, wild magic and wolf blood—flooding my senses, making my fangs press against my gums, my wolf snarling beneath my skin.
Jade.
Not Seris Vale. Not some Southern diplomat in silk and illusion. Jade. Daughter of the Forbidden Union. The only hybrid born of witch and wolf in over two centuries. The woman whose bloodline was older than the Council itself.
And now, my fated mate.
I took a slow drink, the burn in my throat grounding me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Fated bonds were myths—used by the Fae Court to manipulate politics, to bind enemies together for the sake of “balance.” I’d spent my life avoiding them, burying the half-fae blood that made me vulnerable to such magic. And yet the moment she stepped into the Grand Hall, the bond had *ignited*. Not just in my pulse, my wrist, my blood.
In my soul.
I set the glass down. My reflection in the dark window was a shadow—tall, broad, dangerous. Gold-flecked eyes that had seen too much. A face carved from stone and scars. I was Kael Blackthorn. Alpha of the Northern Packs. A man who took what he wanted, who broke what stood in his way. I didn’t need a mate. I didn’t want one.
But the bond didn’t care what I wanted.
It pulsed in my wrist—the silver sigil glowing faintly beneath my sleeve. Thorns and vines. Our sigil. And beneath it, the deeper pull: her heartbeat, her breath, her rage. I could feel her even now, across the keep, burning with fever, fighting the bond like a caged animal. I could smell her frustration, her fear, the sharp tang of her arousal beneath it all.
She thought I hadn’t noticed.
She thought I hadn’t felt it when her leg brushed my cock.
I had.
And worse—she’d liked it too.
I exhaled, running a hand over my face. This wasn’t just about politics. It wasn’t just about the Council, the Summit, the fragile peace hanging by a thread. This was personal. She’d come here to destroy me. I’d seen it in her eyes the moment our gazes locked—cold, vengeful, hunting. She believed I’d killed her sister. And she wasn’t wrong to suspect me. The world believed the Alpha of the Northern Packs capable of anything.
But I hadn’t done it.
And now, I was bound to the one person who wanted me dead.
The door creaked open.
“Alpha.” Torin stepped in, silent as a ghost, his dark eyes sharp. My second. My brother in all but blood. He carried a sealed scroll, the Council’s wax sigil unbroken.
“They moved fast,” he said, handing it to me.
I broke the seal. Scanned the contents. Then laughed—low, humorless.
“Of course they did.”
“Cohabitation order?” Torin guessed.
“Article Seven, Section Three,” I confirmed. “Fated pairs must reside in shared accommodations to ensure bond stability and prevent diplomatic incident.” I tossed the scroll onto the desk. “Effective immediately.”
“So you’re really sharing quarters with her?”
“Looks that way.”
He studied me. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I am,” I admitted. “But not about the order. About *her*.”
“The hybrid.”
“Jade.” I corrected, sharper than I meant to. “Her name is Jade.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re already using her real name.”
“She’s not who she says she is,” I said. “And I’m not blind. She came here with a mission. She’s searching for something. Or someone.”
“You think she’s after you?”
“I know she is.”
He didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Then why not expose her? Break the bond. End this before it becomes a liability.”
“Because the bond won’t break,” I said, voice low. “Not without fracturing the peace. And if war breaks out, the Council falls. The vampires take Geneva. The fae burn the borders. And the packs? They’ll tear each other apart in the chaos.”
“So you’re trapped.”
“We both are.”
He was silent for a moment. Then: “She’s dangerous.”
“So am I.”
“But you’re not fighting her.”
I turned to the window, gripping the edge of the sill. The bond pulsed—steady, insistent. I could feel her heartbeat syncing with mine, even now. Could feel the heat still burning in her blood, the way her magic flickered like a storm on the horizon.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
Because the truth was, I didn’t want to fight her.
I wanted to know her.
***
Morning came with steel-gray light and the scent of rain. I stood at the foot of the grand staircase, dressed in black leather and wolf pelt, my boots silent on the stone. Torin stood at my side, silent, watchful. The keep was already stirring—wolves moving through the halls, fae attendants arranging flowers, vampire diplomats sipping bloodwine in the solarium.
And then I felt her.
Before I saw her, before I heard her footsteps, I felt her. The bond flared—a warm pulse in my wrist, a tug in my chest. She was awake.清醒. Fighting.
And then she appeared at the top of the stairs.
Jade.
No illusion this time. She’d dropped the Seris Vale disguise. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, her skin warm with the flush of recent fever, her eyes—deep, storm-gray, blazing with defiance—locked onto mine.
She wore a simple black dress, high-collared, long-sleeved, but it did nothing to hide the curve of her hips, the strength in her stride. No enchantment suppressed her scent now. I inhaled—jasmine, iron, wild magic, and beneath it, the lingering heat of bond-fever. She’d fought it all night. And lost.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, chin lifted, spine straight. “You,” she said, voice cool. “I should’ve known you’d be the one to greet me.”
“You’re under my roof,” I said. “It’s protocol.”
“And now, apparently, under your roof *and* in your bed.”
“Shared quarters,” I corrected. “Not the same thing.”
“Semantics.”
I stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body. Close enough to see the faint tremor in her hands, the way her breath hitched when our pulses synced. “You look better,” I said. “The fever’s broken.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped. “I fought it on my own.”
“Liar,” I murmured. “You’re still trembling.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to *feel* me.”
“The bond says otherwise.”
“The bond is a curse.”
“Then why does your body respond to it?” I challenged, stepping even closer. Our breaths tangled. Her scent wrapped around me, intoxicating. “Why does your pulse race when I’m near? Why does your skin flush? Why—” I reached out, not touching, just hovering my fingers near her wrist, near the sigil—“does the mark *glow* when I look at you?”
She jerked her hand back. “Stop.”
“Make me.”
Her magic flared—crimson sparks dancing at her fingertips. The air crackled. Around us, the keep fell silent. Wolves paused. Fae turned. Vampires stilled.
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched her. Waited.
And then, slowly, the sparks faded. Her shoulders dropped. Not in surrender. In calculation.
“You want me to believe this is all about control,” she said, voice low. “About politics. About the Council.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” she said. “You want me. And that terrifies you.”
I laughed—short, sharp. “You’ve got it backward. *You’re* the one who’s terrified. Of me. Of the bond. Of how much you *want* me.”
Her breath caught. Just for a second. But I heard it. Felt it.
Before she could respond, Torin stepped forward. “The Council envoy is here,” he said. “They’re waiting in the solarium to confirm the cohabitation order.”
Jade’s jaw tightened. “Of course they are.”
“This way,” I said, turning toward the hall. “Try not to set anything on fire before we get there.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she muttered, falling into step beside me.
We walked in silence, the bond humming between us. I could feel her every breath, every shift of her body. Could feel the way her anger flared when Cassien Nox stepped out of the solarium, his crimson coat sharp against the pale stone, his smile too smooth.
“Lady Seris,” he purred, taking her hand. “Or should I say… Jade?”
She pulled her hand back. “Don’t touch me, vampire.”
He chuckled. “Still playing the diplomat? How quaint.” His gaze flicked to me. “I hear you’re sharing quarters now. How… *intimate*.”
“It’s Council-mandated,” I said, stepping between them. “Not a choice.”
“Pity,” Cassien said. “I would’ve enjoyed making it one.”
Jade’s magic flared again—hot, sharp. The bond tightened in response, a possessive coil in my gut. I turned to her, my voice low. “Control it.”
She glared at me. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll remind you who’s Alpha.”
Her eyes burned. But she nodded, the sparks fading.
The Council envoy—a stern-faced fae woman in silver robes—cleared her throat. “If we could proceed?”
We followed her into the solarium, where a scroll lay on a marble table, the cohabitation order spelled out in ink that shimmered with binding magic.
“You must both sign,” the envoy said. “The bond will recognize the commitment. Refusal constitutes a diplomatic offense.”
Jade looked at the scroll. Then at me. “You’re really going to do this?”
“I don’t have a choice,” I said. “And neither do you.”
She picked up the quill. Hesitated. Then signed—her name bold, unyielding. The ink flared silver as the bond recognized her mark.
I signed beneath her. The sigil on my wrist burned. So did hers. The bond deepened—tighter, hotter, more real.
“The quarters are prepared,” the envoy said. “You may take possession immediately.”
***
The suite was in the east wing—two chambers connected by a shared sitting room, high ceilings, a balcony overlooking the northern cliffs. My scent was already there—pine, smoke, wolf. But now, hers would mingle with it. Jasmine. Iron. Fire.
She walked in, scanning the space like a soldier assessing a battlefield. “I take it the bed is yours?”
“We’ll share,” I said, dropping my coat over a chair.
She whirled. “Absolutely not.”
“The bond requires proximity,” I said. “Especially in the early stages. Deny it, and the fever returns. You’ll collapse within hours.”
“Then I’ll take the couch.”
“And risk bond-sickness by morning? No.” I stepped toward her. “We share the bed. One side each. No touching. No talking. Just sleep.”
She crossed her arms. “You expect me to believe you won’t try anything?”
“I expect you to survive,” I said. “And if that means sharing a bed with the man you hate, then so be it.”
She stared at me. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Fine. But if you lay a hand on me, I’ll burn you alive.”
“Promises, promises,” I murmured.
She turned away, but not before I saw the faint flush on her neck. The way her breath hitched.
The bond flared—hot, insistent.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
I let it pull me in.
Let it remind me that she was mine.
Whether she liked it or not.