The fire in the hearth had burned low by the time I returned to the suite, embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat. Dawn had come and gone, leaving behind a bruised sky and the scent of rain-wet stone. The keep was quiet—too quiet. After what happened in my chambers, the whispers had spread like wildfire. Mira’s Claim. That’s what they were calling it. As if she’d ever had any right to me.
As if she’d ever meant anything.
I hadn’t touched her in years. Not since the blood-bond was broken under duress, not since I’d realized she was nothing but Elira’s puppet, a weapon sharpened to cut me from the inside. But she’d worn my shirt. Let the world believe she’d spent the night in my bed. Let them think I’d betrayed Jade—my fated mate, the woman whose pulse now beat in time with mine, the only one who’d looked past the Alpha and seen the monster beneath.
And I’d let it happen.
Because the bond is primal. Ancient. It doesn’t respond to logic. It responds to truth—raw, unfiltered, emotional. If I’d denied it too fast, too loudly, the magic would’ve sensed the lie. It would’ve punished us both. Bond-fever would’ve flared, uncontrollable, dangerous. Jade would’ve collapsed. And I—
I would’ve broken.
So I’d waited. Let the storm build. Let her feel the jealousy, the betrayal, the fire in her blood. And when it erupted—when her magic shattered glass and she nearly burned Mira to ash—I’d stepped in. Not to protect Mira. But to protect her. To stop her from giving Elira exactly what she wanted: a fractured bond. A broken fated pair. A war.
And then I’d kissed her.
Gods, I’d kissed her.
Not gentle. Not careful. But desperate. Furious. A claim. A vow. A promise written in teeth and tongue and the heat of hands under silk. I’d meant to prove she was mine. But in that moment, I’d realized something far more dangerous:
I was hers.
Now, she was alone in the suite, resting—or pretending to. I could feel her through the bond—her pulse steady, her breath even, but beneath it, a storm. Confusion. Hurt. A fragile, trembling trust that I’d nearly shattered.
I shouldn’t have hesitated. I should’ve told her the truth the moment Mira stepped into my room. But I’d been afraid—not of Jade’s rage, but of what it would cost us. The bond thrives on balance. Too much denial, and it rebels. Too much emotion, and it consumes. And Jade—she was fire given form. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Beautiful.
And now, the fever was rising.
I felt it before I saw her—heat pulsing through the bond, a deep, insistent throb beneath my skin. By the time I reached the sitting room, she was already on her feet, pacing, her braid coming undone, dark strands clinging to her flushed cheeks.
“You’re late,” she snapped, not looking at me.
“Had to deal with Mira,” I said, shrugging off my coat. “Torin’s got her locked in the guest wing. No visitors. No communication. If she so much as whispers my name, she loses her tongue.”
She turned, storm-gray eyes blazing. “And what about you? Do you lose yours for letting her wear your shirt?”
I didn’t flinch. “I didn’t let her. She stole it. And I let her believe she’d won because I was protecting you.”
“By letting me think you’d betrayed me?”
“By keeping the bond from tearing us apart,” I said, stepping closer. “You felt it, didn’t you? When you saw her. The heat. The jealousy. The magic—it feeds on that. If I’d denied it too fast, the bond would’ve punished us both. You’d be on the floor right now, writhing in fever.”
She opened her mouth to argue—then stopped. Because she knew I was right. She’d felt it too. The way the bond flares when emotions run high. The way it demands truth, even when the truth is unbearable.
“So you let me suffer,” she whispered.
“I let you feel,” I said. “Because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have believed me when I told you the truth.”
Her breath hitched. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent. Our pulses synced. I could smell her arousal beneath the anger, the heat coiling in her core, the way her magic flickered like a storm on the horizon.
And then she doubled over, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
“Jade.” I was at her side in an instant, catching her before she fell. Her skin was burning. Her breath came in ragged pulls. The sigil on her wrist glowed faintly silver, pulsing in time with her racing heart.
Bond-fever. Worse than before.
“It’s the bond,” I said, lifting her into my arms. “It’s reacting to the emotional surge. The jealousy. The kiss. It needs to stabilize.”
“Put me down,” she gasped, struggling weakly. “I can walk.”
“No, you can’t,” I said, carrying her toward the bathing chamber. “And if you don’t let me help you, you’ll collapse within the hour.”
“I don’t need your—your charity,” she hissed, but her body betrayed her, leaning into my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
“It’s not charity,” I said, pushing open the heavy oak door. “It’s survival. For both of us.”
The bathing chamber was vast—black marble walls, a sunken tub carved from volcanic stone, steam already rising from the water. Torin had prepared it on my orders, knowing what was coming. The air was thick with the scent of eucalyptus and pine, the water infused with calming herbs to soothe the fever.
I laid her on the stone bench beside the tub, her breath coming fast, her skin flushed. The bond pulsed between us—hot, desperate. I could feel her need, her fear, the way her body screamed for relief.
“The ritual requires skin-to-skin contact,” I said, kneeling in front of her. “Body heat. Shared breath. It’s the only way to calm the fever without magic.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“No,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m not. But I’ll do what I have to.”
She didn’t argue. Couldn’t. The fever was too strong. Her magic flickered, erratic, uncontrolled. The enchantment on her gown was failing—her true scent bleeding through, wild and untamed. Jasmine. Iron. Fire.
I reached for the first button of her tunic.
“Don’t,” she whispered, grabbing my wrist. Her touch sent a jolt through me—heat, electricity, the relentless pulse of the bond.
“You don’t have a choice,” I said, gently prying her fingers away. “And neither do I.”
One by one, I undid the buttons, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her breath hitched as I slid the fabric from her shoulders, letting it pool at her waist. She wore nothing beneath—no undergarments, no barriers. Just skin. Warm. Flawless.
My throat went dry.
She saw it—the way my gaze darkened, the way my breath caught. “You’re staring,” she said, voice trembling.
“Can you blame me?” I murmured, trailing my fingers down her arm. “You’re beautiful.”
She looked away, but not before I saw the flush deepen on her neck. The bond flared—hot, insistent. Our pulses synced. I could feel her heartbeat against my palm, the heat radiating from her skin.
“Turn around,” I said, voice low. “Let me undress you.”
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she turned, presenting her back to me. Her spine was a delicate curve, her shoulders tense. I reached for the ties of her trousers, my fingers brushing the small of her back. She shivered.
“Relax,” I said, voice a rough caress. “I won’t hurt you.”
“You already have,” she whispered.
And she was right.
I had.
But I would spend every damn day making it up to her.
I slid the trousers down her legs, revealing the strong lines of her thighs, the curve of her hips. She stepped out of them, standing in nothing but her skin, her breath coming fast, her body trembling.
And gods, she was perfect.
Not delicate. Not fragile. But strong. Fierce. A warrior. A queen.
And she was mine.
I stood, stripping off my own clothes—shirt, trousers, boots—until I was bare before her. Her gaze flicked to me, then away, but not before I saw the way her breath caught, the way her eyes darkened.
“Get in,” I said, stepping into the tub. The water was hot—almost scalding—but not enough to burn. I sat on the submerged bench, the steam rising around me. “Now.”
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she stepped in, her body sinking into the water beside me. The heat made her gasp. Her skin flushed deeper. The sigil on her wrist glowed brighter.
I reached for her, pulling her back against my chest. Her body fit against mine like it was made for me—her spine to my front, her head just beneath my chin. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, my hands splayed across her stomach.
“Breathe,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her temple. “Let the heat ground you.”
She didn’t speak. Just leaned into me, her body trembling, her breath ragged. The bond pulsed—steady, insistent. Our pulses synced. Our breaths tangled.
I reached for the cloth beside the tub, dipped it in the water, and began to wash her. Slow. Deliberate. Starting at her shoulders, trailing down her arms, over the curve of her back. Her skin was warm, smooth, alive beneath my touch.
Her breath hitched.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.
“Yes, I do,” I said, my voice rough. “Because if I don’t, the fever will break you. And I won’t let that happen.”
My fingers trailed lower, following the dip of her spine, the curve of her waist. She shivered, arching slightly into my touch. The bond flared—hot, electric. My cock stirred, pressing against her back, but I didn’t move. Didn’t rush. This wasn’t about desire. Not yet.
It was about trust.
About healing.
About proving that I wasn’t just the Alpha who claimed her.
But the man who would keep her.
“You’re not what I expected,” I murmured, my lips brushing her ear.
She closed her eyes. “Neither are you.”
And in that moment, something shifted.
Not just in the bond.
But in us.
The water lapped around us, steam rising like a veil. Her body relaxed against mine, no longer tense, no longer fighting. Her breath slowed. Her pulse steadied. The sigil on her wrist dimmed, the fever receding.
But the heat between us?
That only grew.
My hand slid lower, following the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. She didn’t stop me. Didn’t pull away. Just let me touch her—slow, reverent, aching.
And then, without thinking, I pressed my hardness against her, just once—a slow, deliberate roll of my hips. She gasped, arching into me, her head falling back against my shoulder.
“Kael—”
“I know,” I said, my voice rough. “I shouldn’t.”
But I didn’t stop.
Because the bond wasn’t the only thing that needed to be soothed.
And gods help me, I wanted her.
Not just as my mate.
But as my equal.
As my fire.
As my truth.
Her hand covered mine, holding it against her stomach. Her breath came fast. Her body trembled.
And for the first time, she didn’t push me away.
She pulled me closer.
Outside, the keep was silent.
But inside—
The storm had only just begun.