The first time I truly feared the bond, it wasn’t when it flared with pain or pulsed with unwanted desire.
It was when I woke up screaming.
Not from a nightmare. From a memory.
My mother’s voice—thin, breaking—singing the lullaby I’d used to break Kaelen in the dining hall. The fire. The smell of burning flesh. The way the Fae guards had laughed as they lit the pyre. I’d buried that night beneath years of silence, of training, of vengeance. But the bond had dragged it back, raw and bleeding, like a wound torn open.
I sat up gasping, sweat-slicked and trembling, my throat raw as if I’d been screaming for hours. The room was dark, the hearth reduced to embers. Kaelen was still beside me, his breathing deep and even, his body a furnace in the cold stone chamber. I hadn’t moved in the night. Neither had he. We were still on opposite edges of the massive bed, ten feet of cursed proximity maintained like a battlefield truce.
But the bond didn’t care about distance.
It had reached into my dreams. Into my soul.
And it had shown me the truth: I wasn’t just bound to Kaelen.
I was becoming something else.
Something I didn’t understand.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold stone floor. The moment I stood, pain lanced through my chest—sharp, insistent. I gasped, clutching my ribs. The curse. The ten-foot rule. I’d gone too far.
“Don’t,” Kaelen said, voice rough with sleep.
I turned. He was awake, golden eyes glowing in the dark, watching me.
“Don’t what?” I snapped. “Try to escape? Too late. You already chained me.”
“Don’t push it,” he said, sitting up. “The bond’s stronger now. You feel it.”
“I feel a lot of things,” I said, taking another step. Pain flared again, worse this time. I stumbled. “Like being caged. Like being used. Like being—”
He moved fast.
One moment he was on the bed. The next, he was in front of me, his hands on my arms, pulling me back toward the mattress. His touch burned. Not from heat. From connection. From the way my body responded—pulse spiking, breath hitching, skin tingling.
“Stop fighting it,” he said, voice low. “You’ll make it worse.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I said, trying to pull away. But he didn’t let go. And the bond—damn it—eased the pain the moment we were close again. “This isn’t about survival. It’s about control.”
“It’s about both,” he said. “And right now, you’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking perfectly,” I shot back. “I’m thinking that you’re the reason I can’t leave. That you’re the reason I’m trapped. That you—”
My voice broke.
Not from anger.
From grief.
The memory of my mother’s last song echoed in my skull. The fire. The screams. The way Kaelen had stood by, impassive, while they lit the pyre.
“You don’t get to pretend you care,” I whispered. “You don’t get to touch me. To protect me. To—”
“I care,” he said, and the rawness in his voice stopped me. “I don’t want to. But I do.”
I stared at him. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” he said. “And it terrifies me.”
The honesty hit me like a slap. Kaelen D’Vaal—the cold, controlled Alpha who had crushed my rebellion—was afraid. Not of war. Not of chaos.
Of *me*.
And that scared me more than anything.
I pulled away, not because of the pain, but because I couldn’t stand the way his hands made me feel. Like I was coming undone. Like the walls I’d built over ten years were crumbling beneath his touch.
“I need space,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You don’t get it,” he said, sitting beside me. Close. Too close. The bond hummed, satisfied. “Not anymore.”
“Then what do I get?” I asked, turning to him. “A life sentence? A political marriage? A slow death by proximity?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I know this—” He reached for my hand. I tried to pull away, but he held on. “—the bond isn’t just a curse. It’s a bridge. And whether we like it or not, we’re crossing it together.”
I wanted to argue. To scream. To sing a note that would shatter every window in the fortress. But I didn’t. Because I was tired. So damn tired. Of fighting. Of hating. Of pretending I didn’t feel the pull between us.
“I dreamed about her,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “My mother. The fire. The way they laughed.”
He didn’t speak. Didn’t offer empty comfort. Just listened.
“You were there,” I said. “You watched.”
“I did,” he said. “And I’ve carried that with me every day since.”
I looked at him. “You don’t get to carry it. Not like I do.”
“No,” he said. “But I carry my own guilt. My own failure. I followed orders. I upheld the peace. But I didn’t stop it. And that—” His voice cracked. “—that haunts me too.”
I didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect him to admit it. To feel it.
And I hated that it made me want to believe him.
The silence stretched, thick and fragile. The bond pulsed between us, slow and steady, like a second heartbeat.
Then the pain hit.
Not from the curse. From something deeper. A wave of dizziness. A cold sweat. My vision blurred. I gasped, clutching my chest.
“Symphony?” Kaelen’s voice was sharp, urgent.
“I’m—” I tried to speak, but another wave hit. Nausea. Vertigo. My limbs trembled.
“Bond sickness,” he said, pulling me down onto the bed. “It’s worsening.”
“It wasn’t like this before,” I managed.
“It gets stronger the longer the bond is active,” he said, lying down beside me. “And after last night—after you sang to me—it’s feeding on emotion. On memory.”
“So now I pay?” I said, teeth chattering. “For making you feel something?”
“We both do,” he said, pulling me closer. “But this—” He wrapped an arm around me, his body heat searing through my thin gown. “—this helps.”
“I don’t want your help,” I said, but I didn’t push him away. Because the cold was receding. The dizziness fading. The bond, satisfied by proximity, was easing the sickness.
“Too bad,” he said, voice low. “You’ve got it.”
I lay there, rigid, my back to his chest, his arm a heavy weight across my waist. His breath stirred the hair at my nape. His heat soaked into my skin. And the bond—damn it—purred, content.
“You don’t get to touch me like this,” I whispered.
“I do,” he said. “Until the curse ends. Or one of us dies.”
“Then I’d rather die.”
“No,” he said, tightening his hold. “You wouldn’t.”
I wanted to argue. To fight. But the sickness was draining me. My limbs felt heavy. My thoughts sluggish. And beneath it all—beneath the anger, the grief, the fear—was something else.
Something I couldn’t name.
“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
“You don’t get to say that,” I said, but my eyes were already closing.
“I just did,” he said. And then, softer: “And I mean it.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I was already falling.
Not into darkness.
But into him.
I don’t know how long I slept. Hours. Maybe minutes. But when I woke, the world was different.
The fire was out. The room was cold. But I wasn’t. Kaelen’s body was still curled around mine, his arm still around my waist, his breath warm on my neck. And I—
I was holding his hand.
Not just touching it. Holding it. Fingers laced with his, like we’d fallen asleep that way. Like it was natural. Like it was *right*.
I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.
“Don’t,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “The bond’s still unstable. If you move too far, the sickness will come back.”
“So I’m your prisoner now?” I asked, but there was no heat in my voice. Only exhaustion. Confusion.
“No,” he said. “You’re my responsibility.”
“Same thing.”
“Not to me.”
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know what to say. Last night, I’d hated him. I’d wanted to burn him with my voice, to shatter his control, to make him feel the pain I’d carried for ten years.
And I had.
But now? Now I was lying in his arms, holding his hand, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my back.
And I didn’t want to let go.
The realization hit me like a blade.
“This isn’t real,” I said, my voice trembling. “This—us—it’s the bond. It’s magic. It’s not—”
“Feelings?” he asked. “Or choices?”
“Both,” I said. “I don’t want to want you.”
“Then why do you?”
I turned my head. Our faces were inches apart. His golden eyes were open, watching me. Not with dominance. Not with control.
With something softer.
Something that looked like hope.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Maybe it’s not about knowing,” he said. “Maybe it’s about feeling.”
And then—because I was weak, because I was tired, because the bond was screaming in my veins—I did the one thing I knew would break the moment.
I kissed him.
Not gently. Not sweetly.
Hard. Angry. A collision of lips and teeth and pent-up fury. I wanted to hurt him. To punish him. To make him feel the chaos I carried inside.
But he didn’t pull away.
He kissed me back.
One hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my hip, pulling me onto my back, his body pressing into mine. His mouth was hot, demanding, his fangs grazing my lip. The bond roared—a wildfire in my veins. My hands clawed at his shoulders. My legs tangled with his. The heat was unbearable. The need—
Then the door burst open.
We broke apart, gasping, hearts racing. Torin stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
“Alpha,” he said. “The Council summons you. Now.”
Kaelen didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me, his breath heavy, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name.
“I’ll be there,” he said, voice rough.
Torin nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Silence.
Then Kaelen sat up, running a hand through his hair. “We need to talk.”
“No,” I said, sitting up too. “We don’t.”
“Symphony—”
“That didn’t mean anything,” I said, standing. “It was the bond. The sickness. It—”
“Liar,” he said, standing too. “You wanted it. You *kissed* me.”
“Because I was angry!”
“And I wasn’t?” he shot back. “You think I don’t feel it? The pull? The fire? The way my wolf howls every time you’re near?”
I didn’t answer. Because I could feel it too. The way my body ached for him. The way my voice trembled when he looked at me. The way the bond pulsed, hungry, insistent.
“This changes nothing,” I said.
“It changes everything,” he said. “And you know it.”
I turned away. “I came here to burn it all down.”
“And I’m here to stop you,” he said. “But not because I want to. Because I have to.”
“Then do it,” I said. “Chain me. Silence me. Whatever it takes.”
He stepped closer. “And if I don’t want to?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I was afraid.
Not of the curse.
Not of the Council.
But of what would happen if he chose me over duty.
If he followed me into the fire.
And I realized—
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have a Council to face.”
I didn’t look at him. “And then what?”
“Then,” he said, voice low, “we see if we can survive each other.”
I closed my eyes.
Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Not anymore.