The mark on my hip burned like a brand, even through the layers of leather and cloth. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat, a constant, insistent reminder of what had happened—what I had allowed to happen. I hadn’t remembered it, not at first. But my body had. And now, every step I took, every breath I drew, echoed with the phantom sensation of Kael’s hands on me, his mouth tracing the curve of my pelvis, his voice, rough and reverent, whispering, “You’re mine.”
That was three days ago.
Three days since I’d woken in his bed, half-naked, marked, claimed, and utterly undone.
Three days since I’d agreed to fight beside him.
And three days since the bond fever had begun.
It started subtly—a tightening in my chest when he left the room, a flutter in my stomach when his scent lingered on the air. Then came the dreams. Not visions. Not memories. Hallucinations. Dreams so vivid they bled into waking, so real I’d wake with my fingers tangled in the sheets, my thighs clenched, my body aching with need.
He was always there.
In the dreams, he touched me. Not like he had in the garden—desperate, hungry, claiming. No. These were slow. Deliberate. Torturous.
His hands gliding up my thighs. His mouth at my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. His voice in my ear, low and rough: “You came to me. You wanted this.”
I’d wake gasping, drenched in sweat, the Dusk-mark blazing beneath my collarbone, the new sigil on my hip throbbing like a second pulse.
And the bond—gods, the bond—would scream, a raw, primal thing that clawed at my insides, demanding him.
By the third night, I couldn’t sleep.
I sat on the edge of my bed, my boots laced, my tunic damp with sweat, my fingers pressed to the mark on my hip. The Spire was quiet—too quiet. No whispers in the halls. No footsteps. No magic humming in the walls. Just silence. Heavy. Thick. Charged.
The bond pulsed.
Not a hum. Not a throb.
A pull.
It tugged at me, deep in my gut, a gravitational force dragging me toward his chambers. I clenched my jaw, fighting it. I’d already crossed that threshold once. I wouldn’t do it again. Not like this. Not while I was half-mad with fever, with need, with the unbearable truth that I wanted him.
But the bond didn’t care about my pride.
It didn’t care about my mission.
It only cared about him.
I stood, pacing the length of the room—ten steps forward, ten steps back. My boots clicked on the stone, the sound too loud in the silence. I tried to focus. To ground myself. To remember who I was.
Thunder. Warrior. Witch. Avenger.
Not some fevered slave to a bond I hadn’t asked for.
But the dreams came back.
Not in sleep. In waking.
One moment, I was pacing. The next—
Heat.
His hands on my waist, pulling me back against him. His breath hot on my neck. His voice, rough with desire: “You don’t have to fight it, Thunder. Let me in.”
I gasped, spinning around—
Nothing.
Just the empty room. The dim light. The cold stone.
But the sensation lingered. The heat. The pressure. The need.
“No,” I whispered, pressing a hand to the Dusk-mark. “Not again.”
I closed my eyes, breathing through the wave of dizziness, the ache between my thighs, the way my skin burned where he’d touched me—where he hadn’t touched me.
Another hallucination.
Another lie.
But the bond didn’t lie.
It only remembered.
I stumbled to the washbasin, splashing cold water on my face. It helped—barely. The fever still pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, insistent burn. I stripped off my tunic, leaving me in a thin undershirt, and pressed the wet cloth to my neck, my collarbones, the mark on my hip.
Nothing helped.
The bond was winning.
And I was losing.
A knock at the door.
I froze.
“Thunder?”
Riven.
Not Kael. Not the bond. Just Riven.
“Enter,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.
The door opened. He stepped inside, his amber eyes scanning me with quiet intensity. “You’re pale,” he said. “And you’re trembling.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He closed the door behind him, stepping closer. “The fever’s getting worse.”
“I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t.” He handed me a small vial filled with dark liquid. “Nyx brought this. Said it’ll dull the pain. Suppress the hallucinations. For a few hours.”
I took it, the glass cold in my palm. “And what’s the cost?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Of course not.” I uncorked the vial, sniffed it—old blood, night-blooming jasmine, something metallic. “She’s always playing games.”
“Maybe.” He studied me. “But she also knows what it’s like to be bound. To be hunted. To be needed.”
I looked at him. “You think I should take it?”
“I think you’ll go mad if you don’t.”
I exhaled sharply. “And if it’s poison?”
“Then you’ll die quickly.” He stepped closer. “Or you’ll go to Kael. Let him ease it. Let him—”
“No.” I capped the vial, tossing it onto the bed. “I’m not crawling to him like some fevered animal.”
“You already did,” he said quietly.
I flinched.
“I saw you,” he said. “That first night. After the rescue. You went to his room. Half-dressed. Shaking. You didn’t remember it in the morning, but I did. And so did he.”
My breath caught. “You watched me?”
“I watch everything,” he said. “For him. For you. For the Spire.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw you break.” His voice softened. “I saw you stop fighting. I saw you need him. And I saw him give you what you asked for.”
“He took advantage—”
“No.” Riven stepped closer. “He gave you what you wanted. What your body has been screaming for since the moment you touched him.”
“It’s the bond.”
“It’s you.” He reached out, his fingers brushing my wrist—just once, feather-light. The bond flared, a hot wave of sensation crashing through me. I gasped, stepping back. “You don’t hate him. You never did. You just needed a reason to fight. And now that you don’t have one—”
“Now that I don’t have one, I’m supposed to just give in?” I snapped. “Let him claim me? Let him control me? Let him—”
“Let him love you?” Riven finished. “Is that so terrible?”
I stared at him. “You don’t know what love is.”
“I know what it looks like,” he said. “I’ve seen it in his eyes when he watches you. In the way he stood still for six hours, listening to you cry. In the way he took a curse meant for you. That’s not duty. That’s not politics. That’s love.”
My throat tightened.
“And you?” he asked. “Do you love him?”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “Not now. Not when you’re burning alive.”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t know what I feel.”
“Then stop fighting it.” He stepped back. “Take the vial. Or go to him. But don’t suffer alone. Not when he’s willing to burn the world for you.”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stood there, the vial cold in my hand, the bond screaming in my veins.
Outside, the moon hung full and silver, casting long shadows across the Spire. The wind howled through the high windows, carrying the scent of ozone and embers. And the bond—gods, the bond—pulled me forward, toward the door, toward him.
I didn’t take the vial.
I didn’t go to him.
Not yet.
Instead, I went to the training chambers.
I needed to move. To fight. To burn off the heat, the need, the truth that coiled in my gut like a living thing.
The chamber was empty—long, low-lit, its walls lined with weapons racks and practice dummies. The floor was marked with sigils for elemental control, the air thick with residual magic. I stripped off my tunic, leaving me in the thin undershirt, my Dusk-mark glowing faintly, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
I closed my eyes. Breathed.
Then I called the fire.
It came—roaring up from the ground in a spiral of orange and gold, twisting around me like a serpent. I raised my hands, guiding it, shaping it into a whip, a blade, a wall.
I attacked the dummies—fast, brutal, precise. Fire lashed out, slicing through straw and wood, reducing them to ash. Sweat poured down my back. My muscles burned. My breath came in ragged gasps.
But it wasn’t enough.
The bond still hummed. Still pulled.
I called the wind.
It answered—howling through the chamber, tearing at my hair, my clothes. I spun, letting it lift me, using it to amplify my strikes, to fuel the fire.
I fought until my limbs trembled. Until my vision blurred. Until the curse flared in my veins, a warning—too much, too far.
And still, I didn’t stop.
Because if I stopped, I’d have to think.
About Kael.
About the mark.
About the way his voice had changed when he said, “You’re mine.”
Finally, I collapsed to my knees, gasping, the fire dying around me, the wind fading to a whisper.
And then—
A hand on my shoulder.
I whirled, fire flaring in my palm—
“Easy.”
Kael.
He stepped back, hands up. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I lowered my hand, the flame dying. “What do you want?”
He studied me—sweat-soaked, trembling, eyes wild. “You’re pushing too hard.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He handed me a water flask. “Riven told me you were here.”
I took the flask, drank. “He shouldn’t have.”
“He cares about you.”
“And you?” I looked at him. “Do you care? Or do you just want to keep your claim intact?”
He didn’t flinch. Just watched me, silver eyes dark. “I care about you. Not the bond. Not the mark. You.”
“Then why did you do it?” I stood, my voice rising. “Why did you mark me when I wasn’t in my right mind? Why didn’t you ask?”
“Because you would have said no.”
“Because I wasn’t ready!”
“And you’ll never be ready,” he said, stepping closer. “Not while you’re fighting yourself. Not while you’re pretending you don’t feel it.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” His hand brushed my cheek—just once, feather-light. The bond surged, a wave of heat crashing through me, so intense I nearly cried out. “You feel it every time I touch you. Every time I breathe. Every time I say your name.”
“It’s magic,” I whispered. “A curse. A trap.”
“Then why don’t you fight it?” He moved closer, his voice a low growl. “If it’s just magic, why don’t you walk away? Why don’t you run?”
“Because they’ll kill me,” I said.
“No.” His thumb traced my jawline, slow, deliberate. “You won’t run because you’re afraid of what happens when you stop. When the bond isn’t pulling you toward me. When you’re alone. When you have to face the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That you don’t hate me.” His voice dropped, rough with something raw. “Not really. Not anymore.”
I stepped back, breaking the contact. The bond ached, a physical emptiness in my chest. “You don’t get to decide how I feel.”
“I don’t.” He let his hand fall. “But you don’t either. Not when your body betrays you every time I touch you.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“I’m honest.”
“Honest?” I laughed, sharp and broken. “You marked me in my sleep. You claimed me without my consent. And you call that honest?”
“I gave you what you asked for,” he said. “You came to me. You begged me. You said, ‘I can’t fight it anymore. I need you. I want you.’”
“I was fevered. Hallucinating.”
“So was I.” He stepped closer. “But my hands didn’t lie. My magic didn’t lie. That mark—it’s not just a claim. It’s a shield. Cassian wants you dead. The High Queen wants you silenced. And if you’re not bound to me, they’ll take you. But now? Now, you’re mine. And I won’t let them touch you.”
My breath caught.
“You think I care about that?” I whispered. “You think I came here for protection?”
“No.” He reached out, his fingers brushing my wrist. The bond flared again—soft this time, almost… pleading. “I think you came here to destroy the man who let your mother die. But you stayed for the man who loved her. For the man who’s loved you across lifetimes.”
I stared at him. At the mark on my hip. At the way my body still hummed with phantom heat from his touch.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it.
Because maybe—just maybe—I didn’t want to be free.
Maybe I wanted to be his.
“I need to go,” I said, stepping back.
“Don’t,” he said. “Not like this. Not while the fever’s tearing you apart.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You won’t.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “I can feel it. The bond. Your pain. Your need. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do.” His hand found mine, pulling it to the mark on my hip. “You need this. You need me.”
The mark flared, heat surging through me, so intense I gasped. My back arched. My thighs clenched. “Kael—”
“Shh.” His lips brushed my ear. “Just feel.”
And I did.
I felt everything.
The way his body answered mine. The way his magic coiled around mine, smoke meeting flame. The way his breath hitched when I arched into him. The way his hands trembled when he touched me. The way the bond pulsed, a live wire strung between us, feeding on every second, every breath, every heartbeat.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
I leaned into it.
Into him.
Into the truth.
That I wasn’t here to destroy him.
I was here to be with him.
And when I finally pulled away, breathless, trembling, my forehead resting against his, I whispered the only truth I had left.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, his forehead resting against mine. “Just let me in.”
The bond pulsed—soft this time, almost… pleading.
And I knew—
I wasn’t going to fight it anymore.
Not tonight.
Not ever.