The Iron Spire didn’t sleep. Even at twilight, when the human city below dimmed into hushed streets and flickering lamplight, the tower hummed with power—ward sigils pulsing along the marble walls, Fae glamours shifting the air like heat haze, the low murmur of political scheming bleeding through sealed doors.
I stood at the threshold of my new quarters, the key Kael had given me cold in my palm. The door was black iron, etched with wind runes that stirred faintly, as if breathing. Beyond it: silence. Space. A room that wasn’t mine.
And next door? His.
I hadn’t seen him since our confrontation in the private chamber—since he’d touched my cheek and made the bond burn. But I could feel him. Not physically. Not even magically. It was worse than that. It was awareness. A constant, low-grade thrum beneath my skin, like a second pulse. Every time I moved, every time I breathed, the bond answered—tightening, pulling, reaching.
I turned the key. The lock clicked open with a sound too loud in the stillness.
The room was vast. High ceilings arched above, ribbed with silver filigree that glowed faintly in the dim light. The walls were lined with bookshelves carved from black oak, filled with ancient tomes bound in leather and bone. A firepit sat in the center, unlit but lined with charred stones that still held the scent of old magic. To the left, a sitting area: low couches draped in gray silk, a glass table etched with protective sigils. To the right—
The bed.
It was enormous. A four-poster monstrosity of dark wood, hung with sheer black curtains that stirred as if caught in a breeze. The mattress was thick, the sheets black as ink. And the pillows—too many, too soft, arranged like an invitation.
I dropped my bag on the floor. It landed with a thud that echoed.
“This is temporary,” I told the empty room. “Six moons. That’s it. Get in, get the truth, get out.”
But even as I said it, my body betrayed me. My fingers drifted to the Dusk-mark beneath my collarbone. It still glowed faintly, a network of silver lines spidering across my skin. I pressed a hand to it, wincing at the heat. It wasn’t just reacting to Kael’s presence. It was remembering him. The way his fingers had curled around my wrist. The way his breath had hitched when our magic collided. The way his voice had dropped when he said, “You’re not going anywhere.”
I stripped off my robe, tossing it over a chair. Underneath, I wore a simple black tunic and leather pants—practical, functional, armor in its own way. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself. This wasn’t just about proximity. It was about control. And I was losing mine.
A knock at the door.
I froze. My pulse spiked.
“Enter,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.
The door opened. Riven.
Kael’s lieutenant. A werewolf Beta, broad-shouldered and watchful, with sharp amber eyes and a scar cutting through his left eyebrow. He wore a black tactical vest over a gray shirt, his stance relaxed but ready.
“Lord Kael sent me,” he said. “To deliver your access codes and security clearance.”
I crossed my arms. “He couldn’t come himself?”
Riven’s lips twitched—almost a smile. “He’s in a Council briefing. Thought you might appreciate the delay.”
I snorted. “Appreciate not having to look at him? Maybe.”
He stepped inside, handing me a small silver disc. “This grants you access to the upper levels, the archives, and the training chambers. You’re cleared for observation only—no active participation unless approved.”
“Convenient,” I muttered, turning the disc in my fingers. “Keeps me out of the way.”
“Or keeps you safe,” he said quietly.
I looked up. “What?”
“This place isn’t kind to hybrids,” he said. “Especially not ones who just formed a bond with the most powerful Fae in the Spire.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you warning me? Or threatening me?”
“Neither.” He met my gaze evenly. “I’m stating facts. You’re being watched. From the moment you walked in, the whispers started. Who is she? Why him? Is it real?”
“Let them whisper,” I said. “I don’t care.”
“You should.” He tilted his head. “Especially from the Winter Court. Lady Elara has already requested a private audience with Kael.”
The name hit me like a punch. Elara. His former lover. The one who’d been seen leaving his chambers at dawn, her lips swollen, her hair tangled.
“She’s not his mate,” I said, sharper than I intended.
“No,” Riven agreed. “But she likes to pretend she is.”
I turned away, walking to the window. The city stretched below, glittering like a sea of stars. “I don’t care about her either.”
“Good.” He moved closer, voice dropping. “Because Kael doesn’t care about her. Not like that.”
I glanced at him. “You sound certain.”
“I’ve served him for over a century,” he said. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you today.”
My breath caught.
He saw it. Of course he did.
“Be careful, Thunder,” he said. “Not just with the Council. With him. With you.”
Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
I stood there, heart pounding.
He looked at you.
Like what? With hunger? With hatred? With something worse?
I didn’t want to know.
I stripped down to my underclothes and climbed into bed, pulling the black sheets up to my chin. The mattress was too soft, the pillows too high. I turned onto my side, facing the wall.
The bond hummed.
And then—
A sound.
From the other side of the wall.
Water. Running. The soft splash of someone stepping into a shower.
Kael.
I closed my eyes, willing myself not to listen. But the walls were thin. The Spire was built for magic, not privacy. And the bond—gods, the bond—amplified everything.
I could feel him. Not just his presence. His heat. His breath. The way the water sluiced over his shoulders, down his chest, over the hard planes of his body. I could smell him—iron and embers, clean sweat, the faintest trace of soap. I could hear the low groan in his throat as the hot water hit a sore muscle.
My skin prickled. My breath came faster.
This wasn’t fair.
This wasn’t right.
I rolled onto my back, pressing a hand to the Dusk-mark. It flared under my touch, spreading heat across my collarbone, down my chest, pooling low in my belly. I clenched my thighs together, trying to suppress the ache.
It wasn’t desire. It was magic. A curse. A trap.
But my body didn’t care.
The water shut off.
Silence.
Then—footsteps. Slow. Bare. Crossing the floor.
My breath hitched.
He was drying off. Towel dragging over his skin. Droplets falling to the floor.
And then—
A pause.
At the wall.
I could feel him there. Not touching it. Just… there. Close enough that if I reached out, I could press my palm to the stone and almost touch him.
The bond pulsed.
And then—
A whisper.
So faint I might have imagined it.
“Thunder.”
My name. On his lips.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
But I didn’t pull away either.
And after a long moment, the footsteps retreated.
I lay there, trembling, the echo of his voice ringing in my skull.
This was going to destroy me.
Not the Council. Not the High Queen. Not even Cassian, the spymaster who’d cursed my mother.
This. This bond. This need. This unbearable awareness of him, every second, every breath, every heartbeat.
I had come here to destroy Kael.
But if this kept up, I wouldn’t need to.
I’d destroy myself first.
I didn’t sleep. Not really. Just drifted in and out of restless half-dreams—visions of fire, of blood, of Kael’s hands on me, his mouth on my neck, his voice in my ear, whispering, “You’re mine.”
When dawn came, I was already dressed, standing at the window, watching the city wake.
Another knock.
This time, I didn’t say enter. I just turned.
The door opened. Kael.
He looked… untouched. Impeccable. Black coat over a silver-gray shirt, his hair perfectly in place, his silver eyes sharp and unreadable. No sign of last night. No sign of the shower, the whisper, the way the bond had pulled between us.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said. “The bed’s too soft.”
“Or the walls too thin.”
I glared. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“That I heard you. That I felt you.”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “And did it scare you?”
“It annoyed me.”
“Liar.”
I clenched my jaw. “Why are you here, Kael? To gloat? To remind me that I’m trapped in your wing of the Spire?”
“I’m here to remind you of your duties.” He held out a folded black garment. “Council dinner tonight. Formal wear. You’ll wear this.”
I took it. Heavy fabric. Deep cut at the neckline. Long sleeves, slit up the sides.
“It’s not my style,” I said.
“It’s not meant to be.” His gaze swept over me. “It’s meant to show the world what you are. My partner. My equal. My claim.”
My stomach twisted. “We’re not claiming.”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever.”
He stepped closer. “The bond says otherwise.”
“The bond is a curse.”
“Or a salvation.”
I looked up, meeting his eyes. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” he said softly. “But you don’t either. Not anymore.”
The bond surged. A hot wave of sensation crashed through me—his breath on my neck, his hands on my waist, the press of his body against mine. I gasped, stumbling back.
He didn’t follow. Just watched me, silver eyes dark with something I couldn’t name.
“Wear the dress,” he said. “Tonight, the world sees us together. And they’ll see exactly what we are.”
Then he was gone.
I stood there, heart pounding, the dress heavy in my hands.
The walls were too thin.
The bed was too large.
And the bond?
The bond was alive.
And it wasn’t letting go.