The first time I touch Kaelen Dain, I mean to kill him.
I’ve spent years sharpening this moment—years in the shadows, learning the rhythms of the Aerie, memorizing the shift patterns of the guards, mastering the art of scent-masking so deep even a bloodhound would sniff nothing but empty air. I’ve worn this silver dagger against my ribs since I was sixteen, the hilt carved with my mother’s last words: *Remember me in fire.*
Now, it rests against the pulse in his throat.
The gala is a grotesque display of power—crystal chandeliers dripping from vaulted ceilings, marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, the air thick with the cloying perfume of fae glamour and vampire musk. Council members in tailored silks and ceremonial leathers mingle beneath banners of their Houses, toasting peace while their eyes calculate betrayal. I stand at the edge of it all, a neutral envoy from the Hollow Moon Coven, my storm-gray gown clinging to my frame like a second skin, my hair coiled tight at my nape.
And then I see him.
Kaelen Dain.
High Alpha. Chair of the Council. The man who signed the decree that sent my mother to the Veil.
He stands at the center of the room like a statue carved from ice—tall, broad-shouldered, his black suit tailored to perfection, his dark hair cropped short at the sides, a single silver scar cutting through his left eyebrow. His eyes are the color of winter wolves: pale gold, unblinking, scanning the room with the cold precision of a predator who knows he owns the hunt.
I don’t hesitate.
I move.
My magic hums beneath my skin, a storm waiting to break. I weave through the crowd, my steps silent, my breath steady. No one sees me. No one *feels* me. That’s the gift of my blood—half fae, half witch. I am smoke. I am shadow. I am vengeance.
I reach him.
My hand rises.
The silver blade catches the candlelight as I press it to his throat.
“One twitch,” I whisper, my voice low, sharp, “and I slit your throat before your wolf can even growl.”
His head turns. Slow. Deliberate.
And then our eyes meet.
Gold clashes with storm.
And the world explodes.
His hand snaps around my wrist—fast, brutal, inhuman. His grip burns like a brand, searing through my skin, up my arm, into my chest. I try to pull back, but I can’t. The dagger trembles against his throat, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Then—
A shockwave rips through the hall.
Chandeliers shatter. Glass rains down like stars. Candles flare blue, their flames twisting into spirals before snuffing out. The ground trembles. Wine glasses explode. And every eye in the room locks onto us.
But I don’t see them.
I only feel it.
The fire.
It starts in my chest—a searing, white-hot pain that spreads like wildfire. I cry out, staggering back, but his grip holds me fast. I look down.
And I see it.
A sigil—black as midnight, glowing faintly at the edges—burns into the skin over my heart. It’s a spiral of interlocking claws and thorns, ancient, primal, *alive*. And it’s mirrored on his chest, right over his heart, the fabric of his shirt singed away.
Fated bond.
No.
Not possible.
I’m not his mate. I *can’t* be. I’m here to kill him, not—
“What the hell is this?” I snarl, wrenching against his hold.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes are wide, his jaw clenched, his breath coming fast. For the first time, the ice cracks. I see it—fear. Confusion. And something darker, deeper, that makes my stomach twist.
Desire.
“You’re bound,” a voice booms from the crowd. Lord Cassian, Seelie noble, his voice smooth as poisoned silk. “By the old magic. The bond is sealed.”
Gasps ripple through the room.
“Impossible,” I hiss. “I’m not his—”
“You *are*,” Cassian interrupts, stepping forward, his silver robes shimmering. “The mark does not lie. You are fated. Bound by blood, by magic, by law.”
My pulse hammers. My vision blurs. This changes everything. The assassination—ruined. My mission—compromised. I came here to bury him in lies, to make him suffer before he died. But this? This is a leash.
And I’m on the other end.
“The Council must convene,” Cassian continues. “Thirty days. They will remain tethered—ten paces or less—until the bond is validated or severed. Failure to comply results in soulfire.”
Soulfire.
I’ve heard the stories. The pain of a bond denied. Souls burning from the inside out.
“You’re joking,” I say, but my voice wavers.
“I do not joke, little storm,” Cassian says, smiling. “You wanted to be close to him. Now you’ll never be far.”
I turn to Kaelen. “This isn’t happening.”
His eyes meet mine. Cold. Controlled. But I see the flicker beneath—the struggle, the hunger, the way his wolf *knows* me, even if his mind refuses to.
“You came here to kill me,” he says, his voice low, rough. “Now you’re bound to me. How does that feel?”
I bare my teeth. “Like a curse.”
“Then consider it fitting.”
Guards surge forward, but he raises a hand, stopping them.
“She stays with me,” he says, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Ten paces. No less.”
“Kaelen—” one of them starts.
“Now,” he growls.
The command rumbles through the room, laced with alpha power. The guards freeze. The crowd falls silent.
He turns back to me, his grip still locked on my wrist. “You wanted me dead,” he says, so low only I can hear. “Now you’re mine. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
I yank my arm free, my heart pounding. “I’m not yours. I’m your executioner.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Then prove it. Try to walk away.”
I do.
I take one step.
Then another.
And then—
Fire.
It lances through my chest, sharp and sudden, like a blade twisting in my ribs. I gasp, stumbling, clutching my heart. The mark pulses, hot and angry. I look up.
Kaelen hasn’t moved.
But his hand is pressed to his own chest, his jaw tight, his breath shallow. He feels it too.
“Ten paces,” he says, stepping toward me. “Or you’ll burn.”
I glare at him, my body trembling with pain and fury. “This isn’t over.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s just beginning.”
He reaches for me again.
This time, I don’t fight.
I let him take my arm, his grip firm, unyielding. The moment his skin touches mine, the fire in my chest eases—but only slightly. The bond hums between us, a live wire, a chain, a curse.
And as he leads me through the stunned crowd, I make a vow—silent, fierce, carved into my soul.
I came here to bury Kaelen Dain in his own lies.
But if I have to wear his mark to do it?
So be it.
Let him think I’m bound.
Let him think I’m his.
Because the sweetest revenge isn’t a blade in the dark.
It’s making him *love* me—
—before I destroy him.