Valen doesn’t just want to kick my ass. He wants to do it with an audience.
The training court’s packed like a stadium. Every wolf in the stronghold showed up for the bloodbath, eyes gleaming like they bought tickets to the world’s most violent reality show. Perfect. Because nothing says “healthy conflict resolution” like turning personal drama into public entertainment.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lucy mutters as the guards drag her forward, “welcome to Toxic Masculinity: The Live Experience.”
One of them hisses at her to shut up, fingers digging into her arms. She fires back with some sarcastic comment about workshopping insults, and despite everything—despite the wolfsbane still fucking with my system, despite being about to fight for my life—I almost smile.
This impossible woman tried to poison me two days ago, and now she’s cracking jokes at her own execution.
I’m standing in the center, shirtless because apparently shirt-wearing is optional at formal duels, swaying slightly because the poison’s still making my bones feel like they’re made of glass. My left shoulder keeps dipping, and I have to concentrate on not face-planting in front of half the kingdom.
“This is your mistake,” I say, voice carrying across the sand. “Not mine.”
Valen smiles like a shark who just spotted a bleeding seal. “She was never yours.”
“Yeah? Well, she was never yours either, dipshit,” she calls out, earning another painful jerk from her captors.
Christ, she’s got balls. Tied up, outnumbered, about to watch two Alphas tear each other apart over her, and she’s still throwing insults. The crowd’s eating it up—wolves lined along the edges like gladiator spectators, all bared teeth and hungry eyes.
Not one of them looks remotely uncomfortable watching two men fight over a woman like she’s property. Charming.
“Let me go!” She thrashes against the guards. “You cowards! You’re really gonna let this psycho—”
They shove her hard enough that she stumbles, tell her to keep her mouth shut.
“Or what? You’ll make me watch your boss get his ass handed to him? Oh no, the horror.”
My eyes find hers across the court. I want to say something—reassurance, apology, promise—but the words stick in my throat. Because what if I can’t keep whatever promise I make?
Valen draws his sword with theatrical flair, spinning it once like he’s auditioning for a medieval boy band. “Let’s give them a show.”
I just exhale—slow, controlled—and draw my own blade.
The moment steel meets steel, sparks explode like angry fireflies. I’m good—really fucking good—but the poison’s turned me into a slightly drunk version of myself. Still deadly, just… off. Like playing a guitar with half the strings out of tune.
Valen’s fast, cocky, completely convinced he’s the protagonist of this story. He ducks low, going for my ribs.
I twist away but not quite fast enough. His blade bites into my arm, blood spraying across the sand like some kind of fucked-up Jackson Pollock painting.
“Cassian!” Her scream tears across the courtyard.
I don’t even flinch. Just adjust my grip and bring my sword crashing down like I’m trying to split him in half. Which, to be fair, I am.
“You’re weak,” Valen taunts, dancing around me. “Wounded. You can’t even protect her.”
“I’m sorry,” she yells from the sidelines. “Are we having a therapy session or a sword fight? Because this is getting confusing.”
My chest rises and falls with growing effort, but I keep my voice level. “Keep talking. It won’t save you.”
“You shouldn’t have touched her,” he hisses. “You think claiming her means something? That she won’t bleed for it?”
Then I make the mistake of looking at her.
Just one glance.
And the world explodes.
Not literally—though it feels like it. Something bursts inside my chest, golden and violent and ancient. Like lightning decided to take up permanent residence in my ribcage, rewiring every nerve ending I’ve got.
The bond. The mythical, legendary, once-in-a-lifetime soul-deep connection that most wolves spend their entire lives hoping for.
And it chose her. The woman who tried to poison me.
Because apparently, fate has a sense of humor.
“What the fuck—” she gasps, knees buckling.
The entire court goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.
My sword lowers, face going pale. “No…” My voice cracks like breaking glass. “Not you.”
Not because I don’t want her. Because she deserves better than being tied to a dying man’s curse.
I can see her struggling to breathe, to think. She knows what this is, even if her brain’s screaming that it’s impossible. The Omega, Lucy, who tried to poison her own mate, bound by cosmic forces beyond either of our control.
“This can’t be,” I rasp, hand hovering over my chest like I could rip the feeling out. “It can’t be her.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she wheezes.
It’s not love. Not yet. It’s something bigger and scarier and completely fucking inconvenient. Like having a live wire attached directly to my soul, sparking every time I look at her.
“What is that?” someone whispers from the crowd.
Valen turns toward her, and his smile is pure poison. “Of course. Of course the bond chose you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly fill out an application,” she says, still trying to catch her breath.
“But now it’s yours,” he snarls. “And when he dies, you’re mine again. No matter what you feel.”
The certainty in his voice makes my skin crawl. Like he’s already planned exactly how this ends.
“I’ll never be yours,” she spits.
He steps toward her, hand raised like he might actually hit her in front of everyone.
The guards yank her back, telling her it’s time to go.
“Wait—” She twists in their grip, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me. Not when I just figured out you’re stuck with me forever.”
My mouth almost curves into a smile. Almost.