The aftermath of a mate bond forming in the middle of a public bloodbath? Not exactly covered in any diplomatic training manual I never received.
I’m standing in what’s left of Valen’s courtyard—which looks like a war zone designed by someone with severe anger management issues—trying to process the fact that I just went full berserker mode in front of half the kingdom.
The bond thrums in my chest like a live wire, conducting every emotion she’s feeling straight into my nervous system. Fear. Pain. Relief. Defiance. It’s like having someone else’s feelings hardwired directly into my brain, except the wiring’s done by a drunk electrician with commitment issues.
“Congratulations, Cassian,” I mutter, surveying the carnage. “You’ve officially unlocked the world’s most inconvenient superpower.”
Blood’s still dripping from my knuckles—not mine, mostly—and I can feel her heartbeat syncing with mine through whatever cosmic bullshit just rewired both our lives. Every spike of her pain becomes mine. Every moment of terror she felt while locked away hits me like a physical blow.
The cell door didn’t just open when I found her. It exploded. Like I’d decided the concept of “doors” was personally offensive and needed immediate elimination. Dust everywhere, guards scattered like broken toys, and her sitting there looking at me like I’d just walked out of her worst nightmare.
Except the bond was singing between us, turning nightmare into something that felt suspiciously like salvation.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she’d breathed.
Behind me, the guards were decorating the floor in various states of “no longer a problem.” One twitching. Others… not.
“Did you just—” she’d started.
I’d crossed to her in two strides, dropped to my knees beside her like I was approaching something sacred instead of the woman who’d tried to poison me three days ago. My hands were gentle—weird, considering they were literally dripping with evidence of recent violence.
“I felt it,” I’d told her, voice rougher than I meant. “Every time they touched you. Every sound you tried not to make.”
The mate bond doesn’t ask for permission. Doesn’t care about timing or convenience or the fact that we barely know each other. It just exists, connecting us in ways that feel both ancient and terrifying.
I’d lifted her before she could protest, cradling her like she was made of spun glass instead of spite and poor life choices. The bond hummed with something that wasn’t pain for the first time since it snapped into place.
“You called to me,” I’d whispered against her forehead. “Even in chains.”
Carrying her past the carnage, down corridors that had suddenly become very, very quiet. Funny how quickly word spreads when someone goes full murder-mode in a confined space.
“They said you wouldn’t come,” she’d said against my shoulder. “That you’d cut your losses and run.”
My jaw had ticked. “Then they were idiots.”
“You killed them.” Not a question.
“They touched you.”
Simple. Matter-of-fact. Like explaining weather patterns instead of justifying homicide.
Now we’re back in the courtyard, and I’ve got an audience. Every wolf in the stronghold stands frozen, weapons lowered, trying to look anywhere but at the blood-soaked Alpha Prince carrying his Omega like she’s the only thing keeping him sane.
Which, let’s be honest, might actually be true.
I walk back to the center of the training court—exact spot where Valen drew first blood—and stop. Full circle, except now everything’s different. The bond pulses between us, rewriting every rule I thought I understood about my own life.
“You’re still bleeding,” she says, noticing the gashes across my chest.
“I’ll heal.”
I set her down but keep one arm around her, because letting go feels like losing the only anchor I’ve got left. The wolfsbane’s finally clearing my system, but the bond’s replacing chemical poison with something infinitely more dangerous.
Emotional investment.
Then I look out at the crowd—warriors, nobles, elders—all suddenly fascinated by their own feet.
“She’s mine,” I say.
Not loud. Don’t need volume when you’ve got the kind of authority that comes from recent violence and cosmic destiny. The words hit like seismic shift, rearranging the entire social order in two syllables.
I feel every wolf in the courtyard flinch. Good.
“Touch her again—” I pause, let the silence stretch until it’s tight enough to snap. “And I will end you.”