Selene woke to the sound of fire.

Not the sharp crackle of logs, but the quiet hiss of embers shifting—heat breathing softly in the dark. Warmth clung to her skin, heavier than the furs tangled around her legs. Too warm—heavy in a way that made her chest tighten before she knew why.

Her heart was already racing.

She pushed herself upright too quickly, panic surging before memory could catch up, and the room tilted violently. A wave of dizziness rolled through her, forcing her to brace a hand against the platform beneath her until the spinning eased.

Where—

Firelight flickered from a pit set into the far wall, casting long shadows across a vaulted stone ceiling carved into jagged, root-like ridges. The walls breathed cold mountain air through narrow vents, a slow exhale that brushed her skin. Beneath the layered pelts, the floor gleamed black and smooth, polished to a mirror-dark sheen.

The platform she lay on was built directly into the wall, wide and solid, layered in thick furs and cotton sheets steeped in the scent of incense, ash—and something metallic beneath it.

This wasn’t the Hollow Grounds.

This wasn’t anywhere she had ever been.

Her stomach clenched as another sensation surfaced, slow and unmistakable.

Scent.

Heavy. Wild. Familiar in a way that tightened her chest and made her pulse stumble.

Alaric.

Her body went rigid.

She looked down.

Her dress was gone. In its place, a thin gray shirt hung loosely over her frame, soft and worn, sliding off one shoulder. Firelight traced the curve of her collarbone, illuminating the mark there—still faintly glowing, silver spirals alive beneath her skin.

Her breath caught.

She pushed the furs aside and slid off the platform, bare feet meeting cold stone. The shock of it grounded her, but her legs felt strange beneath her weight—not painful, just aware, as though they remembered something her mind had not yet caught up to.

Pressure. Heat. Being held.

Her pulse quickened.

Did he—

She took a few careful steps, testing her balance, moving slowly as she took in the room more deliberately. A heavy wooden door stood opposite the fire, reinforced with iron.

Footsteps sounded beyond it.

The door creaked open.

Alaric entered.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. The firelight etched shadows along the markings carved across his chest, scars cutting down one side like the memory of claws. Steam curled from the mug in his hand as he crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him.

“You’re awake,” he said.

She stared at him.

He didn’t rush toward her. He didn’t linger at the door. He simply existed in the space, solid and unhurried, as though the room had been built to contain him.

Her gaze tracked him despite herself.

“Relax,” he said calmly, reading the tension in her posture. “I didn’t touch you.”

Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “You changed my clothes.”

“I kept you alive.” The words weren’t defensive. Just fact.

She folded her arms across her chest, the movement unsteady. “Where are we?”

“My home,” he said. “Deep in the Northern Ridge. Protected land. No one knows it exists.”

“You took me.”

“You collapsed.”

“You carried me away like a—like a prize.”

He stopped a few feet from her. “I claimed you,” he said evenly. “And I won’t allow the Elders to tear the bond apart.”

“I didn’t agree—”

“You didn’t refuse.”

“That’s not consent.”

His jaw tightened, the only sign of strain.

Silence stretched between them, brittle and charged.

Then his voice softened. “Do you want to leave?”

The question caught her off guard.

“I can take you back tonight,” he continued. “Leave you at the edge of Hollow Grounds. The bond will remain—but the Council will decide what to do with you. They’ll strip your status. Bind you to Lucan. Or exile you. They don’t forgive disobedience.”

Her breath faltered.

Lucan’s fury rose unbidden in her mind. Her father’s disappointment. The cold, watchful eyes of the Elders.

“…No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to.”

The admission left her unsteady. Her balance wavered as the words settled, her body lagging a heartbeat behind her resolve.

Alaric stepped toward her instinctively—and she moved back just as quickly, the space between them shrinking until the backs of her knees struck the edge of the platform. She stumbled, caught herself on the furs, and slid back against the wall, drawing her legs beneath her.

He crossed the remaining distance just long enough to offer the mug, careful not to crowd her, and paused, waiting.

After a moment, she took it.

Steam curled up between them, carrying the bitter, grounding scent of herbs. Once she had it, he stepped away, moving to the stone ledge beneath the narrow window slit.

“Drink,” he said quietly. “Slowly.”

She did. The liquid burned, then settled warmly in her chest, easing something tight and low inside her.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“The bond will grow,” he said, watching the fire. “The closer we are, the deeper it roots. Right now, you can still walk away.”

“And later?”

“It will hurt to be apart.”

She swallowed. “Why me? Why now?”

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t expect anyone. Not again.”

“Again?”

He didn’t answer, but something dark passed through his eyes.

She watched him closely. His posture was loose, almost relaxed—but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. A predator holding itself still.

“Did you really kill them?” she asked quietly. “Your Council?”

His gaze lifted to hers. Pain flickered across his face—quick and unguarded.

“They betrayed me,” he said. “I survived.”

“And you just let the world believe otherwise.”

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees.

“Because fear keeps enemies cautious,” he said. “Truth does not.”

Her gaze dropped to the mark at her collarbone. “How do I know this isn’t a lie?” she asked. “That the bond isn’t just magic controlling me?”

He rose, slower this time, and crossed the room. She felt him before he reached her, heat and awareness sharpening all at once.

She pressed back against the wall as he approached, her breath shallow.

He stopped close enough that she could feel him, but not touching.

“You think I want obedience?” he asked quietly. “A captive bound by spell?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

His eyes searched her face, reading everything she hadn’t said. The fear. The defiance. The way she trembled when he stood this close.

His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed her cheek—light, grounding. Nothing more.

“The bond doesn’t control you,” he said. “It reveals what you really want.”

Her breath hitched.

He leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed her jaw, a whisper of contact that sent heat flooding through her chest. The mark responded instantly, flaring, pulling, tightening something low in her body.

“I could break the bond,” he murmured. “But I won’t. Because there is no world where I let you go.”

He stepped back, just far enough to breathe. She was left shaking, breath unsteady.

“Drink the tea,” he said. “Stay in bed. Rest. You’re too weak right now.”

“For what?” she asked faintly.

The corner of his mouth curved, sharp and knowing.

“The bond is a door,” he said. “You opened it. Now we find out what’s waiting on the other side.”