I slow as I near the clearing, my shadows extending ahead of me, silent scouts reporting back with every heartbeat. What they reveal makes my blood freeze, then boil. My instincts roar with territorial rage—mine, mine, MINE—a litany that pounds through my veins like a war drum.
The clearing sits precisely on the boundary line between Shadow and Light territories—ancient treaty markers stand like silent witnesses among the trees, their carved runes promising neutrality. A fool's promise. There is no neutrality when it comes to what belongs to me.
She's there, my Light Court bride, pinned beneath a man on the forest floor. Her hair—that glorious dark hair I've imagined wrapped around my fist while I knot her—spreads across the ground like spilled ink. Her golden eyes are closed, her lips parted in pleasure as the man moves against her. Between her thighs. Inside what is mine.
Even from this distance, I can smell it—her scent thick with arousal and fear, the suppressants strained by stress and passion but still holding. And beneath it, overlaying it, polluting it: another man's scent. Cedar and earth and royal arrogance.
Prince Asher. Of course. I'd read the intelligence reports—my bride's lover, a Light Court prince who'd shared her bed for four years. But the reports hadn't mentioned how his Alpha scent would be soaked into her skin, how his pheromones would be marking territory that was mine by treaty. That oversight would need to be corrected.
The shadows around me convulse, sharp as blades and hungry for blood. My fangs descend involuntarily, the claiming instinct so strong I nearly lose control right there.
I inhale slowly, bringing the rage under control. Not to diminish it—no, I'll need every ounce of that fury—but to shape it, hone it into something precise and devastating. I want to savor what comes next.
I step into the clearing.
The prince notices me first. He freezes mid-thrust, his eyes widening in recognition and terror. His scent spikes with fear, acrid and sharp. Good. He should know who's come to end him.
"Don't stop on my account," I say, my voice deceptively calm despite the growl rumbling beneath it. "Though I must admit, your technique could use improvement. Then again—" I gesture dismissively at his body, "—one can only work with the tools one has been given. And based on what I'm seeing, nature wasn't particularly generous."
Seraphina shoves him away, scrambling to cover herself with her discarded tunic. The sharp intake of her breath, the horror blooming in those golden eyes—it's almost worth the betrayal, just to see that perfect composure finally shatter. Her scent floods the clearing now that she's moved—vanilla and light magic thick with arousal and the sharp tang of terror.
"Malakai," she whispers, and the fear in her voice is intoxicating, even through the rage.
The prince—her lover—positions himself between us, drawing a pathetic short sword from somewhere among their scattered clothing.
"Stay back," he warns, as if he has any authority here, as if he isn't a dead man breathing on borrowed time.
"How quaint," I smile, my fangs fully visible. "The Light Court prince thinks he can bare his teeth at me." I take a step forward, shadows swirling around me like a cloak of living night. "Tell me, Your Highness, does she moan the same way for you as she does for other men? Or do you imagine you're special?"
"Asher, run," Seraphina urges, her voice tight with panic. Her scent spikes with terror—not for herself, but for him. That protective instinct just makes me angrier.
"Yes, Asher," I mock, my smile widening. "Do run. I enjoy the chase. It really gets the blood pumping before the inevitable conclusion."
Instead of fleeing, the fool launches himself at me, sword aimed at my heart. Brave. Stupid, but brave.
I don't bother to move. My shadows react before his blade can reach me, forming a shield that his sword clangs against harmlessly. The reverberations must pain his arm—I can see it in the wince he tries to hide.
"Was that your best effort? I've been threatened more convincingly by teething infants." I sigh dramatically.
Seraphina has regained enough composure to pull on her trousers, though her tunic remains clutched to her chest. A silver pendant dangles around her neck—one that wasn't there when she left the palace. Something old and clearly valuable, the kind of heirloom a man gives when he's making promises he can't keep.
She's edging away, eyes darting around the clearing, assessing escape routes. The trained diplomat, suddenly revealing unexpected survival instincts. Interesting.
But her scent betrays her—beneath the fear and anger, there's confusion. The mate bond, calling to her even now. Her biology recognizing me even as she stands beside the man she chose to lie with.
"He's not part of this," she says, her voice steadier now. "This is between you and me."
"Oh, I disagree entirely," I reply, circling to cut off her retreat. My shadows move with me, casting the clearing into deeper darkness. "He made himself part of this the moment he put his hands on what belongs to me."
"She doesn't belong to you," Asher snarls, adjusting his grip on the sword.
I laugh at that, a sound that makes the shadows around us pulse with anticipation. "Perhaps not yet in the eyes of your court, but in mine? The moment she agreed to the blood debt, she became mine." I fix my gaze on Seraphina. "So this is your precious prince—the one you summoned before surrendering to your duty. How touching that you wanted one last taste of freedom."
"Stop," she whispers, her scent spiking with humiliation and unwilling arousal.
"Oh, I'm just getting started," I reply, my voice like velvet over steel. "After today, you will never touch her again, prince. Never see her again. The woman you just bedded will be mine in every way that matters—claimed, bonded, bred."
"I’m the man who's going to kill you," Asher growls, lunging at me again.
