Even as I say the words, something twists painfully inside me—doubt, perhaps, or something deeper I refuse to name. My Omega instincts rebel at the thought of harming my Alpha.
"Are you sure that's still what you want?" Ivy asks, her voice losing its usual sarcastic edge. Her eyes study my face with uncomfortable intensity. "I watched you during those three days,Sera. The way you fought for his life. The way your hands shook each time his fever spiked. The way you whispered his name in your sleep. The way your Omega keened when you thought he might die."
"I did not," I protest, but the words sound hollow even to my ears.
"The prophecy speaks of enemies becoming lovers. Of hatred turning to something deeper." Ivy gestures to the book beneath my clenched fingers. "What if your carefully plotted revenge isn't the path fate has chosen? What if the fated mate bond exists for a reason?"
"I don't believe in fate," I say through gritted teeth, rising from my chair with enough force to send it toppling backward. "I believe in choice. In justice."
"And yet," Ivy persists, following as I stride toward the door, her light footsteps barely audible on the stone floor, "here you are, following the exact path this prophecy laid out centuries ago. Fated mates with the Shadow Lord, fighting feelings you don't want to acknowledge, your Omega responding to him despite everything, discovering convenient ancient texts that explain it all."
Her words hit too close to the truth, stoking the fire of my anger. "This prophecy means nothing. It's a coincidence, nothing more."
"Or it could mean war," Ivy says, her voice uncharacteristically grim. "Unification rarely comes peacefully,Sera. One throne where two stood before? That's the conquest language."
Ice replaces the fire in my veins. "You think this is about conquest? That Malakai and I?—"
"Are meant to conquer both courts and rule as one? With a twilight child who's neither Alpha nor Omega but something unprecedented?" Ivy shrugs, the motion causing her wings to flap. "It isn't the first time a prophecy leads to bloodshed rather than harmony. 'The coming storm' doesn't sound like peaceful negotiations over tea and crumpets."
I push through the library doors, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of ancient words and unwanted possibilities. The corridor beyond offers no relief, each shadow making me think of him, of his touch, of the way my Omega body yearns for what my mind rejects.
"Running from prophecies doesn't make them less true," Ivy calls, hurrying after me. "Though I must say, denial looks fetching on you. Very determined chin. Very flushed cheeks. Very 'I'm not thinking about my Alpha knotting me' energy."
"I'm not thinking about—" I break off, mortified by the heat flooding my face. "I need the potion, Ivy. Now. Before it wears off completely. Before he senses everything through the bond."
As if summoned by my words, a familiar presence presses against my consciousness—Malakai, his Alpha awareness brushing against mine through the weakening barrier of Ivy's magic. I stumble, gasping as a wave of sensation washes over me. Curiosity. Irritation. Hunger. His emotions bleed into mine, tangling until I can't separate them. His Alpha scent seems to flood my senses even though he's nowhere near.
I break into a run, desperate to reach our chambers before the bond opens completely. By the time I slam my door shut behind me, my breath comes in ragged gasps, my skin hypersensitive as if every nerve ending has been exposed. Slick is gathering between my thighs—my Omega biology responding to my Alpha's nearness through the bond.
"Ivy," I call, my voice urgent. "I need the potion now!"
She solidifies completely near the window, dropping her glamour entirely to reveal her full form. Despite her slender five-foot frame, Ivy has a way of filling any space she enters with her presence. Her iridescent wings, nearly transparent in the dim light, fold gracefully against her back. Her expression is unusually serious. "Are you sure that's what you want? The fated mate bond exists for a reason, Eve. Fighting it could have consequences neither of us has foreseen."
"I can't let him into my mind," I insist, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Everything I've worked for depends on keeping him out."
"Or perhaps," she suggests, "everything you're meant to become depends on letting him in."
A surge of alien emotions floods through me—dark, possessive, triumphant. Malakai, sensing my turmoil through the weakening barrier. Sensing my arousal. Sensing Ivy.
The door to my chambers crashes open with enough force to splinter the wood.
I turn, words of outrage dying on my lips as I take in the sight before me.
Malakai stands in the doorway, half-dressed and magnificent in his rage. His broad chest is bare, shadows dancing across dark skin pulled taut over sculpted muscle. A jagged scar runs from his left shoulder to his sternum, evidence of some ancient battle. His pants hang low on his hips, revealing a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. His hair is damp, as if he'd rushed from bathing, dark strands falling across his forehead.
But it's his eyes that capture my attention—blazing with fury, pupils dilated with something primal and possessive. His scent fills the room instantly, overwhelming cedar and dark magic with an undercurrent of pure Alpha dominance that makes my knees weak. His fangs have descended, gleaming white and sharp in the candlelight.
My mouth goes dry. I hate myself for it, but I can't tear my eyes away. The curse left its mark on him, thin silver lines tracing the path of shadow poison through his veins. But there's something different about his eyes, a heightened awareness, as if his recent brush with death sharpened his magical perception.
"Who were you talking to?" he demands, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. His shadows swirl around him, reaching hungrily into the room. His nostrils flare as he scents the air, and I watch his pupils dilate further. "I can smell your arousal."
I force myself to breathe, to ignore the way my pulse quickens. My Omega instincts are screaming at me to bare my throat, to submit, to beg for the bite that will complete our bond. The bond betrays me, carrying my unwanted awareness straight to him.
A knowing smile curves his lips. "See something you like, wife?"
The emphasis on my designation sends another pulse of heat through me. I'm going into heat—there's no denying it now. The incomplete bond is destabilizing my biology exactly as Ivy warned.
Ivy's form flickers, her glamour wavering under stress—and under the overwhelming assault of Alpha pheromones flooding the room. I see her pale, her wings flattening against her back in a defensive posture I've never seen from her.
