The Hallof Bonds stood silent and solemn as I entered, my heart hammering so hard I was pretty sure it was trying to escape through my ribcage. The brochure had called it “majestic.” That was accurate and also completely insufficient.
The ceiling arched three stories overhead, carved from pale stone shot through with veins of silver that caught the ceremonial light and held it, so the entire room seemed to glow from within.
Registry officials stood at their stations along the walls, their expressions professionally blank in the way of people who had witnessed too many of these moments to be moved by another one.
Despite everything, here I was, draped in ceremonial silks that whispered against my dark skin with each step. The fabric was actually nice, which shouldn’t be all that surprising considering the Sanctuary’s main purpose is to
Rakthar’s massive frame dominated the space ahead, his eyes tracking my every movement with an intensity that made my stomach do complicated gymnastics routines.
He had dressed for this. Not his Sanctuary-standard issue—his own things, brought in that chest that had appeared in his prep chamber: dark fabric that moved like armor but sat on his frame like ceremony, the silver bands on his tusks polished, his warrior’s knot tight. He had prepared for this the way a person prepares for something that matters.
Something in my chest settled, almost involuntarily. I kept walking.
The Officiant cleared her throat, her expression unchanged from our first meeting. “The ceremony proceeds with mutual consent,” she announced, voice clipped and efficient.
I nodded, unable to find my voice as Rakthar’s gaze burned into me.
When he spoke, his voice was like gravel wrapped in velvet—rough but somehow smooth, and doing things to my insides that were definitely not appropriate for a formal ceremony.
“I, Rakthar of the Iron Fist Clan, take this human female as my bonded mate.” His massive hand reached for mine, engulfing it completely. His palm was warm, calloused, and surprisingly gentle. “I swear upon my ancestors to guard her life with my body and to protect her from all who would cause harm.” He paused, and something wicked gleamed in his golden eyes. “And I vow to take her pleasure as seriously as her safety.”
Heat flooded through me so fast I was surprised I didn’t spontaneously combust right there in the Hall of Bonds. The Officiant didn’t even blink, merely nodding as if he’d recited tax code instead of vowing something I refuse to think about it right now.
“Do you consent to this bond?” the Officiant asked me, one eyebrow slightly raised as if every inappropriate thought scrolling through my brain was being broadcast across my forehead.
I had told myself I would feel the full weight of the moment. That I would take a breath, consider my words, say them with intention. Yet, my focus narrowed to Rakthar’s thumb as it moved across my knuckles and something settled into place so cleanly that the words came out without effort at all.
“I do,” I said. And then, louder, with a conviction that surprised even me: “I do.”
He exhaled and it was the quietest sound in that enormous room, and somehow the most significant.
The ceremony continued with ritual words in languages I didn’t understand, the press of a seal against parchment, the strange burning sensation as magical ink etched our bond into my skin in delicate patterns that wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet.
I watched, fascinated and slightly terrified, as matching marks appeared on Rakthar’s massive forearm. His eyes found mine across the space between us and stayed there, steady, as the magic settled into us both.
And then we were alone, escorted to our quarters within the Sanctuary, door locked behind us with a finality that made my heart race.
Rakthar stoodmotionless near the door, just watching me. The silence stretched between us, heavy with expectation and something else I couldn’t quite name.
“You tremble, little mate,” he finally said, his voice softer than I’d heard it before.
“I’m not afraid,” I lied, lifting my chin in what I hoped was a confident gesture and probably looked more like I was trying to see over a tall fence.
His mouth curved into a knowing smile that made my stomach flip. “Your fear smells sweet. But your arousal—” he inhaled deeply, and I wanted to die, “—that smells sweeter.”
“Okay, we really need to talk about the whole super-smell thing,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because that’s, like, a lot. That’s an invasion of privacy. There should be laws.”
“There are no laws against breathing, little mate.”
“There should be laws againstcommentingon what you smell,” I countered. “That should definitely be illegal. I’m writing my congressman. Do we have congressmen here? We should have congressmen.”
He approached slowly, deliberately, and I was reminded of nature documentaries where the predator gave the prey time to appreciate its fate. Except I wasn’t sure I wanted to run. Which was probably a sign that my survival instincts had completely abandoned ship.
“You talk when you’re nervous,” he observed, stopping just in front of me. “I find it endearing.”
“Endearing,” I repeated flatly. “I’m so glad my anxiety is cute for you.”
His laugh was low and warm. “Everything about you is appealing to me, Aliana. Your fire. Your spirit. Your sharp tongue.” His hands moved to the ties of my ceremonial silks, and he paused, golden eyes meeting mine. “May I?”
