Morning arrived hours later with the harsh, cold light of dawn spilling through the arched windows.
Soren woke up instantly, his senses on high alert.
The right side of the bed was already empty, the heavy furs cold.
He sat up quickly, his hand automatically flying to his belt.
Kaelen was gone.
The transparent red chain was still attached to Soren’s wrist, but it was stretched impossibly thin—strained far past its usual three-foot limit, fading out through the heavy oak doors.
Soren frowned, feeling the dull, faint throb in his wrist.
He knew the bond’s magic normally anchored them strictly within a few paces, but an Alpha of Kaelen’s sheer raw power could temporarily force the link to stretch through sheer willpower, even if enduring that agonizing pressure burned him every step of the way.
Kaelen was somewhere deeper in the fortress, enduring the pull just to leave him breathing room.
Soren swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his aching forehead.
His body felt surprisingly better—the freezing cold of the curse had been held at bay all night simply by sharing a room with the Alpha.
He hated how much his survival already depended on Kaelen’s presence.
Soren stood up and walked over to the heavy chamber doors then turned the brass handle.
Locked.
He even tried channeling a small drop of his blood-magic into his fingertips, touching the keyhole.
A bright blue pulse of protective wards flared off the iron, shoving his magic back.
“Warded from the outside,” Soren muttered to himself, narrow eyes flashing with annoyance.
“That arrogant bastard locked me in.”
Deprived of an escape route, Soren turned his attention to the chamber itself.
He walked over to the massive wall of dark wooden shelves he had spotted the night before.
Row after row of ancient, leather-bound grimoires, ancestral records, and strange wooden statues of mythical beasts lined the walls.
Soren reached out, his delicate fingers and traced the dusty spines of the books.
He pulled down a heavy, a book titled The Lineage of the First Alphas.
He dragged the heavy book over to a small oak table near the window, sitting down and flipping rapidly through the yellowed pages.
He skipped past the dull histories of pack wars and territory expansion, searching specifically for mentions of the High Priestess and the three-moon curse.
Hours bled by and Soren became completely absorbed in the research, while his sharp mind picked apart ancient magical dialects and translation errors.
The curse was even more intense than Kaelen had described.
It wasn’t just a physical poison; it was a soul-knot designed to devour the magical core of any Alpha who tried to claim a mate without the Priestess’s blessing.
Suddenly, the heavy iron lock on the chamber door clicked.
Soren’s hand instantly flew to his belt, his posture straightening into a tense, dangerous line.
The door swung open, but it wasn’t Kaelen.
A tall, broad-shouldered wolf warrior stepped into the room.
He wore the dark leather armor of a High Sentry, a long broadsword strapped to his back, and held a tray of bread and roast meat.
He was older, with a thick graying beard and a sharp, battle-scarred sneer.
The guard stopped dead in his tracks the moment he spotted Soren sitting by the window.
His grey wolf eyes widened in immediate shock, followed quickly by deep disgust.
“What is a dirty rogue wolf doing in the Alpha’s private quarters?” the sentry growled, setting the tray down heavily on a side table.
His hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his sword.
“How did you get in here, rat?”
Soren didn’t flinch.
He slowly closed the heavy grimoire, keeping his bright blue eyes locked onto the guard with cool, arrogant detachment.
“Your Alpha put me here,” Soren said, his voice crisp and dangerously quiet.
“And if I were you, I’d keep your hand off that sword before you lose the fingers attached to it.”
The sentry’s face flushed dark red with anger.
“You dare speak to a Blackthorn elder like that?
You stink of dark hedge-magic..
you are also a taboo spell cutter.” He observed while he took two massive, intimidating steps toward Soren, his Alpha aura flaring out in an attempt to crush Soren into submission.
“On your knees, rogue.
You’ll answer to me before Kaelen gets back.”
Soren’s lips curved into a tiny, razor-sharp smile.
“I don’t bend my knees for anyone, old man.
Especially not a glorified butler carrying a bread basket.”
The sentry snarled, pulling his sword halfway out of its sheath.
Soren moved like lightning on sheer defense he had been used to.
He didn’t draw his dagger.
Instead, he flicked his right wrist, drawing a single silver needle from his sleeve.
With a quiet, muttered spell, he channelled a drop of his blood-magic into the thin metal.
The needle flashed with a sharp, red light.
Soren threw it with perfect, deadly precision.
Thwack!
The silver needle bit deep into the thick stone wall right behind the sentry’s head, severing a single strand of the guard’s gray hair.
But it wasn’t just metal—the blood-magic attached to the needle exploded into a web of glowing red threads, instantly pinning the sentry’s heavy leather shoulder armor to the wall.
The guard gasped, trying to jerk forward, but the blood-threads held him completely paralyzed, locking his muscles in place.
“What…
what kind of dark sorcery is this?!” the sentry roared, his eyes wide with sudden panic as he struggled against the magical restraint.
“Standard blood-binding,” Soren said smoothly, standing up from his chair and dusting off his tunic.
He walked over to the trapped elder, stepping right into his space.
“The harder you pull, the tighter the threads cut into your collarbone.
I suggest you hold your breath and stay still.”
“Soren.”
A deep, commanding voice echoed from the doorway.
Kaelen stood in the open entrance, with two other guards by his sides.His broad chest rose and fell slightly, his golden eyes scanning the scene—the pinned sentry, the glowing blood-threads, and Soren standing there looking like a cold, victorious prince.
The trapped elder immediately called out.
“Alpha!
This rogue attacked me!
He’s using forbidden blood-magic inside the fortress—”
“Silence, Boran,” Kaelen growled.
His tone was so flat, so icy, that the elder instantly went mute.
Kaelen stepped into the chamber, closing the door behind him.
He walked slowly toward Soren, his golden eyes locked onto the younger man.
And for a second, Soren thought Kaelen was going to be furious about the attack.
Soren tightened his grip on his spare needle, preparing for a fight.
Instead, Kaelen stopped right beside Soren.
He looked at the pinned sentry, then looked down at Soren, and a slow, deeply amused smirk spread across his sharp jawline.
“I leave you alone for four hours,” Kaelen murmured softly, his low voice intended only for Soren’s ears, “and you’ve already pinned my Chief Sentry to the wall like a butterfly.”
“He had terrible manners,” Soren replied coolly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And he threatened me.
I don’t take kindly to threats in my workspace.”
Kaelen raised a single eyebrow, his eyes glinting with a strange, dark pride.
He turned to the trapped guard.
“Boran, this is Soren.
He is under my explicit, absolute protection.
If you or any other member of this pack raise a hand to him, use a slur against his blood, or enter this chamber without my permission, I will personally strip you of your rank.”
The elder’s jaw dropped in absolute shock.
“Alpha…
he is an unbonded rogue!”
“He is my guest,” Kaelen corrected, his voice dropping into a terrifying Alpha rumble that vibrated through the stone walls.
“Dismissed.”
Soren gave a lazy snap of his fingers, releasing the blood-threads and immediately, the silver needle pulled free from the stone and flew back into Soren’s palm, disappearing into his sleeve.
The sentry chief stumbled forward, holding his shoulder, glaring murder at Soren before turning on his heel and rushing out of the room.
Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut again, the chamber fell dead silent.
Soren turned to face the Alpha, brushing a strand of pale hair out of his eyes.
“You didn’t have to do that.
I had him under control.”
“I know you did,” Kaelen said, stepping closer.
The space between them shrank instantly, the red chain between their wrists throbbing with a warm, pulsing light.
“You’re vicious, little spell-cutter.
It’s almost attractive.”
Soren’s heart gave a violent, traitorous thud against his ribs.
He forced his face to stay completely blank, though his cheeks burned hot.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Vane.
Did you bring what I asked for, or did you just come back to waste my time?”
Kaelen’s dark smirk widened.
He reached inside his heavy leather coat and pulled out a long, ancient cylinder made of blackened iron, sealed with a glowing gold lock.
“I spent the morning in the deep vaults under the citadel,” Kaelen said, holding the cylinder out.
“This is the original scroll recovered from the High Priestess’s tomb.
My scholars haven’t been able to break the seal in fifty years.”
Soren’s eyes lit up with intense, genuine interest, all his stubbornness momentarily replaced by the pure hunger of a pure scholar then stepped forward, reaching out to touch the ancient iron casing.
“Let me see,” Soren whispered softly.
His slender fingers brushed against the cool metal—and at the same time, his fingers brushed directly against Kaelen’s warm hand.
CLINK.
The moment their skin made direct contact, a violent, blinding spark of crimson light exploded off the chain.
The shockwave slammed straight into both of them.
Soren gasped as a wave of intense, overwhelming heat flooded his veins, fighting violently against the ice in his chest.
The silver curse mark on his collarbone flared red-hot, burning through his shirt.
Soren stumbled backward from the sheer force of the magic, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches.
Before his knees could hit the floor, Kaelen moved.
Fast as a shadow, the Alpha wrapped one massive arm around Soren’s waist, hauling his small frame flush against his chest.
Soren’s hands slammed against Kaelen’s broad shoulders to push him away, but the physical contact only amplified the sensation and the warmth of Kaelen’s body poured into Soren, drowning out the agonizing cold of the curse in an instant.
It felt intoxicating—like drinking liquid fire after freezing in the snow for years.
Soren looked up, his bright blue eyes wide and dark with a mixture of terror and overwhelming desire.
Kaelen was looking down at him, his golden wolf eyes completely blown out, dark and wild with raw predator instinct.
Kaelen’s breath was hot against Soren’s face, smelling of cedar and rain.
His grip on Soren’s waist tightened, pulling him so close there wasn’t a breath of air between them.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” Kaelen rasped, his deep voice thick and rough against Soren’s ear.
His gaze dropped down to Soren’s parted, flushed lips.
“The way our magic burns when we touch.
The curse wants to kill us, Soren…
but the bond wants something else entirely.”
Soren’s chest heaved, his pulse hammering against his throat.
He wanted to bite him, he wanted to stab him, he wanted to drag the Alpha down onto the floor and never let go.
The slow chemistry between them was no longer a flicker—it was an inferno threatening to burn all his logic, composure to ash.
Using every ounce of his stubborn willpower, Soren pressed the flat of his hand against Kaelen’s chest, feeling the heavy, frantic thud of the Alpha’s heart under his palm.
“Let…
go of me, Kaelen,” Soren whispered, his voice trembling despite his best efforts.
“Remember…
condition number two.”
Kaelen stayed completely frozen for two agonising seconds, his golden eyes burning into Soren’s pale face, searching every inch of his expression.
Slowly, reluctantly, Kaelen unclasped his arm from Soren’s waist and stepped back two inches.
The cold air instantly rushed between them, making Soren shiver at the sudden loss of heat.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, little spell-cutter,” Kaelen murmured, his voice still low and dangerous.
Soren swallowed hard, adjusting his tunic with shaking hands and picking up the iron scroll cylinder off the table where it had fallen.
He pointed a thin, trembling finger at the ancient lock.
“We have eighty-seven days left, Alpha,” Soren said, his voice regaining its sharp, razor-thin edge as he fought to cover up the panic in his chest.
“Save your feral charm for someone who cares.
Now help me break this seal before this curse finishes what it started.”
Kaelen looked at him for a long, quiet moment, a dark, promise-filled smile touching his lips.
“As you wish, sweetheart.
But remember—the chain only pulls tighter from here.”
The tension between these two is already getting out of hand!
( Ψ ▽ Ψ )
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See you in the next chapter!