Chapter 15: The Attack

I slammed my chamber door, hands trembling with useless rage. The rejection ritual had failed, and I was trapped in something I never wanted. The mate bond clung like an invisible chain I couldn’t break, and I felt him—Connor—on the estate, his presence a constant hum beneath my skin.

It had been three days since that disastrous night—three days dodging my parents, Lord Gustav’s probing looks, and hushed whispers in the halls—three days feeling Connor’s emotions as if they were my own.

“Damn him,” I muttered as I paced my training room. The space, designed for focus with clean lines, orderly weapons, and a cushioned floor, now felt like a prison.

I grabbed a practice sword and moved through basic forms, trying to lose myself. My muscles moved automatically while my mind roiled. Every slash carried anger—anger at Connor, at fate for forging this unwanted bond, and at myself for the traitorous heat that surged when he was near.

The sword clattered to the floor; I couldn’t focus with him so present.

I sat cross-legged on the mat, closed my eyes, and attempted to meditate as Lord Gustav had taught me—breathe in, hold, release, focus on the center—only to feel the bond pulsing like a second heartbeat.

He was frustrated too—a restless energy mirroring my own. Was he pacing in the guest wing, equally trapped? The thought brought a bitter smile.

I pressed my fingertips to my temples. The bond was as physical as it was emotional; I knew he had shifted into his wolf form earlier—his wild emotions echoing a freedom that made my confinement all the more stifling.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. After I had declined the claim and the orb had shattered, the bond had really made itself present, like a punishment for my audacity.

No one knew exactly what was happening. Lord Gustav spent days in ancient archives seeking precedent. My father summoned specialists in bond magic; my mother suggested calmly that perhaps the failure lay in my own lack of commitment. Though unspoken, her implication was clear: Did some part of me want this bond?

I moved to the window and watched the moon rise over the gardens. The truth was more complex than my mother knew. I didn’t want Connor—the arrogant Alpha, a political complication, a werewolf—but my body recognized something that my mind denied.

Even now, I sensed him drawing closer, perhaps to the gardens below. My skin tingled, and I fought the urge to look down.

Instead, I turned away and retrieved my sword, forcing myself back into training forms. Sweat beaded as I moved faster, harder, pushing to exhaustion. If I couldn’t break the bond, I would prove I was still my own master.

Even as my muscles burned, I felt him respond—his presence shifting from frustration to something akin to concern.

I stopped mid-form, breathing hard. The true danger of the bond was not merely physical attraction but this intimate knowing; I sensed his mood shift as if he read my thoughts.

“I won’t accept this,” I whispered to the empty room.

But the shattered orb told another tale. Whatever ancient, primal magic had tethered us was stronger than my will. No isolation or training could change that terrifying fact.

I was bound to Connor, Alpha of the Moon Hunters, with unknown consequences for our future—and the already fragile peace between our kinds.

I woke to shattering glass. Though night had fallen hours ago and the estate was usually quiet, something was wrong. The air felt charged, heavy with unfamiliar magic that made my skin prickle.

I slipped from bed, grabbed Connor’s dagger and moved to the window. The perimeter wards glowed blue, flickering as if under assault.

The wards were failing. In the gardens, dark shadow tendrils probed the barriers, leaving dead patches of earth. This wasn’t a werewolf attack; werewolves didn’t move like liquid darkness or kill with a touch.

I threw on a robe over my nightclothes and raced down the corridor, my bare feet silent on cold marble. The dagger felt unusually warm in my hand. Guards dashed through the halls, their voices tense as they organized a defense, but I ignored their calls to stay back.

I reached the eastern terrace as the shadow breached the final ward. It rose—neither solid nor vapor—a mass of darkness absorbing the moonlight. Ancient; it felt older than the eldest vampires.

“Lady Elizabeth, get back inside!” a guard shouted, sword drawn.

The shadow struck before he reached me; a tendril wrapped around his throat. He didn’t scream before his skin grayed and cracked like ancient parchment. His body collapsed, brittle and lifeless.

I stepped forward, raising Connor’s dagger. The hilt grew hotter, as if responding to the threat. The shadow shifted its attention to me, coiling like a snake ready to strike.

“You picked the wrong house,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.