Kieran lasted exactly forty-five minutes before curiosity won over caution.
He'd tried to resist. Really, he had. Spent that time pacing the room, examining every inch of it for weaknesses, planning escapes that would probably get him killed.
But in the end, the need to understand—to gather intelligence, he told himself, not because he was interested—drove him to the door.
It opened easily. No locks from the inside.
You're free to explore, Rhydian had said.
So he would. Not because the Beast King had given permission, but because knowing your enemy's territory was Hunter 101.
The corridor outside was just as grand as his room. Stone walls lit by what looked like floating crystals—magic, actual magic—casting a soft white glow. Tapestries depicting battles between creatures out of mythology. Windows that showed...
Kieran stopped at one, staring.
The view was impossible.
Mountains in the distance, their peaks perpetually covered in snow. Forests that looked ancient and untamed, trees so tall they seemed to touch the sky. And between the mountains and forests, a city.
Not a human city. Something else.
Buildings made of stone and wood and what looked like crystal, built into the mountainside itself. Architecture that was part medieval castle, part something older, something that predated human civilization.
Lights glowed in windows—not electric, not firelight, but that same magical illumination from the crystals. And moving through the streets below were... things.
Creatures.
Werewolves in half-shifted form, walking upright. Vampires without the need to hide what they were. Things with wings, with scales, with features that defied classification. All moving about like this was perfectly normal.
"The Shadowlands."
Kieran spun, hand automatically going for a weapon he didn't have.
A woman stood in the corridor behind him. Tall, with sharp features and pointed ears that marked her as fae. She wore leather armor similar to Rhydian's, and carried herself like a warrior.
"Sorry," she said, holding up her hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Didn't mean to startle you. I'm Lyria. Captain of the King's Guard."
King's Guard. So Rhydian wasn't just powerful—he had an army.
"Kieran," he said automatically, then cursed himself. Why was he introducing himself to the enemy?
Lyria's lips quirked. "I know who you are. The whole keep knows. The King's mate, finally found after five centuries." Her expression sobered. "Though I imagine that's not how you see yourself."
"I'm a prisoner."
"Are you? Did anyone try to stop you from leaving your room?"
"The door was locked earlier."
"By the King, not by guards. And he unlocked it." Lyria gestured down the corridor. "You're free to go anywhere in the keep. Even outside, though I'd advise against it until you understand the Shadowlands better."
"Why?" Kieran challenged. "Afraid I'll run?"
"Afraid you'll get killed." Lyria's expression was serious. "The Shadowlands are sanctuary for supernatural beings who don't fit in anywhere else. Outcasts, refugees, those rejected by their own kind. But sanctuary doesn't mean safe. There are... tensions. And a human—or someone who appears human—wandering around alone would be seen as prey by some of the less civilized residents."
"I can handle myself."
"Against vampires, maybe. You're a hunter, trained for that." Lyria's pointed ears twitched. "But can you handle a feral werewolf pack? A rogue demon? A hungry dragon?"
Dragons. She said it so casually, like dragons were just another inconvenience.
This isn't your world anymore, a voice whispered in Kieran's head.
"So I'm confined to the keep."
"You're protected within the keep," Lyria corrected. "The King's law is absolute here. No one touches his mate without signing their own death warrant." She started walking, clearly expecting him to follow. "Come. If you're going to explore, you should at least know what you're looking at."
Kieran hesitated, then followed. Intel gathering. That's all this was.
"The Shadowkeep was built three hundred years ago," Lyria explained as they walked. "When the King established the Shadowlands as neutral territory. Before that, supernatural outcasts had nowhere to go. Vampires exiled by their covens, werewolves rejected by their packs, fae who'd committed some political sin—they all ended up dead or enslaved."
They passed through a massive hall. More tapestries, these showing Rhydian in various scenes. Fighting. Building. Leading.
"The King gathered them. Offered protection in exchange for loyalty. Created laws that everyone had to follow, regardless of their power or species." Lyria's voice held genuine respect. "It wasn't easy. There were challenges, rebellions. But he put them all down. Proved he was strong enough to hold this place together."
"So he's a dictator."
"He's a king," Lyria countered. "And out here, in the wild lands between the supernatural territories, that's what's needed. Strength. Decisiveness. Someone willing to make the hard choices."
They emerged onto a balcony overlooking a massive courtyard. Below, various creatures were training. Sparring with weapons, practicing magic, shifting between forms.
"This is the Guard," Lyria said. "Five hundred strong. We protect the Shadowlands from external threats and maintain order internally." She pointed to different groups. "Werewolf units there.Vampire squad's there. Mixed units—fae, demons, shifters—in the center. We train together, fight together. Species doesn't matter here. Only loyalty."
Kieran watched a vampire and werewolf sparring together—creatures that were supposed to be mortal enemies, working as partners.
"How?" he asked despite himself. "Vampires and werewolves have hated each other for millennia. How does he make them cooperate?"
"Because the alternative is worse." Lyria's expression darkened. "Out there—" she gestured beyond the mountains "—they're still fighting their ancient wars. Vampires hunting werewolves. Werewolves slaughtering vampire nests. Humans caught in the crossfire. And for what? Pride? Territory? Grudges so old no one remembers how they started?"
She turned to face him fully. "The King offers something different. A place where the only thing that matters is what you do, not what you are. It's not perfect—old hatreds die hard—but it's better than the alternative."
Kieran processed this. The Guild had always painted supernatural society as chaotic, violent, irredeemable. But this... this looked like civilization. Harsh, yes, but organized. Purposeful.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Lyria's smile was knowing. "Because the King asked me to. He wants you to understand what you've stumbled into. What's at stake." She paused. "And because I think you deserve the truth, even if it's not what you want to hear."
"The truth?" Kieran laughed bitterly. "I don't even know what truth is anymore. Everything I thought I knew is—"
"Wrong?" Lyria supplied. "Welcome to enlightenment. It's painful."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the warriors below.
"Can I ask you something?" Kieran finally said.
"You can ask. I may not answer."
"The King. Rhydian." The name felt strange on his tongue. "What is he, exactly? I've never seen anything like him."
Lyria's expression grew complicated. "He's unique. A hybrid that shouldn't exist."
"Half vampire, half werewolf?"
"Among other things." Lyria leaned against the balcony railing. "His mother was a pureblood vampire—ancient nobility, powerful. His father was a werewolf alpha. Their union was forbidden by both races. When he was born, both sides tried to kill him."
Horror crept through Kieran despite himself. "He was just a child."
"Child or not, he represented everything both races feared. Proof that the barriers between species weren't absolute. That their 'purity' could be corrupted." Lyria's voice hardened. "They hunted him for decades. His parents died protecting him. He survived alone, learning to fight, growing stronger. And when he was finally powerful enough..." She smiled grimly. "He made sure they regretted their hatred."
"He killed them?"
"He conquered them. Carved out this territory by force and declared it neutral ground. Told both vampire and werewolf leaders that if they wanted to continue their war, they'd have to go through him first." Lyria's eyes gleamed with fierce pride. "No one's been stupid enough to try. Yet."
Kieran's mind reeled. Rhydian wasn't just powerful—he was a force of nature. A living weapon forged by hatred and survival.
No wonder he'd felt that overwhelming pressure in the warehouse.
"You admire him," Kieran observed.
"I love him," Lyria said simply. "Not romantically—I'm not interested in males that way. But he saved my life when my own people cast me out for being born with too much power. He gave me purpose. A home. A family." Her mismatched purple eyes—fae eyes—fixed on Kieran. "He's given that to thousands of us. So yes, I admire him. And I'll protect him with my life."
The unspoken message was clear: Don't hurt him.
"I didn't ask for this," Kieran said quietly. "The bond, this place, any of it."
"Neither did he." Lyria pushed off the railing. "But the bond chose you both anyway. What you do with that choice is up to you." She started walking back toward the keep. "Come on. I'll show you the library. I have a feeling you're going to want to do some research."
The library was magnificent.
Three stories tall, with shelves carved directly into the stone walls, winding staircases connecting the levels, and reading nooks tucked into alcoves lit by those floating crystals. Books—thousands of them, maybe tens of thousands—filled every available space.
Kieran's fingers itched to touch them. He'd always loved books, even as a child. The orphanage hadn't had many, but he'd read every single one dozens of times.
"Most of these are about supernatural history, magic theory, bloodline records," Lyria explained. "Things your Guild probably keeps locked away. Here, knowledge is free." She pulled a thick volume from a nearby shelf. "This one covers fae bloodlines. Might help you understand your heritage."
Kieran took the book carefully. The cover was old leather, worn smooth by countless hands. Inside, pages filled with meticulous handwriting, diagrams, genealogy charts.
"Moon fae," Lyria pointed to a section. "Rare. Most fae lines are tied to elements or seasons. Moon fae are tied to... well, the moon. Emotion, intuition, dreams. Their magic is subtle, internal. Which is why it stayed hidden in your bloodline."
Kieran stared at the page. At descriptions of abilities he'd always had but never understood. The way he could sense danger. His unusually vivid dreams that sometimes felt like premonitions. The instinct that made him a better hunter than he should be.
Not human gifts.
Fae gifts.
"How much?" he whispered. "How much of me is... not human?"
"Does it matter?" Lyria's voice was gentle. "You're still you. The labels we use—human, fae, vampire, werewolf—they're just words. What matters is what's in here." She tapped his chest, right over his heart. "And from what I've seen, you have the heart of a warrior. That doesn't change based on your blood."
Kieran wanted to believe her. But twenty-five years of being taught that supernatural creatures were monsters, enemies, things to be destroyed—that didn't disappear just because he learned he was part monster himself.
"I need time," he said finally. "To process all this."
"Take all the time you need. The library's open always." Lyria headed for the door, then paused. "One more thing. The King... he's been alone a very long time. Carrying burdens no one should carry alone. I know you didn't choose this bond, but..." She met his eyes. "Try to see him. Really see him. Not as a monster or an enemy. Just as someone who's been waiting five hundred years for something he thought he'd never find."
Then she was gone, leaving Kieran alone among the books.
He spent the next hour reading. Learning about moon fae, about mating bonds, about the history of supernatural races he'd been taught to hate.
The bonds, he discovered, were rare. Sacred. Once formed, they couldn't be broken—not without killing both parties. They connected souls at a fundamental level, making each mate aware of the other's emotions, their life force. If one died, the other usually followed within hours.
A lifetime sentence, binding him to a creature he barely knew.
The thought should have terrified him.
Instead, he felt that warmth in his chest again. The bond, pulsing gently, reminding him that somewhere in this massive keep, Rhydian existed. Was breathing. Was alive.
And some traitorous part of Kieran was... glad.
He slammed the book shut, standing abruptly.
No. I'm not doing this. I'm not falling for some magical manipulation.
But was it manipulation if it was simply truth? If the bond was showing him something real?
A bell chimed somewhere in the keep. Deep, resonant, echoing through the stone.
Dinner. Rhydian had said dinner in two hours.
Kieran looked down at himself. Still wearing the borrowed clothes. No weapons. No way to defend himself if this was a trap.
But Lyria's words echoed in his mind: Try to see him.
Against every instinct screaming at him to hide, to run, to resist—Kieran left the library and went to find the dining hall.
The dining hall was smaller than Kieran expected. More intimate. A single long table, set for two, positioned near massive windows that showed the Shadowlands at twilight. The setting sun painted everything in shades of purple and gold.
Rhydian stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at his kingdom.
He'd changed clothes too. Black pants, a deep red shirt that made his pale skin almost luminescent. His long dark hair was unbound, falling past his shoulders. Without the armor, without the obvious weapons, he looked...
Beautiful.
The thought snuck past Kieran's defenses before he could stop it.
"You came," Rhydian said without turning around. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Lyria gave me a tour. She's very loyal to you."
"She's family." Rhydian finally turned, and those mismatched eyes found Kieran across the room. "All my people are. That's what we've built here—a family for those who have none."
A pang went through Kieran's chest. He understood that feeling. The orphanage, then the Guild—always looking for belonging, for a place to call home.
Rhydian gestured to the table. "Please. Sit. I promise the food isn't poisoned." A slight smile. "I can't have my mate dying before we've had a chance to properly talk."
My mate. The words still sent shivers down Kieran's spine.
He sat, and Rhydian took the seat across from him. Close enough to touch, but respecting the distance.
Servants—a mix of species, Kieran noted—brought food. Roasted meat, vegetables, bread that smelled fresh from the oven. Wine in crystal glasses. A feast fit for, well, a king.
They ate in silence for a while. The food was excellent, and Kieran realized he was starving. How long had it been since he'd eaten? Since before the warehouse mission.
"You have questions," Rhydian said finally. "Ask them."
Kieran set down his fork. "Why me? Out of everyone in the world, why did the bond choose me?"
"I don't know." Rhydian's honesty was surprising. "Bonds don't follow logic. They follow... rightness. Soul-deep compatibility." He took a sip of wine. "My theory? You and I are more alike than you want to admit."
"We're nothing alike," Kieran protested.
"Aren't we?" Rhydian leaned forward. "We're both warriors. Both survivors of tragedy. Both rejected by those who should have protected us—me by my birth races, you by discovering you're not fully human." His voice softened. "We're both lonely, Kieran. Surrounded by people but fundamentally alone. Until now."
The words hit too close to home.
"I kill vampires," Kieran said, desperate to maintain the distance between them. "You're part vampire. How is that compatible?"
"You kill vampires who hurt humans. Who break the natural order." Rhydian's expression was serious. "I've killed more vampires than you ever will. The ones who abuse their power, who treat humans as nothing but food. We're not so different in that."
"You're a monster."
"Yes." No denial. No excuse. "I am. I've done monstrous things to survive, to build this place, to protect my people." He met Kieran's eyes steadily. "But I'm trying to be better. To create something good from all the blood and horror. Isn't that what matters? Not what we are, but what we choose to do?"
Kieran wanted to argue. To maintain his righteous anger, his fear, his denial.
But he couldn't.
Because Rhydian was right. They were alike. Both trying to fight for something better in a world that seemed determined to tear itself apart.
"The war you mentioned," Kieran said, changing the subject. "What's really happening?"
Rhydian's expression darkened. "The vampire lords are consolidating power. They've been doing it slowly for years, but recently it's accelerated. They're eliminating rivals, absorbing territories, building armies." He paused. "And they've infiltrated the Hunter's Guild."
"How do you know?"
"Because I have spies everywhere. Information is power, and I've made sure I know everything happening in the supernatural world." Rhydian pulled out a folder—where had that come from?—and slid it across the table. "These are the names of Guild members who are either controlled by vampires or are secretly vampires themselves."
Kieran opened the folder with trembling hands.
The names inside made his blood run cold.
Master Aldric—the Guild Weapons Master who'd trained him personally.
Commander Thorne—the strategic coordinator who assigned all missions.
Councilor Vera—one of the five ruling members of the Guild's High Council.
"No," he breathed. "These people—I know them. They've been hunters for decades. They can't be—"
"Test them," Rhydian suggested. "Holy water, silver, sunlight. You'll find I'm right."
If this was true—if the Guild was compromised at the highest levels—then everything Kieran had fought for, everyone he'd trusted...
"Why would they do it?" His voice cracked. "Why betray humanity?"
"Power. Immortality. Promises of protection when the vampires make their final move." Rhydian's jaw clenched. "The lords have been planning this for a century. They want to come out of the shadows, stop hiding, take control openly. And the only thing standing in their way is—"
"The Guild."
"The Guild, and places like the Shadowlands. Neutral territories where they can't operate freely." Rhydian's eyes blazed. "They'll move against us soon. Maybe months, maybe weeks. And when they do, it will be war like the world hasn't seen in centuries."
Kieran's mind raced. "The Guild needs to be warned. We need to root out the traitors, prepare defenses—"
"Who will you warn? Who can you trust?" Rhydian asked quietly. "The moment you reveal you know, they'll kill you. They can't risk exposure."
"Then what do we do?"
"We gather evidence. Build alliances. Prepare our own forces." Rhydian stood, moving around the table. "The Shadowlands can survive a vampire assault. But the human world? It will be slaughter. Unless we can unite the supernatural races who still believe in balance. Werewolf packs, fae courts, independent vampires who oppose the lords."
He stopped beside Kieran's chair, looking down at him with an intensity that stole breath.
"That's where you come in. The mate of the Beast King, the bridge between human and supernatural. Someone who understands both worlds." Rhydian's hand reached out, hovering near Kieran's face but not quite touching. "Help me stop this war. Not as my prisoner, but as my partner."
Kieran stared up at him. At this impossible creature who was asking him to save the world.
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'll do it alone. Like I've done everything else for five centuries." Pain flickered across Rhydian's features. "But I'm tired, Kieran. Tired of being alone. Tired of carrying all of this by myself." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The bond brought you to me for a reason. Maybe this is it. Maybe you're meant to help shoulder this burden."
Kieran felt the bond pulsing between them, warm and insistent. Felt Rhydian's loneliness echoing his own. Felt the truth of his words resonating in his soul.
He could refuse. Could hide behind his fear and prejudice and watch the world burn.
Or he could step up. Could be the person—the hunter, the warrior—he'd always wanted to be.
Could save lives instead of just taking them.
"I have conditions," Kieran heard himself say.
Hope flared in Rhydian's eyes. "Name them."
"I want access to everything. All your intelligence, all your resources. No secrets."
"Agreed."
"I want combat training from your best warriors. If I'm going into war, I need to be able to fight more than just vampires."
"Lyria will train you personally."
"And..." Kieran stood, bringing them face to face. Close enough to feel Rhydian's warmth, to see the flecks of amber in that silver eye. "I want you to stop calling me your mate until I'm ready to accept it. This—" he gestured between them "—the bond, us—it happens at my pace. When I'm ready. Not before."
Something like respect crossed Rhydian's face. "You have my word."
He held out his hand. A gesture of partnership, not ownership.
Kieran stared at it. This was a turning point. Everything would change after this. No going back to his old life, his old certainties.
But maybe that old life was built on lies anyway.
He clasped Rhydian's hand.
The bond flared, warm and right, sealing something between them that was more than magical. A choice. A commitment to stand together against the darkness coming.
"Partners," Kieran said firmly.
Rhydian's smile was beautiful and terrible and full of hope. "Partners."
As their hands remained clasped, Kieran felt the first stirrings of something he didn't want to name. Not attraction—he refused to call it that. Not trust—that took time to build.
But possibility.
The possibility that maybe, just maybe, the bond had been right after all.