The hall of vows felt colder than the courtyard.
Ancient stone columns towered overhead, carved with snarling wolves and moon sigils that seemed to watch Eleanor with silent judgment. Torches crackled along the walls, their flames bending strangely, as though some unseen force disturbed the air. The wind moved with forces yet unseen. Sending signals of impending doom.
And the spirit inside Adam Draven was already awake. He could feel the disturbance in the air. He felt restless in a way he had never felt before, and he knew he couldn't stop what was to come.
Eleanor stood at the center of the ceremonial circle — a ring of silver dust that shimmered faintly under the moonlight pouring from the open ceiling. The moonlight shone down on her full white face, casting her in a ghostly glow.
Adam stepped into the circle opposite her. He stared at her. She stared at him
For a moment, neither spoke.
He looked like a storm held together by sheer force of will — jaw clenched, muscles rigid, gold in his eyes flickering dangerously every time they locked on hers.
Bonded.
Destiny.
Impossible.
Alphonsus watched from the shadows, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But Eleanor knew her father's mind was racing. His plan had fractured, but not broken. He would simply adjust.
He always did.
A low drumbeat began — the Nightfangs' ritual rhythm. Wolves shifted along the edges of the hall, pacing in massive forms, their ears perked, their eyes reflecting the torchlight like molten metal.
The Nightfang High Priestess stepped forward; her silver hair braided to her waist.
"Adam Draven, Eleanor Thorne," she intoned, her voice echoing. "You stand before the Luna and the packs. By sacred right, we bind your souls. Speak your vows."
Adam did not look at the Priestess.
He looked at Eleanor.
His voice was controlled, but something under it vibrated with tension — rage, disbelief, desire, fear.
"I vow," Adam said slowly, "to protect you with my life."
Her chest tightened.
"I vow to shield you from enemies seen and unseen."
Her fingers curled.
"I vow," his eyes darkened, "to claim you as mine under the moon."
The circle pulsed. The mate-bond tugged so sharply that Eleanor nearly staggered.
Her turn.
She raised her chin, steady. A Thorne trained to show no weakness. But her heart was breaking itself open.
She had been trained her whole life to slit a throat without hesitation — but she had not been prepared for this.
"I swear," Eleanor whispered, "to cherish this marriage.
Her fingers brushed against the hidden dagger beneath her sleeve.
"I pledge to stand with you."
Her throat choked.
"I swear," she forced the words out, "to follow this path, as Chosen bride and luna.
Adam's gold eyes softened for a flicker of a moment-so quick, she almost missed it.
Then he drew nearer.
"Present your wrists," the Priestess said.
Eleanor extended her wrist. Adam's fingers brushed hers — warm, callused, electric. A spark shot up her arm, igniting her pulse. The bond throbbed, demanding more.
Too close.
Too dangerous.
The Priestess raised a ritualistic blade-silver, blessed, ancient.
But the moment she cut a thin line across Eleanor's wrist, Adam growled.
Not a warning.
A reaction.
He smelled her blood.
And his wolf surged.
His eyes flared gold entirely, canines lengthening. The room tensed. Wolves in the shadows lowered their heads, sensing their Alpha's sudden loss of control.
Eleanor's heart raced.
Adam's breathing turned rough, primal, hungry — not for violence.
For her
He caught himself by digging his claws into his own palm.
"Continue," he rasped.
The Priestess slit his wrist. Silver blood welled, shimmering under the moonlight.
As their wrists touched, the blood mingling, the air punched out of Eleanor.
The mate-bond snarled into place.
It felt like fire racing through her veins — like her soul had been yanked toward his with a force violent enough to tear the world in half. Adam's head jerked back; his hand tightened on hers; a low, involuntary growl slipped from his throat.
He felt it, too.
Everyone in the hall felt it.
A real mate-bond.
A powerful one.
A perilous one.
Whispers spread among the wolves.
"A true bond—"
"She's his fated—
"Impossible—"
"A Thorne?"
"The moon goddess has chosen—"
Eleanor's knees went weak.
Not through fear.
From the overwhelming sense of rightness that washed through her — a warmth she didn't want, a craving she didn't ask for, but one that rooted itself deep in her bones. Deep down, she knew what this meant. she wished it wasn't so.
Instinctively, Adam reached out and steadied her.
Their eyes met.
And then for a moment, the world stilled.
Not a bride.
Not an assassin.
Not an enemy.
Just him.
Just her.
Just the bond.
"By the will of the moon," the Priestess said, "you are joined as mates.
The hall erupted.
Wolves howled in victory.
Others snarled in outrage.
Alphonsus did not stir-but Eleanor could sense the chill fury emanating from him.
Adam leaned in, his breath ghosting her ear.
"Whatever your father planned," he murmured, voice low and lethal, "it ends tonight."
Eleanor shivered.
Then Adam did something for which she was not prepared.
He gently took her chin and kissed her forehead.
It was soft. Reverent.
Totally at variance with the peril churning inside him.
But then he whispered, so quietly only she could hear:
"Whatever you came here to do, Eleanor… you'll fail."
Her heart thundered.
Because she wasn't sure anymore whether she wanted to succeed or not.
The Priestess raised her hands.
"Now consummate the bond."
A gasp rippled through the hall.
The ceremony was not over.
The real seal of the mate-bond was accomplished in private.
Alone.
Without an audience.
Eleanor's hand trembled when Adam took it in his.
Her father watched; his face carved from stone.
Adam's voice was a low command in her ear:
"Come. To our chambers."
Eleanor's pulse quickened. Her dagger was still hidden. Her mission was far from over. Her companion waited.
And the night—and her fate—was only just beginning.