Blood bound to the last witch

Isabella pov

I told my father I could handle a wolf.

I did not tell him what I meant by that.

In our world, family came first. Always had. We were the most powerful coven for a reason,legacy wasn’t inherited, it was maintained. Carefully. Relentlessly.

Business and blood. That was how we survived. That was how we stayed on top.

I had walked into rooms full of supernatural men before and walked out with exactly what I came for. 

I learned early that power was mostly performance and I was better at performing than most people were at anything.

Kane Rivers was an Alpha.

Not a god.

And a signature was a signature, no matter whose table it was signed on.

 This was something quieter, a collective assessment, instant and thorough, the way predators catalog anything that enters their territory before deciding what to do with it. I was a witch. They were wolves. The math was simple and very old.

I set my briefcase on the obsidian table and did not look at the man at the head of it.

I  had rules about that.

My father had called this a formality. Terms already agreed, lawyers already satisfied,  all that remained was the signature and the performance of civility between two families who did not entirely trust each other.

My father asked me to attend because I was good at that. At being in rooms and giving nothing away. I'm good at 

making people feel negotiated with when the negotiating was already done.

I smoothed the contract against the table's surface and finally looked up. I cleared my throat, and gently smoothing my dress. 

Kane Rivers was already watching me.

I had built an image of him on the drive over. Ancient. Rigid. The sort of Alpha who had calcified somewhere around his two-hundredth year and simply continued existing out of habit. 

I was prepared for that man, a man that lived centuries without ever seeming old. 

He sat at the head of the table, His eyes were dark and patient and they did not move from my face, and I had the distinct and irritating sensation of being seen by someone who had been watching people long enough to be very good at it.

I sat down.

"Mr. Rivers." I kept my voice flat. Efficient. "Let's keep this brief. I have a coven meeting at four."

Something shifted at the corner of his mouth,not quite a smile,  the ghost of one, from a man who had stopped making them regularly sometime in the last three centuries.

"Of course," he said.

His voice was low. Unhurried. 

We moved through the terms without excuses. 

"The exclusivity clause," Kane said, sliding a page toward me. "Three years is standard. Your father agreed to five."

"My father was being generous." I pulled the page back. "Three years. With a renewal option if both parties are satisfied."

He looked at me for a moment. Then he said, "And the territory provision on page nine. Your coven's boundaries overlap with our eastern border."

"They always have. That hasn't been a problem for either party in forty years."

"It becomes a problem when we're formally linked."

"Then we add a non-interference clause. Boundaries stay where they are. Neither party encroaches." I uncapped my pen. "Is that agreeable?"

A pause. Brief, deliberate.

"Yes," he said.

I cataloged the room the way I always did: second-in-command at his left shoulder, three wolves at the perimeter, two exits. Everything filed and accounted for.

What I did not account for was the moment the contract sat between us and we both reached for it.

His hand met my fingers. A half second of contact that should have meant nothing and something in me slipped out of alignment. 

"My pen," I said, because I needed to say something, and I was proud of how even my voice came out. 

The voice of a woman who had felt absolutely nothing.

I signed. I slid the contract across the table. I did not touch him again.

The meeting ended twelve minutes later. I shook the right hands, said the right things, and walked out with the same pace I had walked in.

I made it to the corridor.

Then my back was against the wall and I was already reaching for my phone.

It rang twice before my best friend picked up.

"How'd it go?"

"Fine." I pressed two fingers to my sternum without thinking about it. The warmth was still there. "Adara. You know what a mate bond feels like?"

Silence.

"Isabella."

"Hypothetically."

"It feels like your whole body recognizes something your brain hasn't caught up to yet." Her voice had gone careful. "Why are you asking me hypothetically?"

I looked down the corridor. Empty. Dark wood, low light, the distant sound of voices still inside the hall.

"My grandmother used to say the ones who got tangled with wolves never really came back."

"Isabella —"

"He arranged this." The certainty settled in my chest right alongside that warmth, and I hated that they existed in the same place. "The deal. The terms that needed my signature specifically. The way he reached for that contract. All of it."

"You think Kane Rivers manufactured a mate bond."

"I think Kane Rivers is three hundred years old and very patient and my family's business is worth a great deal to his pack." I pushed off the wall. "I think fate is a convenient story for men who want what they want and prefer not to be held responsible for taking it."

Adara was quiet for a moment.

"And what do you want?"

I didn't answer that.

"I'll call you later," I said, and hung up.

I was halfway down the corridor when I heard footsteps behind me. I knew it was him. 

"Miss Nyxara."

I did not stop.

"The meeting is over, Mr. Rivers."

"It is." He fell into step beside me without invitation, and I hated how naturally he occupied the space beside me, like he had always been there and I simply hadn't noticed. "I'd like to speak with you about what happened there."

"Nothing happened there."

"Isabella."

My name in his mouth stopped my feet before I gave them permission. I turned.

This close, he was worse. The bond pulled at the edge of my awareness like a current beneath still water, steady, directionless, simply there regardless of what I thought about it. 

His expression was controlled. But his eyes were doing something they hadn't done at the table. Something that looked, underneath all that careful authority, almost like grief.

Like a man who recognized something he had buried.

"You felt it," he said. Not a question.

I held his gaze for three full seconds. Long enough to make it clear I was not afraid of him. Short enough to make clear I was done.

"What I felt," I said quietly, "was a very old wolf running a very sophisticated trick. I'd like you to know that it won't work."

I turned and walked away.