Three

The Obsidian Throne Room was quiet except for the soft crackle of black candles and the occasional drip of wax onto marble. Elias Nightshade lounged in the massive chair carved from volcanic glass and bone, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, a crystal goblet of blood wine balanced on his fingers. The liquid inside swirled slow and dark, spiced with something older than most of his court could remember. To anyone who didn’t know him, he would have looked like a king at ease, beautiful in that deadly way vampires were, midnight hair falling loose around sharp cheekbones, crimson eyes half lidded, lips stained red.

The people who actually lived in Nightshade Palace knew better.

No one spoke. The servants moved like ghosts, refilling his goblet when it ran low, clearing away the empty decanter without being asked. His generals had tried giving reports earlier and been met with nothing but silence and a cold stare that sent them backing out of the room. Even his personal guard, Lucian, stood at the edge of the dais with his mouth shut tight.

Elias took another slow sip. The wine tasted like ash tonight.

His mind kept dragging him back to the battlefield no matter how hard he tried to focus on the taste of blood and cloves. The mud. The weight of that massive werewolf pinning him down. The way Ronan Voss had smelled, wild pine, fury, and something hotter underneath. And then the bond had slammed into him like a stake through the chest. Heat. Need. His cock had hardened so fast it was embarrassing, and worse, he’d ground it against the alpha’s thick thigh before he could stop himself. Just a single, desperate press. The memory made his jaw clench so hard he nearly cracked a fang.

He hated Ronan Voss. Had hated him since the day Elias took the throne at barely a century old, still covered in his father’s blood from the coup that put him there. The reasons had always been vague and sharp at the same time, border wars, slaughtered vampire nests, the endless cycle of retaliation. But mostly it was instinct. The werewolf king represented everything Elias had been taught to despise: loud, brutish, ruled by moon and pack instead of blood and cunning.

And yet the alpha kept screaming about some dead mate like Elias had personally ripped her throat out. He had no memory of it. None. He’d ordered plenty of raids in his time, sure, but that particular accusation had always felt… off. Still, Elias had never bothered correcting him. Watching Ronan lose control was one of the few pleasures in this endless, bloody war. Making that bastard snarl and rage? Worth a few villages burned.

But now?

Now the bond had fucked everything.

Elias shifted on the throne, thighs pressing together. Even hours later he could still feel it, an invisible chain wrapped around his ribs, tugging westward toward werewolf territory. His skin felt too tight. His blood ran hotter than it should. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Ronan’s face inches from his own, golden eyes wide with the same shock and disgust Elias felt. The worst part wasn’t the hatred. It was the way the hatred kept twisting into something filthy. He wanted to tear the wolf apart. He wanted to pin him down again and see how far that rage could turn into.....

“Enough,” Elias muttered under his breath. He drained the rest of the goblet and slammed it down on the arm of the throne hard enough that the crystal cracked.

Lucian glanced over but said nothing. Smart man.

Elias’s thoughts spiraled anyway. The bond was spreading through him like venom, slow and sweet and wrong. He could sense Ronan’s anger even now, miles away. It should have disgusted him. Instead it made his fangs ache and his cock twitch again at the memory of hard muscle under his body. He hated how badly he wanted to chase that feeling. He hated that some part of him already missed the solid weight of the alpha. Most of all he hated that the bond made the hatred feel… incomplete. Like it was only one half of something much more dangerous.

He had spent centuries building these walls. Cold calculation. Sharp alliances. Never needing anyone. And now one clash in the mud had unraveled him enough that he couldn’t sit still on his own damn throne.

A servant approached with a fresh decanter. Elias waved her away with a flick of his fingers. He didn’t want more wine. He wanted answers. Or at least a way to mute this cursed pull before it drove him to do something stupid like riding straight into Eldridge Keep and dragging the werewolf king into the nearest dark corner.

His mind flashed again to that moment in the mud, the way Ronan’s breath had hitched, the way their scents had tangled together until Elias couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The raw hunger that had nothing to do with blood. He snarled quietly, lips pulling back from his fangs.

Lucian finally stepped forward, cautious. “My king?”

Elias stared into the middle distance for a long moment, fingers drumming once against the cracked goblet. The chaos in his head refused to settle. The bond pulsed stronger every time he tried to push it down, like it was mocking him. He could almost taste Ronan on the back of his tongue, salt and fury and that wild moon drenched power.

He exhaled through his nose, forcing his voice to stay level.

“Bring me the witch,” he said.

Lucian blinked, surprised for the first time all evening. “The old one? Or....”

“The old one,” Elias cut him off. “Tell her it’s not a request. I want her here before the next moonrise.”

Lucian bowed low, cloak whispering as he turned to carry out the order. The heavy doors of the throne room closed behind him with a dull thud that echoed through the vast chamber.

Elias leaned back on the throne, eyes narrowing at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. His hand drifted unconsciously to his thigh where he could still feel the ghost of Ronan’s body pressed against him. The bond tugged again, insistent and warm and full of promise he wanted no part of.

Whatever this was, he would carve it out. Or he would use it to destroy the alpha king once and for all.

He just wasn’t sure which option scared him more.