The Widows Oath

Anatolia smiled, not because she understood what Harolin had realized, but because she had just gotten a one-in-a-million opportunity, a moment she had been waiting for.

The Widow's Oath was a forbidden curse taught only to the Empire's most elite slayers, and it required three things: the blood of a real werewolf, the willing sacrifice of the slayer's remaining life force, and a moment of physical contact between the caster and the target.

Harolin had just given her all three conditions.

His blood from her sword had gotten smeared all across her skin, her own blood was dripping from her wrist, and his hand was wrapped around her arm.

Anatolia closed her eyes and began to chant under her breath.

Harolin's eyes widened.

"What are you---"

A sharp surge of energy shot through the room, signifying that the curse had been activated.

A black and silver mark appeared on both their wrists. It was a twisted symbol that looked like it had been burned into their flesh.

Harolin screamed in pure agony, dropping to his knees.

The castle trembled at the sound, and in the distance, Anatolia could hear the howls of wolves.

She watched him twist and turn on the ground, and for the first time since he had captured her, she had the upper hand.

"What did you do?" Harolin gasped as he twisted in pain, dropping to his knees. 

“The widow’s oath,” Anatolia said, "an irreversible bond has formed between us. If I die, you will experience my death through the bond. You will lose your ability to heal, and eventually, you will die too. It has no cure or escape."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping, with a wicked smile on her face.

"I told you to kill me when you had the chance."

Harolin just stared at her, his golden eyes filled with pain and fury, but beneath the anger, she saw fear.

And then the mating bond awakened.

It shot through them both unexpectedly, coming together with a burst of emotions, sensations, and scents.

Anatolia felt Harolin's pain as though it were her own. She felt his wolf clawing against Harolin's skin restlessly, and she also felt his confusion, his fear, and the denial he was currently in.

But she also felt something else, a strange connection that felt as if there was a thread of silver light tying their souls together.

It was the mating bond.

"No?" she whispered, unsure.

Harolin looked at her, and she saw the certainty in his eyes.

"You're my mate," he said breathlessly.

"No, no," Anatolia shook her head frantically.  "That's impossible. I'm human. I'm a wolf slayer. I've killed—"

"The Moon Goddess doesn't make mistakes."

Harolin's voice was rough and broken. He was still on his knees, trembling from the effects of the curse, but he was now looking at her with an intensity that made all the hair on her skin rise.

"You are my fated mate," he repeated, "and you just bound us together with cursed blood magic."

The healers were summoned, and Jemisha, the royal healer, who was a tall woman with sharp eyes, examined the marks on their wrists carefully, noting the way both their bodies reacted to being apart.

Then she made her diagnosis.

"The curse has destabilized the mating bond," she said. "Your wolves are now spiritually and emotionally entangled. If we try to separate them by force, it will kill you both."

Harolin was pacing around the room, his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

"So what do we do now?" he demanded.

"For now," Jamisha said, "you both need to stay close to each other. The bond will stabilize on its own, but it will take time."

"How much time?"

"I cannot say. Days, weeks, maybe longer."

Harolin stopped pacing, his eyes snapping to Anatolia, who was sitting on the edge of the bed in his private chambers. Her wrists were still bound in silver chains, and she looked pale and exhausted, but her jaw was still clenched defiantly.

And it made him want to strangle her.

"This is all your fault," he gritted out.

"My fault?" Anatolia snorted a laugh. "You're the one who grabbed my wrist."

"Because I was trying to understand why your scent was affecting me."

"Well, now you know." She smiled sharply. "Apparently, we are mates, bound by a curse that I cast, and neither of us can kill the other without dying ourselves."

She leaned back on the bed with a sigh.

"So what now, Alpha King? Do we spend the rest of our lives trying to murder each other?"

Harolin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, he felt a wave of dizziness descend on him, and he stumbled, barely catching himself on the edge of the bed.

The effects of the curse still hadn't released him.

Anatolia felt it too, and she gasped, her hand pressing against her chest. For a moment, they both felt the pain that they shared.

When it finally passed, they found themselves on the bed, their bodies tangled together.

Harolin could feel her heartbeat inside his own heart, and he could feel her breath all over his skin. The intensity of the mating bond was increasing by the second.

Rhenar was viciously demanding that he close the distance between them.

"We can't," he gritted out breathlessly.

Anatolia's eyes darkened as she looked at him.

"I know," she whispered.

But neither of them moved away.

The curse had awakened something in both of them, and their mating bond was overwhelming and consuming their senses, making each other impossible to resist.

And as time passed, its effect only grew stronger, and the two of them stopped trying to fight it, giving in to the desire of the bond.