Updated Dec 29, 2025 • ~11 min read
POV: DORIAN
Nova didn’t return to our chambers until well after dark.
I’d been pacing for hours, feeling her through the bond as she explored the fortress with Kira trailing nervously behind. Her emotions were a storm—defiance and fear and determination all mixed together.
Every time she encountered a hostile vampire, I felt her wolf rise to meet the challenge. Every time someone whispered an insult, I felt her rage spike.
She was making more enemies by the hour.
And I was both proud and terrified in equal measure.
When the door finally opened, she swept in like a conquering warrior, head high despite the exhaustion I felt dragging at her through the bond.
“You’re back,” I said unnecessarily.
“Did you expect me to sleep in the corridors?”
“After today, I half-expected you to claim one of the towers and declare it wolf territory.”
Her lips twitched—almost a smile. “Don’t tempt me.”
She moved to the window, looking out over the moonlit fortress grounds. From this height, you could see for miles—vampire territory stretching in all directions, dark and ancient.
“It’s so different from wolf lands,” she said quietly. “Everything here is stone and shadow. We built with wood and lived among trees. This place is…” She struggled for words. “Lifeless.”
“Vampires aren’t known for our connection to nature,” I admitted. “We’ve forgotten what it’s like to be truly alive.”
“Then why do you keep living?”
The question hit deeper than she probably intended. Why did I keep living? After Julia’s death, after the massacre, after centuries of violence and guilt—why continue?
“Duty,” I said. “My people need me. The court needs stability. And now…” I met her eyes. “Now I have a mate to protect.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“I know. You made that abundantly clear this morning.” I couldn’t keep the hint of amusement from my voice. “Freeing thirty-seven prisoners, threatening Lord Brennan, reorganizing our entire feeding system in one dramatic gesture. Very subtle.”
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
“I noticed.”
We fell into silence. The bond pulsed between us, carrying exhaustion and wariness and something neither of us wanted to name.
“The chaise looks uncomfortable,” Nova said suddenly.
I glanced at the piece of furniture I’d been sleeping on. It was comfortable enough by vampire standards, but I’d be lying if I said it compared to the massive bed.
“I’ll manage,” I said.
“You don’t have to martyr yourself.” She crossed her arms. “The bed is large enough for both of us. As long as you stay on your side.”
Every instinct screamed to accept. To be closer to her, to let the mate bond settle, to maybe—just maybe—start building something beyond hatred.
But I saw the tension in her shoulders. The way her hand stayed near her boot where I knew she’d hidden a blade. She was offering practical sharing of space, nothing more.
And if I pushed for more, I’d lose even that fragile trust.
“The chaise is fine,” I said firmly. “You need proper rest. Take the bed.”
Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, maybe? Relief?
“Suit yourself,” she said, but through the bond I felt gratitude she wouldn’t voice.
She disappeared into the bathroom. I heard water running, the sounds of her evening routine. Tried very hard not to think about her undressing, bathing, vulnerable and alone just one room away.
The mate bond made it difficult.
Everything about having Nova in my space made it difficult.
I focused on preparing the chaise instead—removing armor, changing into sleeping clothes, arranging blanket and pillow. Tried to ignore how acutely aware I was of every sound she made.
When she emerged, she wore the silk nightclothes provided—soft pants and a loose shirt that shouldn’t have been attractive but somehow was. Her long black hair was unbraided, falling around her shoulders like dark water.
She looked young. Vulnerable.
Then her amber eyes met mine and I remembered: this woman had freed prisoners and threatened ancient vampires without hesitation. Vulnerable was the last thing she was.
“Stop staring,” she said.
“Sorry.” I settled onto the chaise, deliberately turning to give her privacy.
I felt her climb into the bed, heard the rustle of silk sheets, sensed her trying to relax and failing.
“Dorian,” she said into the darkness.
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you fight the marriage? You’re a general. Powerful. You could have refused.”
I’d been waiting for this question. Dreading it.
“Because I owed you,” I said quietly. “When Isolde proposed the treaty and I learned it was the Redwolf pack, I knew. This was my chance to make amends. To give you and your people the protection I should have provided twenty years ago.”
“So this is penance.”
“Yes.”
“And what about the mate bond? Did you know about that before the ceremony?”
“No. That was fate’s twisted joke.” I stared at the ceiling. “If I’d known, I might have fought harder against the marriage. Forced connection isn’t fair to you.”
“Nothing about this is fair.”
“I know.”
Silence fell again. Through the bond, I felt her cycling through emotions—anger, confusion, exhaustion, and underneath it all, the persistent pull of the mate connection she didn’t want.
“I had nightmares last night,” she said. “About the massacre.”
“I know. I felt them.”
“Do you have them too? Nightmares about what you did?”
“Every night for twenty years.”
“What do you see?”
I shouldn’t answer. Shouldn’t burden her with my guilt when she carried enough pain already. But she’d asked, and I’d promised truth.
“I see your mother’s face,” I said. “The moment before I killed her. I see the cellar door and know there’s a child hiding below. I see the village burning and hear the screaming and I know—I know—that I’m choosing to be the monster. That there might have been another way if I’d been braver, smarter, better.”
“And in your nightmares, do you choose differently?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I refuse the king’s orders and he makes good on his threat—slaughters every wolf pack in the territory. Thousands dead instead of hundreds. And I watch knowing I could have saved them if I’d just followed orders.”
“Lesser evil,” she said bitterly.
“A monster’s justification.”
“No.” The word surprised me. “Not justification. Just… context. You chose to kill hundreds to save thousands. It’s still horrific. Still unforgivable. But it’s not the same as killing for pleasure or power.”
I turned to look at her. In the moonlight streaming through the windows, she looked almost ethereal—too beautiful for a monster like me to even contemplate deserving.
“Are you defending me?” I asked.
“No. I’m understanding you. There’s a difference.” She rolled to face the wall. “Understanding doesn’t mean forgiving.”
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“Good. Because you won’t get it.”
But through the bond, I felt something shift. Not forgiveness, she was right about that. But maybe… acceptance. That the world wasn’t as simple as monster and victim, that sometimes people made terrible choices for reasons that weren’t pure evil.
It wasn’t much. But it was more than I deserved.
“Nova,” I said into the darkness. “I want you to know: I won’t force anything between us. This marriage may be political, but intimacy has to be your choice. Completely your choice.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because I need to be absolutely clear. I won’t touch you without permission. Won’t expect you to share my bed beyond what’s comfortable for you. The council wants an heir, but I’ll fight them if necessary. You’re not obligated to—”
“I understand,” she cut me off. “You’re not that kind of monster.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for basic decency.”
“After what I’ve done, basic decency feels like more than I deserve from you.”
She made a sound that might have been agreement.
We fell silent after that. I lay on the chaise, acutely aware of her presence just meters away. The mate bond hummed contentedly—we were close, in the same space, and that soothed some ancient instinct.
But I knew Nova was far from content. I felt her discomfort through the bond, her wariness despite my promises.
Time, I told myself. Give her time.
Hours passed. I drifted in and out of sleep, the vampire rest that wasn’t quite human sleep but served the same purpose.
Sometime before dawn, I felt Nova’s nightmare begin.
Her fear spiked through the bond—sharp and visceral. Her breathing hitched. A small sound of distress escaped her.
I was on my feet before I’d consciously decided to move, crossing to the bed.
“Nova,” I said softly, not touching her but close enough to wake her gently. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe.”
She jerked awake, wolf flashing in her eyes, hand going automatically to where her dagger would be.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize me—saw only threat.
Then awareness returned. “What are you doing?”
“You were having a nightmare. I thought—” What had I thought? That I could somehow make it better? “Sorry. I’ll go back to the chaise.”
“Wait.” She sat up, breathing hard. Her hair was tangled, her face pale. “What did I… did I say anything?”
“No. I just felt your fear through the bond.”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t even have private nightmares. This bond is—”
“Invasive,” I finished. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I’ll stop when I run out of things to apologize for.”
“Then you’ll be apologizing for eternity.”
“Probably.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. Then: “Do you want to know what I was dreaming about?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
“I was five again. In the cellar. Watching my mother die.” Her voice was flat, disconnected—the voice of someone reliving trauma. “But this time, you found me. Came down into the cellar and I couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. Just waited for the monster to finish what he started.”
The words were knives to my chest. “I would never have hurt you. Not then, not now.”
“I know that now. Logically. But the five-year-old in my nightmares doesn’t know it. To her, you’re just the monster who took everything.”
I should go back to the chaise. Put distance between us. But the bond was screaming to comfort her, to somehow make this better.
“Do you want me to sleep farther away?” I asked. “If the bond is making the nightmares worse—”
“No. Weirdly, it’s better when you’re close. My wolf settles. She’s confused as hell about it, but she settles.” Nova rubbed her face. “This would be so much easier if you were just evil. If I could hate you cleanly without all these complicated feelings.”
“I wish I could make it simpler for you.”
“You can’t. So we just… deal with it. One day at a time.” She lay back down. “Go back to sleep, Dorian. I’m fine.”
I hesitated, every protective instinct warring with respecting her space.
“If you need anything—”
“I’ll stab you. Yes, I know.” But there was no heat in the words.
I returned to the chaise, but sleep didn’t come. I lay there feeling her slowly settle through the bond, her breathing evening out, exhaustion finally pulling her under.
And I thought about how impossibly cruel fate was.
To give me a mate who had every reason to hate me.
To make her the daughter of a woman I killed.
To trap her here, in this dark fortress, forced to share space with her family’s murderer.
And worst of all—to make her feel the bond too. To know that some part of her responded to me despite everything, and that it confused and angered her.
I would have cut the bond myself if I could. Would have freed her from this connection she didn’t want.
But vampire blood bonds couldn’t be broken except through death.
We were stuck together. Fated and trapped.
I could only hope that time would make it bearable. That maybe—maybe—we could build something resembling peace between us.
It wasn’t much to hope for.
But it was all I had.
As dawn approached and Nova’s breathing deepened into true sleep, I whispered into the darkness: “I’m sorry. For all of it. And I’ll spend every day proving I’m more than the monster you remember.”
She didn’t hear. She was asleep.
But I meant it anyway.
Every word.
Even if it took eternity to prove.
Reader Reactions