The Eclipse Accord

There are stories that begin with love. This is not one of them. This begins with silence. With legacy dressed as duty. With a girl who was told her magic was sacred—until it was sold. The Eclipse Accord was forged long before Margo Devereux was born. A pact between witches and wolves, sealed in blood and bound by moonlight. They called it unity. They challed it peace. But peace is a pretty word for a quiet war. Margo was raised to honor the binding. To wear the silk, speak the vows, and never ask why. She did ask. They called it rebellion. She called it survival. And Daniel Castillo—heir to a fractured pack, loyal to a legacy that never loved him—was promised a witch he’d never met. Promised power. Promised control. He didn’t want a bride. He wanted out. This is the story of what happens when two people refuse to be offerings. When legacy cracks. When silence breaks. When the Accord begins to unravel. It starts with a binding. It ends with a reckoning. They called it sacred. The binding. The bloodline. The Accord. But sacred things should not feel like cages. Margo Devereux was raised to honor the old ways. To speak the incantations, wear the sigils, and never question the cost. Her magic was shaped by ritual, her voice trained to echo the coven’s will. But beneath the silk and salt circles, she carried something her family feared: choice. Daniel Castillo was raised on loyalty. On pack law and inherited silence. His father taught him to lead, to protect, to obey. But no one taught him how to refuse. When he was summoned to the Devereux estate, he expected politics. He found a contract. A bride. A future carved without his consent. Neither of them knew the full truth. The Eclipse Accord was more than a marriage pact. It was a spell woven through generations, designed to bind magic and instinct, witch and wolf, legacy and control. And now, with the wards weakening and old enemies stirring, the Accord demands its heirs. But Margo is not a vessel. And Daniel is not a weapon. This is not a love story. It is a reckoning. “They’ll call it union, child. But it was always a tether. And tethers fray.”