The Witch's Contract

THE FIRST NIGHT AS LUNA

The mark didn’t stop bleeding until midnight.

Elara sat on the cold stone floor of the Luna’s chamber, grey silk pooled around her waist. The fang-shaped wound on her shoulder throbbed in time with the torches. Black and red. Claimed.

Down in the healers’ wing, Lyra was breathing. Three drops had bought her one more day.

And upstairs, Kade was coming.

The lock clicked.

He didn’t knock. Alpha Kings didn’t ask.

Kade filled the doorway. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, blood under his nails that wasn’t his. His silver eyes went straight to her shoulder. To the blood crusted on grey silk. To the old symbol flickering under the fang mark.

“You ran your laps,” he said. No praise. Just fact.

Elara didn’t stand. “I’m alive. Is that enough?”

Something in his jaw tightened. He crossed the room in three strides and crouched in front of her. Close. Too close. She could smell snow and iron and him.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

“I’m already—”

“Turn. Around. Luna.”

The bond snapped tight around her ribs and forced her to obey. She turned. Exposed the mark fully. It pulsed once, like it recognized him.

Kade’s breath hitched. She felt his hand hover over the wound. Not touching. Just heat.

“They called you witch-licker today,” he said quietly. “Fifty of them.”

“I heard.”

“You didn’t break.”

“I’m not allowed to.”

His fingers finally touched the mark. Gentle. Testing. The bond flared and Elara gasped. It wasn’t pain. It was his control. Sliding into her. Cold. Possessive. Checking if the iron collar would hold.

“The mark is changing,” Kade murmured. His thumb brushed the silver symbol under the fang. “Old magic. Your mother’s?”

Elara bit her tongue. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.” But he didn’t press. He just kept his hand there. Warm. Too warm. “The contract says one year. My bed. My name. My rules.”

“I remember.”

“Good.” His other hand came up and fisted in her hair. Not rough. Possessive. He pulled her head back until she had to look at him over her shoulder.

Silver eyes. Endless. Hungry.

“Then you remember what comes after the mark, Luna.”

Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs. The monster inside her rose at the scent of him. Teeth. Claws. Mate. It whispered again.

“I haven’t eaten,” she whispered instead. Deflect. Survive. “The servant didn’t come.”

Kade stared at her for one long second. Then he let go. Stood. Walked to the door and opened it.

“Food,” he said to whoever was in the hall. “Now.”

He shut the door. Turned back to her.

“You sleep here,” he said. “In my bed. Contract terms.”

“It’s one bed.”

“I know.”

The servant girl scurried in with a tray. Bread. Meat. Water. She didn’t look at Elara. Didn’t look at Kade. Just dropped it and ran.

Kade didn’t sit. He leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, watching her eat like she was prey he’d cornered.

“You taste like power,” he said finally. “When I marked you. Your blood. It’s not normal witch blood.”

Elara froze with bread halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”

“The vision.” His silver eyes narrowed. “The wolf made of smoke and bone. The girl with a crown of thorns. That was you, wasn’t it? In the future.”

The room went cold. Colder than the yard.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me again, Elara.” He used her name. The first time. It sounded like a curse and a prayer. “I felt it through the bond. The monster in you woke up when my blood touched you.”

She set the bread down. Hands shaking. “What do you want me to say? That I’m dangerous? That my sister is dying and I sold myself for three drops?