Mate To The Tyrants

Shared Bond

The women ignored her outrage. Thick gloves returned. Silver chains locked around her wrists once more, forcing her arms behind her back so tightly she could no longer even tug the silk higher over her breasts.

They marched her out of the house and into the night.

Full moonlight spilled across the forest path, cool and silver. For a fleeting moment the burns left by the chains seemed to ease. Then the trees opened, and every fragile hope she had clung to died.

Hundreds of wolves filled the clearing. Perhaps more. They stood in silent rows before a raised wooden platform where Ronan and Blaise Kingsley waited. Even at a distance, Ronan’s ice-blue eyes caught the moonlight and held her. Blaise’s gaze was no less intent, a slow, appreciative smile already curving his mouth.

When she was close enough, Blaise let out a low whistle, eyes fixed on the pale silk that barely contained her.

“The dress fits you perfectly.”

“Lingerie,” Kaela corrected through gritted teeth. “This is not a dress.”

“Be grateful we gave you anything at all,” Ronan said flatly. He pulled her onto the stage in one hard motion. The scrap of fabric fluttered higher, giving the front rows a clear view of everything the silk failed to cover.

The crowd erupted—cheers mixed with open hostility. Ronan’s voice cut through it like a blade.

“Silence.”

The entire clearing fell still.

He pushed her to the center of the platform, where the moonlight struck her like a spotlight.

“Nightreign,” he called, voice carrying effortlessly across the trees. “I present my mate—Kaela Voss of Ashclaw.”

A wave of noise answered him: applause, jeers, and sharp, ugly shouts.

“Or at least,” Ronan continued, a cold smile touching his mouth, “what remains of it.”

The pack roared its approval.

Kaela turned on him as much as the chains allowed. “Is this the ceremony? Public humiliation?”

“Of course not.” Ronan’s bare hand closed around the silver links without flinching. He drew her back against his chest, one hand settling lightly at her throat—not quite choking, but firm enough to remind her how easily he could. “You’re my mate. They’re only here to witness, as tradition demands.”

Behind them a great fire roared to life. Heat rolled over the stage in waves. Mixed with the smoke was a strange, sweet, fruity scent that made Kaela’s knees soften and her vision blur at the edges.

“What… is in that fire?” she asked, words already thickening.

Ronan did not answer. He stepped aside so Blaise could take his place. A sharp, clean pain sliced across Kaela’s palm. She hissed. Blaise held a shallow bowl beneath the cut, catching the bright spill of her blood. Ronan drew the same blade across his own hand and let his blood join hers.

“What are you doing?” Kaela’s eyelids felt heavy.

“A ritual,” Ronan said calmly, eyes never leaving her face. “To ensure your obedience.”

The smoke thickened. Kaela’s limbs felt waterlogged, her thoughts slow and distant. She would have fallen if Ronan’s arm had not locked around her waist.

Blaise stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Look at her, brother. If this is how she is before the ritual ends, imagine how sweetly she will yield after.”

Kaela made a soft, incoherent sound. Everything felt underwater.

Blaise carried the bowl to the fire, added a handful of dark herbs, and watched them dissolve into the swirling red. He murmured words too low for her to catch, then returned and offered the bowl to Ronan with a formal bow.

“The Moon Goddess has blessed this union. If the Alpha permits, accept this shared blood—to bind your lives as one blood, one heart, one soul.”

“I accept,” Ronan said without hesitation.

He drank. Blood stained his mouth a vivid red. The pack howled in answer.

“Now your mate,” Blaise said, eyes gleaming. “She looks tired. Do you think she can manage?”

“She doesn’t have a choice.” Ronan’s voice was rough. “Open, little rabbit.”

The moment his blood touched his tongue, something inside Kaela shifted. The fog lifted, replaced by a fierce, unnatural need to please him—to be good, to be claimed, to be kept. She no longer wanted to stand on her own. She wanted his arms, his scent, his approval.

Yet a smaller, furious part of her still recoiled.

“This is blood,” she whispered, turning her face away. “I can’t—”

The bond roared against her refusal. Every instinct screamed that she should obey her Alpha, her mate. Stormclaw had never protected her. Ronan had torn that life apart and, in the same breath, taken her from it. The darker voice inside her even whispered that leaving Blaise unbound felt wrong—that both brothers should belong to her, and she to them.

Ronan’s blood-stained grin widened.

“Troublesome, just as I expected.”

He released her waist. The instant she tried to step back he caught her face in his cut palm. Warmth flooded her at the contact. A helpless moan slipped out.

Then the rim of the bowl pressed to her lips, and Ronan’s mouth followed, forcing the shared blood into her in a kiss that tasted of iron, smoke, and absolute possession.

Kaela’s body answered before her mind could catch up.

The shared blood slid down her throat like warm, sweet chocolate instead of copper and iron. Ronan’s scent flooded every breath. The world narrowed to him alone. Her chained hands ached to touch him, to close every last inch of distance until nothing remained between them.

“Good girl,” he murmured as their lips finally parted.

She drew a shaky breath and immediately wanted his mouth again. Ronan gave a dark, low chuckle and nipped her bottom lip before stepping back. The loss of his touch pulled a soft, involuntary whine from her throat.

Then the haze thinned just enough for clarity to return.

Ronan Kingsley.

The man who had destroyed Ashclaw. The man who had killed Lena. The man who now owned her by blood and bond.

Fury surged. She wanted to drive her forehead into his and never stop, but her limbs refused every command. His eyes flashed that cold, steely blue—another of the twins’ unnatural holds locking her in place.

Her mouth, however, remained free.

She spat the last of the blood across his face.

They clearing went utterly still. Shock rippled through the crowd. For one frozen second even Kaela felt the weight of what she had done. This might not end as a claiming. It might end as an execution.

Blaise’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and carrying.

“It is time for the Alpha to grant his new mate the mating mark.”

Ronan wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. His gaze traveled over her slowly, assessing, choosing. Goosebumps rose wherever those eyes touched. He brushed her hair aside with surprising gentleness, then let his fingers trail down the right side of her neck, across her shoulder, drifting close enough to the edge of the silk that her breath hitched.

He looked every inch the predator.

Without warning, his teeth sank into the soft juncture where neck met shoulder.

Pain flared—sharp, bright—then drowned beneath a wave of pure, devastating pleasure. A moan tore from her throat. Heat coiled low in her belly, tight and relentless. Her knees gave. Only Ronan’s arms kept her upright as the bond sealed itself into her flesh.

The crowd’s roar barely reached her. All she could feel was the slow drag of his tongue over the fresh mark, sealing it, claiming it.

Blaise’s voice rose above the noise.

“With the successful marking, I now declare Kaela Voss the Alpha’s mate!”

Howls and cheers answered him.

“There is only one thing left,” Blaise called, eyes bright with wicked amusement. “Isn’t that right, Nightreign?”

The pack’s response was immediate and hungry.

“Let the mating begin!”

Ronan lifted her as if she weighed nothing, raising her high above the stage. The meaning of the words slammed into her.

Mating.

Here.

Now.

In front of all of them.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” she shouted, twisting hard in his grip.

He only laughed, low and pleased, and settled her more securely against his chest in an unbreakable hold. The little bell at her throat chimed with every frantic movement. She sank her teeth into his arm. He hummed as if the bite pleased him.

“Little rabbit,” he murmured against her ear, voice dark with promise, “keep squirming like that and I will take you right here in front of every wolf present. Would you like that?”