Page 14 of Blood Marked

“But don’t think I belong to you,” she added.

His voice came out low and dark. “I never asked you to.”

Her expression didn’t soften, but the air between them did. Just slightly. A hairline crack in the wall they both pretended wasn’t there.

He turned and opened the chamber door, voice clipped. “You’ll be summoned again tonight. Dress accordingly.”

“I always do,” she replied, already walking away.

He watched her go, that flick of raven hair vanishing around the corner.

Kael Fenrir had no idea if he was walking toward his destiny… or his damnation.

SEVEN

SELENE

By the fourth day, Selene learned to stop flinching every time someone bared their teeth at her.

They weren’t smiles. Not really. The shifters had expressions like blades—sharp-edged and glinting with intent. And House Fenrir was a den of them. She'd started calling itthe court of pretty wolves and pretty lies.

They liked to watch her. To whisper when they thought she wasn’t listening.

The human girl. The bonded one. The foreigner with the cursed blood.

And Selene? She smiled right back.

She smiled like it didn’t cost her anything. Like her skin didn’t still crawl from the bond burning beneath it. Like her heart wasn’t pounding every time she stepped into a room that felt more like a trap than a throne hall.

She was good at pretending.

Damn good.

She'd grown up across endless polished floors in human embassies, always watching her father talk like peace was a currency. She’d learned to read tension by the twitch of a jaw, asideways glance, a pause too long between words. She applied all of it here.

The Fenrir court was heavier on fur and prophecy, sure. But the games were the same. Power. Threats. Leverage.

The stakes were just bloodier.

Kael had been tight-lipped since the audience—tense, brooding, as if barely holding himself together with string and spit. He gave her orders when necessary. Offered clipped replies when she asked questions. And left just before she could press too far.

He wasn’t cruel. But he sure as hell wasn’t kind.

They shared rooms during official events, always standing close enough for show. She let his hand hover near hers in public, let her eyes soften when they turned toward her. She played her part. And Kael did too.

But every time they were alone, the walls came up fast.

Like he was afraid she might slip past them.

It was during one of the daily court meetings—less a meeting, more a theatrical display of power—that she noticed him.

Lord Varyn Duskthorn.

He was seated three rows to the left of the throne dais, angled just so that the light kissed the edge of his black velvet sleeves. His long dark hair was tied at the nape, his smile lazy and amused as he watched her walk in beside Kael.

He bowed with a slow grace that felt too polished, too smooth.

When their eyes met, he held her gaze a second too long.

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