Special Edition - Moonbound Bonds

This is a preorder. Estimated shipping date is August 2026

The smart thing to do would be to wait until full dark.

The Divide was a different beast at night—shadows pooling in doorways, mist rising from the gutters, predators lurking in every alley. Vampires, shifters, witches, demons—all crammed into one sprawling supernatural district outside the royal court where the only law was power and the only currency was favors owed. 

But night also meant cover. Meant I could slip through the streets like a ghost and disappear before anyone noticed I was gone. Too bad I'd never been particularly smart when it came to my own survival.

The sun was bleeding out on the horizon when I eased open the window of my borrowed room at the Lock & Key. Jex would be at the front door by now, and after the look he'd given me last night when he'd caught Harkan's scent on my skin, I wasn't eager for round two of that conversation. Besides, if the Alpha had wolves watching the exits—and he absolutely had wolves watching the exits—the window was my best shot at slipping away unnoticed.

My bag was already slung across my body. Everything I owned fit inside that worn leather satchel—a few vials of saltwater, dried herbs, candles that burned cold instead of hot, and a small wooden box I refused to open.

Thirteen years as Varro's property, and this was all I had to show for it. Thirteen years of tasting lies for a crime lord, dragged out at all hours to tell him who was cheating him and who was loyal. My gift had made me valuable. It had also made me a prisoner. And now all I had was a satchel full of spell ingredients to my name.

Well, that and a fox who was currently giving me a glare that could curdle milk.

"Don't start," I whispered to Trouble, who sat on the windowsill like a small, furry gargoyle of judgment. His amber eyes gleamed in the dying daylight, foxfire flickering around his ears in agitated sparks. "We talked about this."

We had not, in fact, talked about this. My familiar and I communicated through feelings and impressions, not words, and the impression he was sending me right now was a very clear “this is a terrible idea” mixed with a heavy dose of “you're going to get us both killed.”

He wasn't wrong.

But staying was worse.

My fingers found the mark on my wrist without meaning to—a compulsion I couldn't shake, my touch finding the raised silver scar like a tongue discovering a missing tooth. The ouroboros that had bound me to Varro was still there, coiled around my wrist in faded black ink. But the serpent's jaws gaped open now, frozen mid-strike, its eternal cycle finally broken.

And burned through the break, gleaming faintly in the dim light, were teeth marks.

His teeth marks.

The dire wolf Alpha who'd torn me from one cage and locked me in another.

I still wasn't sure if I should thank him or kill him for it. Last night, Varro had forced me to taste lies for some hooded stranger—and when things went sideways, Harkan had appeared like vengeance wrapped in fury. He'd bitten through Varro's binding mark, shattered the magical leash that had controlled me for over a decade.

And replaced it with something worse.

A mate bond. The kind that didn't break.

He was there even now—a steady pulse beneath my skin that had nothing to do with my own heartbeat. Harkan. The bond hummed between us like a plucked string, and if I focused, I could sense him somewhere to the north. Sleeping, maybe. Or pretending to sleep while he waited to see what I'd do.

He'd let me come here last night. Let me walk away from his pack, his territory, his protection. He hadn't followed me into the Lock & Key or demanded I return.

A weaker woman would have trusted him after that, but I knew better. All it did was make me suspicious. In my experience, men who let you escape always had a reason. Usually because they knew they'd get you back one way or another.

"We're not waiting around to find out what his game is," I muttered, swinging one leg over the windowsill. The evening air bit at my skin, cool and damp, carrying the smell of woodsmoke and old magic. "We run now, figure out the rest later."

Trouble's tail lashed once, sharp as a whip crack. Then he launched himself onto my shoulder, claws digging in just hard enough to make his displeasure known.

I took that as begrudging agreement. 

The Lock & Key sat in a relatively safe part of the Divide—if "safe" meant the kind of place where you'd only get stabbed twice a week instead of nightly. Merrit kept the peace here, even if she spent most of her time at the castle these days with her vampire prince. Her people—Rhett behind the bar, Jex at the door—made sure the riffraff stayed outside. They'd given me a room last night, no questions asked, when I'd stumbled in reeking of blood and wolf. I owed them for that. Which was exactly why I was leaving before my problems became theirs.

Which meant I needed to get moving. Fast.

I dropped from the window into the alley below, landing in a crouch that made my exhausted body protest. I hadn't slept more than a few hours, and last night's chaos had drained me in ways I was still cataloging.

I straightened, gritting my teeth against the ache in my muscles, and started down the alley.

The Divide at dusk was a different creature—waking up, shaking off the day, stretching into the kind of darkness where deals got made and debts got paid. Street vendors were hawking the last of their wares, while tavern doors swung open to catch the evening crowd. A group of goblins huddled around a barrel fire, passing a bottle between them. Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed five times.

I kept my head down and my pace steady. Not too fast—that made you look like prey. Not too slow—that attracted attention. Just another witch going about her business in the dwindling daylight hours, nothing to see here.

Trouble pressed closer to my neck, his warmth a comfort against the chill. Through our bond, his alertness crashed into me—his fear, his fierce determination to protect me despite being roughly the size of a house cat.

Gods, I loved that stupid fox.

We made it three blocks before the first tug hit.

It started in my chest—a faint pressure, like someone had wrapped a string around my ribs and pulled. I ignored it. Kept walking. The edge of Harkan's territory was only another mile or so, and once I crossed into the neutral ground of the docks, I could find a ship heading anywhere that wasn't here.

Four blocks. The pressure became an ache.

Five blocks. The ache became a pull.

By the sixth block, I was sweating despite the cold, my stomach roiling like I'd sucked down one of Rhett’s alchemy fails. Every step felt like walking through quicksand—heavy, wrong, like my body was trying to turn itself inside out without my permission.

No.

I pushed forward, teeth clenched. This was fine. This was just the bond throwing a tantrum because I was moving away from its other half. It would fade once I got far enough away. It had to.

Seven blocks. My magic flickered.

That made me stumble.

My magic didn't flicker. It had been the one constant in my life—the gift that had gotten me enslaved, yes, but also the gift that had kept me alive. Truth-tasting. The ability to feel lies on my tongue like copper and ash, to read the echoes of deception in objects people touched. Varro had used me like his own personal lie detector, and in all that time, my power had never once wavered.

Now it guttered like a candle in a draft, there and then not there and then there again.

Trouble whined, pressing his nose against my jaw.

"I'm fine," I lied, my trembling voice giving me away as the copper taste of my own deception flooded my mouth.

Eight blocks. My knees buckled.

I caught myself against a wall, breathing hard, vision swimming at the edges. The pull in my chest had become a rope, a chain, an anchor dragging me backward toward a man I barely knew and definitely didn't trust.

This wasn't right. Mate bonds weren't supposed to do this. Were they?

I didn't know. I'd never had one before. Never wanted one. The ouroboros cuff had been bad enough—Varro's leash, burning into my skin every time I stepped out of line. But at least that bond had been magical. Artificial. Something that could be broken with the right ritual or the right pair of teeth.

This thing with Harkan felt different. Deeper. Like it had sunk roots into my bones and wasn't planning on letting go.

"Fuck," I breathed, sliding down the wall until I planted my ass on the cold cobblestones. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Trouble hopped off my shoulder and paced in front of me, foxfire sparking with agitation. His worry crashed against my thoughts in waves—danger, wrong, go back, DANGER—but I couldn't make myself move.

The bond pulled. My magic sputtered. My body decided that now was an excellent time to remind me that I was also exhausted and hadn't eaten anything since yesterday's chaos.

This was fine. Everything was fine. I just needed a minute to catch my breath, and then I'd—

"Well, well. Look what we found."

Blearily, I looked up.

Four figures emerged from the alley across the street, moving with casual confidence, the swagger of men who knew exactly how this was going to end. Mercenaries, by the look of them—spelled blades at their hips, runes tattooed on their knuckles, the flat eyes of men who'd sold their souls for coin a long time ago.

And on their necks, barely visible in the gray light: a tattooed serpent eating its own tail.

Varro's men. Because of course this day could get worse.

"The boss has been looking for you," the leader said, a tall man with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow. He smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "You've caused him a lot of trouble, pet."

I thought I knew all of Varro’s men, but this one was either new or someone he kept in his back pocket for special occasions. Lucky me.

Trouble snarled, his small body bristling with foxfire. He was preparing to attack—ninety-nine percent fury, one percent self-preservation—and I grabbed him before he could launch himself at four armed men.

"Easy," I murmured, struggling to my feet. The world tilted, steadied, tilted again. My magic sparked weakly in my fingertips, barely enough to light a candle, let alone fight. "Let me handle this."

"Handle it?" Scar-face laughed. "Sweetheart, you can barely stand. What are you going to do, bleed on us?"

Fair point.

But I'd survived him longer than most. I'd learned a few things about fighting dirty.

"I'm going to give you one chance to walk away," I said, straightening my spine even as my legs trembled. "Tell Varro I'm not his anymore. The bond is broken. He has no claim on me."

"See, that's the thing." Scar-face stepped closer, his cronies fanning out behind him. "The boss doesn't care about claims. He cares about investments. And you, pet, represent a significant investment of his time and resources."

"An investment that's about to become very expensive," I countered. "Do you know whose territory you're standing in right now?"

Something flared in his eyes. Good. He wasn't stupid.

"The dire wolf's territory," I continued, pulling on every ounce of bravado I had left. "Harkan. The Alpha who doesn't fight rivals—he erases them. You really want to explain to Varro how you got his prize killed by starting a war with the wolves?"

For a moment, I thought it might work. Scar-face hesitated, glancing at his companions.

Then he smiled again.

"That's the beautiful thing," he said. "We're not going to kill you. We're just going to take you. And by the time the Alpha realizes you're gone?" He shrugged. "Well… You won't be his problem anymore."

They moved.

I threw up my hands, reaching for magic that sputtered and died in my palms. Trouble launched himself at the nearest mercenary, foxfire blazing, teeth snapping. Someone cursed. Someone screamed.

And then hands were grabbing my arms, yanking me forward, and I couldn't think, couldn't breathe—

The bond in my chest exploded.

Not with pain. With awareness.

Suddenly I could feel him—Harkan—like a wildfire roaring to life in the back of my mind. He was awake. He was moving. And he was furious in a way that made the air around me crackle with something that tasted like lightning and blood.

The mark on my wrist blazed silver-bright, pulsing in time with the fury I felt roaring through the bond. It didn't hurt, and somehow, that was worse.

Scar-face must have seen something change in my face, because his grip tightened. "What—"

"You should have walked away," I whispered.

And somewhere in the distance, cutting the evening mist like a blade through silk, a wolf began to howl.

Scar-face's head snapped toward the sound. For one heartbeat, real fear flashed across his face. Then it hardened into resolve.

"Knock her out," he barked. "Now. Before they get here."

I tried to move, tried to call my magic, tried to do anything—

A fist connected with my face, and my sight exploded into searing stars that felt like splinters in my skull. Trouble shrieked in fear or fury, I couldn’t tell which, but before I could do a damn thing about it, cobblestones slammed into my knees as the taste of blood flooded my mouth.

Another blow landed against my ribs, ripping the air from my lungs as my bones gave way.

The howl was closer now, louder, joined by others—a chorus of fury tearing through the evening air. But it was still too far away. They wouldn’t make it in time.

"Grab her and go—"

Rough hands hauled me up as my vision swam, darkness eating at the edges as I struggled to breathe.

The last thing I heard before the world went black was the sound of snarling—close, so close—and a man beginning to scream.