Bella's POV

"You're awake," a deep voice says from somewhere across the room, and my eyes snap open.

Everything hurts.

My body feels like I've been hit by a carriage and then dragged behind it for miles. But it's not just physical pain, there's something else I can't name. Like someone reached inside my chest and rearranged everything.

I'm lying in the massive bed, silk sheets tangled around my naked body. The morning sunlight streaming through tall windows is so bright it makes my eyes water, and I have to squint just to see properly.

That's when I notice him.

Rowan is sitting in a large leather chair across the room, fully dressed in dark clothes that make him look like a prince from some dangerous fairy tale. He's watching me with those strange golden eyes, and from the way he's positioned… relaxed but alert… I get the feeling he's been sitting there for a while.

"How long have you been staring at me?" I ask, pulling the sheet up to cover myself. My voice comes out hoarse and scratchy, like I spent hours screaming.

Maybe I did. The memories from last night are hazy and fragmented, like trying to remember a dream. But I remember enough to make my cheeks burn with embarrassment and something else I don't want to think about.

"A few hours," he says casually, like watching someone sleep is perfectly normal behavior. "You were restless. Talking in your sleep."

"What did I say?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

His lips curve into that predatory smile that makes my stomach flip. "Interesting things. You seem to have quite the imagination, little hunter."

I try to sit up and immediately regret it. Pain shoots through my entire body, but it's not the kind of pain I expected. It's deeper, more fundamental, like every cell in my body has been rewired.

And there's something else. Something wrong with my senses.

The sunlight isn't just bright… it's blindingly vivid, like someone turned up the contrast on the world. I can hear things I shouldn't be able to hear: footsteps in distant hallways, conversations through thick stone walls, even the sound of birds outside that seem impossibly clear.

But most unsettling of all, I can smell everything. The lingering scent of the fire from last night, the soap they used to wash the sheets, and underneath it all, something wild and masculine that I know belongs to Rowan.

"What's happening to me?" I whisper, pressing my palms against my temples as the sensory overload makes my head throb.

"The bond," Rowan says simply, as if that explains everything. "It changes both parties, but the effects are usually more pronounced in humans."

"Bond?" I look up at him, fear creeping into my voice. "What bond?"

He stands and walks over to the bed, moving with that fluid grace that's both beautiful and terrifying. When he sits on the edge of the mattress, the bed dips under his weight, and I catch a stronger whiff of his scent that makes my head spin.

"The mate bond," he explains, his voice matter-of-fact. "It's what my kind do when we claim someone permanently. A supernatural connection that ties two souls together."

"Permanently?" My voice cracks on the word.

"Oh yes," he says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. I flinch away from his touch, but he continues anyway. "There's no breaking it once it's formed. We're bound now, you and I. Until death do us part, as they say."

The casual way he says it makes me feel sick. "But the other women... they died. How am I different?"

Something flickers across his features… surprise, maybe, or recognition. "An excellent question. You see, for the past thirteen years, every woman I've attempted to bond with has died within days. Sometimes hours. Their human bodies simply couldn't handle the supernatural connection."

He leans closer, and I can see flecks of amber in his golden eyes. "But you survived. Which means you're exactly who I've been looking for all these years."

"I don't understand," I whisper.

"The woman whose blood awakened me from my curse," he says. "The pack witch prophesied that only she would be strong enough to survive the bonding. And here you are, alive and breathing the morning after."

Before I can process what that means, the bedroom door slams open with enough force to rattle the walls.

A woman storms in like an avenging angel, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun and her face twisted with rage. She's older, maybe in her fifties, but she carries herself with the kind of authority that makes the air itself seem to bend around her.

"What have you done?" she snarls at Rowan, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

Rowan doesn't even turn around. "Good morning, Margaret. Always such a pleasure to see you."

"Don't you dare take that tone with me," the woman, Margaret snaps. She's wearing an elegant black dress that probably costs more than my family's house, and jewelry that catches the light like captured stars. Everything about her screams wealth and power.

"I can smell her on you," Margaret continues, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "You actually went through with it. You bonded with this... this hunter."

The way she says the word 'hunter' makes it sound like a disease.

"I did what needed to be done," Rowan says calmly.

"What needed to be done?" Margaret's voice rises to a near-shriek. "You've doomed us all! Do you have any idea what this means for pack stability? For our alliances?"

I pull the sheet tighter around myself, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her hateful glare. Everything about this woman radiates hostility, and I don't even know what I've done to earn it.

"She's a hunter," Margaret spits, pointing at me like I'm something disgusting. "Her family has spent generations killing our kind. And now you've made her your mate? Your Luna?"

"The bond chose her," Rowan says, finally turning to face Margaret. "I don't question fate."

"Fate?" Margaret laughs, but there's no humor in it. "This isn't fate, it's stupidity. She'll betray us the first chance she gets. It's in her blood."

"Then we'll watch her closely," Rowan says with a shrug.

"No." Margaret's voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "No, we kill her now, before she can do any damage. Before the other packs find out what you've done."

The casual way she talks about my death makes my blood run cold. But underneath the fear, I feel something else stirring. Something hot and fierce that I don't recognize.

"You will not touch her," Rowan says, and suddenly his voice carries an undertone of barely controlled violence. "She is mine now. Under my protection."

"She's a threat to everything we've built," Margaret insists. "The pack will demand her death when they find out what she is."

"Then they'll have to go through me first," Rowan replies smoothly.

The two of them stare at each other in a battle of wills, and I realize I'm watching something much bigger than just an argument. This is about power, politics, and survival. And somehow, I'm right in the middle of it all.

Margaret's eyes narrow to slits. "Mark my words, Rowan. This decision will destroy us all."

With that, she sweeps from the room, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the windows rattle.

In the sudden silence that follows, I stare at Rowan with growing horror.

"What have you done to me?”