CADEON POV
My panther slammed against my ribcage, roaring one word: *MINE.*
I gripped the railing of the auction house balcony so hard the wood splintered beneath my claws.
The girl on stage—trembling, terrified, dressed in white—turned her face toward the lights.
Silver-grey eyes.
My heart stopped.
No. No, this wasn't possible.
"Remarkable specimen, isn't she?" A voice purred beside me. Prince Theron leaned against the balcony, wine glass in hand, watching me instead of the stage. "Those eyes are quite rare. I heard the last person with eyes like that was—"
"Elira Thorne," I finished, my voice coming out strangled.
Theron's smile sharpened. "Indeed. The rebel you executed twenty years ago. Strange coincidence, don't you think?"
It wasn't a coincidence. It was impossible.
Our spies had confirmed Elira's infant daughter died during the human-beast wars. No survivors. No hidden children. I'd checked the reports myself, triple-checked them, because Elira's last words had haunted me: *My daughter will finish what I started.*
But there was no daughter.
Except now one stood on the auction stage, with Elira's eyes staring out of Elira's face, twenty years younger but unmistakable.
"Bidding starts at five hundred gold marks!" the auctioneer called.
Numbers flew from the crowd. The girl—Lyra, she'd said her name was Lyra—looked ready to collapse.
My panther clawed harder. *Protect. Claim. NOW.*
I'd never felt anything like this. In three hundred forty-seven years, I'd never experienced the mate bond. Never wanted to. Bonds made you weak, made you care, made you vulnerable.
But this pull toward her wasn't just want. It was *need*. Like my soul recognized hers.
Which was completely insane.
"Three thousand gold marks!" someone shouted.
Theron's eyes glittered. "Are you going to bid, General? Or just stand there bleeding on my balcony railing?"
I looked down. Blood dripped from where my claws had dug into my palms.
"Five thousand gold marks!" A viper beastwoman cackled. "And I'll take her eyes as trophies!"
Something snapped inside me.
Before I could think, before I could stop myself, I was moving. Down the balcony stairs, through the crowd, every beast scrambling out of my way because they could feel the predator coming.
"Ten thousand," I called out, my voice cutting through the chaos.
Silence crashed down like a hammer.
I kept walking, straight down the center aisle. Eyes tracked me—shocked, confused, calculating. I didn't care. Every step brought me closer to her, and the pull in my chest grew stronger.
When I reached the stage lights, I finally saw her clearly.
She was beautiful. Not soft or delicate, but fierce—like a blade wrapped in silk. Even terrified, even chained, she held her chin up. Defiant.
Just like her mother.
And when our eyes met, the bond *slammed* home. Gold and burning and absolutely, devastatingly real.
Mate.
My mate.
A human girl who looked exactly like the woman I'd murdered.
"General Nightfang," the auctioneer stammered, practically prostrating himself. "We're honored, but surely—"
"Twenty thousand gold marks." I couldn't look away from her. "And if anyone else bids, I'll consider it a personal insult."
The threat hung in the air. No one was stupid enough to challenge me.
I climbed the stage steps, my boots echoing in the silence. Up close, she was even more like Elira—the shape of her face, the stubborn set of her jaw, the intelligence burning in those silver-grey eyes.
But there were differences too. Softer features. Younger. And something else I couldn't place—an energy humming beneath her skin that felt almost like... magic?
Impossible. Humans didn't have magic.
"Your eyes," I heard myself say. "Where did you get those eyes?"
She flinched back from me, chains rattling. "I—I was born with them?"
Of course she was. And if she was Elira's daughter, that meant—
"What's your name?" I demanded.
She shouldn't answer. Smart prey didn't give predators information. But she whispered: "Lyra. Lyra Thorne."
The world tilted sideways.
Thorne. She kept Elira's family name. Which meant whoever raised her knew exactly who she was. Knew she was the daughter of the most dangerous rebel in history.
And they'd hidden her for twenty years.
"Sold!" the auctioneer shouted desperately. "To General Nightfang for twenty thousand gold marks!"
My soldier Kairan appeared at the stage edge. "Sir? Should we take the girl to your carriage?"
I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Twenty years of guilt crashed over me like a tidal wave.
I'd killed this girl's mother. Driven a blade through Elira's heart while she smiled at me and promised her daughter would come for revenge.
And now here she was. My mate. The one person in the universe fate decided I should be bound to.
This was either destiny's cruelest joke or its perfect punishment.
"Sir?" Kairan asked again, worried now.
Words tumbled out before I could stop them: "Elira Thorne had no children. Our spies confirmed her daughter died as an infant."
"I don't know who that is—"
"Yes, you do." I moved closer, watching her eyes widen. "You're her daughter. You have her eyes. Her face. You're—" My voice broke. "This is impossible."
"What's impossible?" Fire flickered in her fear now. Good. Anger was safer than terror. "Who was Elira Thorne? Why does everyone react to my eyes like I'm cursed?"
I should lie. Should protect her from the truth.
But she deserved to know why I'd paid twenty thousand gold marks for her. Why I was staring at her like she'd risen from my nightmares.
"Because I'm the man who killed your mother."
The color drained from her face. She tried to pull away, but I caught her arm—gentle but unbreakable. The mate bond flared where we touched, singing with wrongness and rightness all at once.
"You're coming with me," I said. "And you're going to tell me everything about who raised you. Because if you really are Elira's daughter—"
A slow clap echoed through the auction house.
My blood froze.
Prince Theron stood at the back of the room, smiling like a cat who'd found a mouse. "Well, well, well. The Shadow Panther himself, buying a human slave. And not just any human—the daughter of the rebel he executed." He started walking toward the stage. "Tell me, General, is this guilt? Sentiment? Or something far more interesting?"
I positioned myself between Theron and Lyra instinctively. "My reasons are my own, Prince."
"Are they?" Theron climbed the stage steps, flanked by his wolf guards. "Because it looks to me like you've just admitted to failing your mission twenty years ago. You were supposed to eliminate Elira's entire bloodline. Instead, you let her daughter live." His eyes gleamed with malice. "That's treason, General Nightfang."
The accusation hit like a punch. Every beast in the room went still.
"I didn't know she existed," I growled.
"Ignorance isn't innocence." Theron circled us slowly. "The law is clear: all rebel bloodlines must be purged. This girl—" He gestured at Lyra. "—should be executed immediately."
Lyra's sharp intake of breath cut through me. I felt her terror through the bond, tasted it like copper on my tongue.
My panther surged forward. I fought it back, barely. "You won't touch her."
"I'm not touching her, General." Theron's smile widened. "You are. I'm simply reminding you of your duty. Execute Elira's daughter as you should have done twenty years ago. Prove your loyalty to the empire."
He was boxing me in. If I refused, I'd be labeled a traitor. If I obeyed—
I'd have to kill my own mate.
Behind me, Lyra's breathing came fast and shallow. She didn't understand what was happening, didn't know about the bond, but she knew she was in the middle of something deadly.
"I paid twenty thousand gold marks for her," I said carefully. "She's my property now. I'll do with her as I see fit."
"Then you'll execute her? Publicly?" Theron pressed.
Every eye in the auction house watched us. One wrong word and Theron would have all the ammunition he needed to destroy me.
I met his gaze steadily. "I'll handle the situation appropriately."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
We stared at each other. Two predators, both knowing this was a declaration of war.
Finally, Theron laughed—cold and sharp. "Very well, General. Keep your little rebel pet. But know this—" He leaned in close. "I'll be watching. And the moment you show weakness, the moment you prove you've chosen a human over your own kind, I'll have all the evidence I need."
He swept off the stage, his guards following.
The auction house erupted in whispers. This would be all over the capital by morning.
I turned back to Lyra, who looked between me and Theron's retreating figure with growing horror.
"What just happened?" she whispered. "He said you have to kill me—"
"I know what he said."
"Are you going to—"
"No." The word came out harder than I intended. "You're mine now. That means you're under my protection."
"I'm your slave, you mean."
"That too." I grabbed the chains binding her wrists, snapping them like paper. "But alive is better than dead. Trust me on that."
She rubbed her wrists, glaring up at me with pure hatred. "You killed my mother. You bought me like cattle. And now you expect me to trust you?"
"No," I said quietly. "I expect you to survive."
I turned to leave, expecting her to follow. She didn't move.
"Walk," I commanded. "Or I'll carry you. Your choice."
She walked, but every step radiated fury.
Good. Hate would keep her sharp. Keep her alive.
As we exited the auction house into the night, my carriage waited. Kairan held the door open, his expression carefully neutral.
"Nightfang Keep, sir?" he asked.
"Yes." I helped—more like forced—Lyra into the carriage. She sat as far from me as possible.
Before I could climb in after her, Kairan grabbed my arm. "Sir, do you know what you've just done?"
"Started a war with the prince. Claimed Elira Thorne's daughter. Probably signed my own death warrant." I pulled free. "Did I miss anything?"
"The bond," Kairan whispered. "I can see it on you. Golden threads wrapped around your chest." His eyes widened. "She's your mate. A human. Elira's daughter. This is—"
"Impossible," I finished. "I know."
I climbed into the carriage and shut the door.
Lyra pressed herself against the opposite wall, watching me like I might strike at any moment.
The carriage lurched forward, heading toward my fortress in the north.
Silence stretched between us. The bond hummed with her fear, her confusion, her rage.
Finally, she spoke: "My father—the man who raised me—his last words were 'find the grey-eyed woman in the capital.' Was he talking about my mother?"
My chest tightened. "Elira's been dead for twenty years."
"Then who—"
"I don't know." But dread coiled in my gut. If someone else in the capital had Elira's silver-grey eyes, if there was another survivor we'd missed—
"What happens when we reach your home?" Lyra asked, her voice small.
I looked at her—truly looked at her. My mate. My enemy's daughter. The girl I should kill.
"That depends," I said carefully, "on whether you really are who I think you are."
"And who do you think I am?"
The carriage hit a bump. In the flickering lantern light, her eyes flashed silver—exactly like her mother's had in my dreams.
"Either my salvation," I said quietly. "Or my destruction."
She laughed, bitter and broken. "Good. I hope it's the second one."
So did I, honestly.
Because if she was my salvation, that meant I'd have to tell her the whole truth.
And the truth was so much worse than she knew.