Control, Veyla learned, was not the absence of desire.
It was the deliberate choice to endure it.
She stood at the center of the training hall long after the council had dispersed, the echoes of raised voices and fractured magic still lingering in the air like dust that refused to settle. The space was wide, circular, its stone floor etched with containment sigils layered over older combat runes.
This room had been built for violence.
Today, it was meant for restraint.
Veyla inhaled slowly, grounding herself in the weight of her own body. Her palms were damp. Her pulse beat too fast. The bond pulsed beneath her skin, alert, watchful—no longer startled by distance, no longer soothed by proximity.
It wanted *management*.
Madame Zora circled her lazily, hands clasped behind her back.
"Lesson one," the witch said lightly, "you don't get to pretend this isn't happening."
Veyla did not answer.
Khorg Ironmaw stood at the far edge of the circle, posture taut, every muscle pulled tight as a drawn bow. His wolf was restless, prowling just beneath the surface of his thoughts, hackles raised at being denied.
Five paces.
They had measured it precisely.
Closer than that, and the nausea returned.
Farther, and the hollow ache worsened.
His nose twitched involuntarily, cataloging the faint traces of Veyla's scent that escaped containment charms. Even diluted, it scraped at his senses—sharp, preserved, wrong in a way that made his instincts snarl.
Mate, the wolf insisted.
His stomach churned in reluctant agreement.
Across from him, Vinculus Noctaryn leaned against a pillar with aristocratic ease, hands folded neatly behind his back. He looked bored.
He was anything but.
The scent gnawed at him even from this distance, threading through centuries of discipline and prying at the fault lines of his immortality curse. It offended him that something so… inelegant could matter this much.
It infuriated him that it did.
"Eyes forward," Zora said sharply.
Veyla lifted her gaze from the floor.
Khorg's eyes were already on her.
The bond surged.
Heat flooded her chest, sudden and disorienting. Her breath caught, the room tilting slightly as the pull tightened.
She held her ground.
Khorg felt it too—a violent lurch in his chest, his wolf slamming against invisible restraints. His claws flexed, scraping faint lines into the stone.
He did not move.
Vinculus watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, something dark and calculating flickering behind his composure.
Interesting.
Zora clapped once.
"Good," she said. "Now we begin."
She gestured to the markings on the floor. "These sigils will keep you from killing each other. They will not keep you comfortable."
Veyla swallowed.
"What do I do?" she asked quietly.
Zora tilted her head. "Nothing."
The word landed heavier than any command.
"You stand," the witch continued. "You breathe. You *feel* the bond without reacting to it."
Khorg let out a harsh laugh. "That's not control. That's torture."
Zora shot him a look. "Same thing, different framing."
Veyla closed her eyes.
She focused on her breathing. In. Out. Slow. Measured.
The ache sharpened, then settled into a steady thrum. Her scent stirred in response—not stronger, but more… present. She could sense it now, a subtle pressure beneath her skin, responsive to her emotional state.
Fear tightened it.
Calm loosened it.
That realization sent a ripple of unease through her.
She opened her eyes again.
Khorg was breathing harder now, chest rising and falling in controlled bursts. His nose twitched repeatedly, instincts warring openly with his human discipline.
His inner wolf howled for her, pacing furiously.
His stomach clenched, warning him away.
The contradiction tore at him.
He forced his gaze away from her face, fixing it instead on the point just past her shoulder. It helped—marginally.
"Don't look at me," he growled softly.
Veyla stiffened.
"I wasn't—"
"I know," he cut in, jaw tight. "But it feels like you are."
The bond pulsed again.
Veyla's fingers curled at her sides.
Vinculus pushed off the pillar at last, moving a single, measured step closer—still well within the allowed distance, but enough to shift the balance of the room.
The scent intensified for him immediately.
He suppressed the urge to recoil.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "The bond responds not just to distance, but attention."
Zora smiled thinly. "Gold star."
Vinculus's gaze slid to Veyla. "You are not passive in this, Princess."
She met his eyes steadily. "Neither are you."
Something sharp flashed between them.
The bond reacted.
Veyla's breath hitched. The pressure in her chest spiked, sudden and almost painful. Her scent flared in response—subtle, but unmistakable.
Khorg snarled low in his throat.
"Enough," he snapped. "You're pushing her."
Vinculus's lips curved faintly. "I'm observing."
"Step back," Khorg ordered.
For a heartbeat, Vinculus did not move.
Then Zora's voice cut in, lazy but dangerous. "He's right."
Vinculus inclined his head and retreated a step.
The pressure eased.
Veyla exhaled shakily.
"Good," Zora said. "Now you see it. The bond isn't just about where you stand. It's about what you *do* with your attention."
She turned to Veyla.
"Your turn," she said. "Take one step forward."
Veyla's heart lurched.
Khorg's head snapped up. "No."
Zora raised a brow. "Not crossing the line. Just closer."
The distance between Veyla and Khorg shrank by a single pace.
The effect was immediate.
Khorg's nausea surged sharply, bile rising in his throat as the scent hit him more fully. At the same time, his wolf surged in savage relief, roaring triumph at the nearness of its mate.
His knees buckled slightly.
Veyla gasped, the ache in her chest flaring into something dangerously close to pain. Her instinct screamed to reach out—to steady him, to close the gap completely.
She did not.
Her hand trembled at her side.
Khorg met her gaze, eyes burning.
"Don't," he said hoarsely. "If you touch me—"
"I won't," she whispered.
The bond howled.
Vinculus watched, utterly still, every aristocratic instinct recoiling at the rawness of the moment—and every other part of him leaning in.
Zora watched them all with sharp satisfaction.
"Excellent," she said softly. "This is what control looks like."
Veyla held her position, muscles shaking, heart pounding, the urge to move screaming through every nerve.
She did not step forward.
Khorg forced himself to straighten, teeth clenched, breath coming in harsh pulls. He did not reach for her.
The moment stretched.
Then—
Zora clapped again.
"Enough," she said. "For today."
The relief was immediate—and devastating.
The distance returned.
The ache surged.
Veyla staggered slightly, catching herself on the edge of the sigil circle.
Khorg turned away sharply, retching dryly into the corner.
Vinculus exhaled slowly, the instability in his blood settling back into its familiar hum.
Zora surveyed them with grim satisfaction.
"You survived your first lesson," she said. "You didn't touch. You didn't break the rules."
She smiled.
"And you hated every second of it."
Veyla wiped a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
Khorg leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closed.
Vinculus adjusted his gloves with trembling fingers.
Control, Veyla realized, was not about resisting the bond.
It was about learning how to live inside the pain it created.
And this—
This was only the beginning.