Bound By Fate (The Northcrest Bonds #3)

Chapter 1

It sliced through the gap in the velvet curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and landing squarely on Kai’s sleeping face.

He didn’t flinch. In fact, he seemed to absorb it, his tan skin glowing as if he were solar-powered.

One of his arms was thrown over his eyes, the other was draped heavily across my waist, a solid, grounding weight that pinned me to the mattress.

To my left, Rhett was a furnace. He slept on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, a tangle of black sheets twisted around his legs. He radiated heat like a woodstove, a constant, simmering warmth that kept the chill of the early spring morning at bay.

And at the foot of the bed, curled up in a sleek, elegant ball like a jungle cat, was Lucien. He claimed he slept better there because he could "guard the perimeter," but I suspected he just liked being able to see all of us at once the moment he woke up.

I lay still for a long moment, simply listening to the rhythm of their breathing.

Kai. Rhett. Lucien.

My Triad.

It had been three days since the showdown at the Library. Three days since we had broken the Brotherhood’s machine, exposed Commander Graves as a traitor, and effectively declared war on anyone who tried to mess with us.

Three days of distinct, terrifying, wonderful quiet.

I carefully lifted Kai’s heavy arm, sliding out from under the covers. He grumbled something in his sleep—it sounded like "muffins"—and reached for me blindly.

"I’m just getting coffee," I whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles.

He sighed, satisfied, and flopped his hand onto Rhett’s back instead. Rhett grunted, shifting closer to the contact, but didn't wake.

I smiled, grabbing my robe from the chair—or rather, grabbing Rhett’s hoodie, since my robe had mysteriously vanished into Kai’s nest of pillows three days ago.

The hoodie swallowed me whole, sleeves hanging past my fingertips, smelling of cedar, rain, and that unique, electric scent of ozone that always clung to him.

I padded into the master bathroom, relishing the cool tile under my feet.

The bathroom was a testament to our chaotic, communal life.

The counter was a warzone of products. Kai’s array of expensive moisturizers and hair texturizers occupied the left flank.

Rhett’s solitary bar of unscented soap and black comb held the right.

Lucien’s space was impeccably organized—a straight razor, a glass jar of cotton swabs, and a single bottle of cologne that smelled like midnight and cloves.

And then there was my stuff, fighting for territory in the middle.

I started brushing my teeth, staring at my reflection.

My hair was a bird’s nest, my eyes still puffy with sleep.

I looked… rested. For the first time in months, the dark circles under my eyes were fading.

The constant, thrumming anxiety that used to live in my chest had quieted to a manageable hum.

The door creaked open behind me.

Rhett shuffled in, eyes half-lidded, hair sticking up in six different directions. He looked like a grumpy bear roused from hibernation. Without a word, he walked up behind me, wrapped his massive arms around my waist, and rested his chin on top of my head.

He let out a long, rumbling groan that vibrated through my entire body.

"Too early," he rasped, his voice gravel-deep.

"It's 7:15," I said around my toothbrush. "The sun is up."

"Disgusting." He tightened his grip, planting a kiss on my crown. "Come back to bed. The blankets miss you."

"The blankets are inanimate objects, Rhett."

"Don't hurt their feelings." He reached blindly for his toothbrush, knocking over three of Kai’s serums in the process. He didn't even open his eyes as he righted them with frightening dexterity. "Kai kicked me. He dreams about kung fu."

"He dreams about muffins," I corrected, rinsing my mouth. "I heard him."

"Muffin kung fu," Rhett amended. He started brushing his teeth aggressively, staring at his own reflection with a scowl.

The door opened again. Lucien drifted in, moving so silently I wouldn't have known he was there if not for the sudden drop in temperature. He was wearing black silk lounge pants and nothing else, his pale skin stark against the dark fabric.

"Crowded," he observed, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"It's a four-person bathroom, Luce," Rhett muttered, spitting into the sink. "Join the party. Lina's hogging the mirror."

"I am not," I protested. "I occupy ten percent of this mirror. You’re the one who needs to inspect your scowl from every angle."

Lucien’s lips quirked. He moved past Rhett, turning on the shower. Steam instantly began to fill the room, softening the sharp edges of the morning.

"The Assembly is at ten," Lucien reminded us, testing the water temperature with a pale hand. "Dean Marrow expects full attendance."

Rhett groaned again, louder this time. "I hate assemblies. It’s just people talking about things they could have put in an email. And Marrow... he smells like bleach and politician."

"He smells like a Null," I said quietly.

The playful mood in the room faltered. Rhett froze, toothbrush mid-air. Lucien paused with his hand on the glass shower door.

"We don't know that for sure," Lucien said, though his eyes darkened. "His scent is... absent. That doesn't guarantee he's a Null. He could be masking."

"It's the same absence Graves had," I insisted, leaning back against the counter. "Like a hole in the world where magic should be."

"If he's a Null," Rhett growled, "I'll rip his throat out before he gets through the opening remarks."

"No throat-ripping," I said firmly, poking him in the chest. "Not today. We are model students today. We are going to sit there, look attentive, and imply that we are perfectly happy and definitely not plotting a coup."

Rhett caught my finger, bringing it to his lips. His storm-grey eyes locked onto mine, simmering with that protective intensity that always made my knees weak. "I don't simulate happiness well, Lina. I have 'Resting Murder Face'. You know this."

"Work on it," I teased. "Channel Kai. Smile with your teeth."

"That sounds like a threat," Lucien noted, stepping into the shower. "Save me some hot water. Or don't. I enjoy the cold."

"Freak," Rhett murmured affectionately.

Thirty minutes later, the bathroom was a foggy, humid mess, and we were migrating to the kitchen.

I walked out to find Kai already awake and wreaking havoc. He was singing along to a pop song blasting from his phone, dancing around the kitchen island while flipping pancakes. He wore pajama pants with little cartoon wolves on them—a gag gift from Ivy that he unironically loved.

"Good morning, sunshine!" he crowed, spotting me. He spun a pancake into the air, caught it perfectly on the plate, and slid it toward me. "Blueberry lemon ricotta. Because you’re fancy."

"You’re an angel," I said, inhaling the scent. He had been working on his cooking skills since we moved in.

"I’m a culinary god," he corrected. "Rhett, coffee is in the pot. Lucien, I made you the sad, plain oatmeal you like. It’s on the counter."

"It’s not sad," Lucien’s voice drifted from the hallway as he emerged, now dressed in a crisp black button-down. "It’s efficient. Glucose. Fiber. Sustenance."

"Sad," Kai whispered to me loud enough for him to hear.

I hopped onto a barstool, wrapping my hands around a mug of coffee.

The kitchen was bright and airy, the perfect antidote to the heavy conversation in the bathroom.

Textbooks were scattered on the coffee table.

A half-finished game of Scrabble sat on the rug.

Kai’s succulents lined the windowsill, soaking up the light.

It looked like a home. A real one.

But the illusion of normalcy was pierced by the refrigerator.

Held up by a magnet shaped like a pepperoni slice was the card.

The Queen of Hearts.

It looked innocuous enough. Just a playing card. But the photo on the front—the grainy, black-and-white surveillance shot of me with a red target drawn on my chest—told a different story. And the message on the back, scrawled in red ink that looked uncomfortably like dried blood.

SEE YOU SOON.

Rhett walked in, fully dressed now in dark jeans and a grey t-shirt that strained against his shoulders. He saw me looking at the fridge and scowled.

"Why?" he demanded, pouring himself a mug of black coffee. "Why is that still there? I offered to burn it. I offered to eat it. I offered to crumble it into dust and scatter it over the ocean."

"Because," I said, tearing off a piece of pancake. "It’s a reminder. That we’re not done. And that I’m not afraid."

"I'm afraid," Kai said cheerfully, dropping a stack of pancakes onto Rhett’s plate. "That picture is terrible. The lighting does nothing for your bone structure, Lina. It’s offensive."

"Kai," Rhett warned.

"What? If an evil secret society is going to stalk our mate, they could at least use a high-resolution camera. Standards, people."

I smiled, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the target on my chest. I wasn't afraid. Not really. After everything we’d survived—the overflow, the explosion, the Brotherhood—a piece of paper felt… manageable.

"You’re staring at it again."

Lucien slid onto the stool beside me. He took a precise bite of his oatmeal, his gaze following mine. "Ignoring it won't make it go away, Rhett. Lina keeps it there to desensitize herself. It’s a valid psychological tactic."

"It's a mood killer," Rhett grumbled. "We're eating pancakes. We shouldn't be staring at death threats."

"It's not a death threat," I said. "It's an invitation."

"To what?" Kai asked, leaning his hip against the counter. "A tea party?"

"To a game," Lucien said softly. "Queen of Hearts. It implies a hierarchy. A court."

"Dean Marrow," I said. "He’s the King."

"Or the Joker," Kai suggested. "He smiles too much."

"He’s dangerous," Rhett said, putting his mug down with a sharp clack. "I don't care what his rank is. If he gets too close to you at the Assembly today..."