Bite Me Till Dawn

“Love me like you want to watch me bleed.”



When Elara Voss trespasses into the Thornes’ forbidden forest to save her dying sister, she expects venomous thorns—not a bloodied tyrant chained to a sacrificial altar. Kael Thorne, ruler of the nocturnal Lycan syndicate, wears his patricidal scars like trophies and craves her blood to quiet the silver shrapnel devouring his heart.



He gifts her a steel-boned corset laced with silver spikes, yet burns his fur shielding her from flames.

He forces mandrake wine down her throat at feasts, but trembles dressing the wounds he carved into her flesh.

He smirks as she finds abortion pills hidden in her breakfast tray, yet carves an ice cradle for the “monster” growing in her womb.



“You smell like absolution,” he growls, fangs glinting against her torn dress, molten-gold eyes reflecting the wedding band forged from his own bones. “Too bad I sold my soul long before you.”



But when Argent Order’s missiles shatter the cathedral glass, Elara discovers the crescent scar on her collarbone perfectly matches the autopsy report of Kael’s deceased sister—whose funeral portrait hangs in his bloodstained gallery. As flames engulf the altar, she drives a dagger into his crystallizing heart, only to hear their bonded bone rings wail in unison.



The truth crashes louder than the crumbling chapel:

Their fatal bond began the night he dragged her from a fire two decades ago.



Now, under a bleeding moon, Kael slams her blade deeper into his chest, crystalline shards spraying like shattered stars:

“Feel it, darling…

…how this heart that beats for you is slowly turning into the blade that will slit your throat.”



WARNING: Contains morally bankrupt aristocrats, mutually assured destruction masquerading as romance, and enough gothic depravity to make Dracula blush. When the blood pact ignites, will you root for the knife—or the throats it dances between?