I Sacrificed Eight Lives for Him, He Gave Her My Fur

§PROLOGUE

“They say I’m incapable of love, Carys.”

His voice was a low murmur against her ear, a velvet rasp that sent a shiver down her spine.

The scent of him—old books, expensive cologne, and something wild and uniquely his, like a storm trapped in a bottle—filled her senses.

He traced the delicate line of her jaw with a single finger, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man rumored to be a monster.

“Are you afraid?”

She met his gaze in the grand, antique mirror.

His face was half-shrouded in shadow, the other half illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, revealing a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds and eyes the color of a twilight forest.

The infamous leather mask that concealed the upper half of his face was still perfectly in place, a stark black against his pale skin.

This was her husband.

Alaric Kingsley.

The Serpent Lord of Nocturne Bay.

A man whispered to be disfigured, sterile, and ruthlessly cruel.

Her savior and, perhaps, her new jailer.

She leaned back, her body pressing against the solid wall of his chest.

“No,” she whispered, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil in her heart.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“Good,” he murmured, his hand sliding from her jaw down the column of her throat, stopping just above the frantic pulse at its base.

“Because you have no idea what you’ve just bound yourself to.”

§01

At the National Apothecary Guild Championship, my stepsister became a star with the elixir she stole from me.

Ironic, wasn't it?

The Veritas Elixir, a truth serum of my own design, built her entire career on a lie.

I didn't realize, then, that this single act of theft was about to detonate my entire life.

That this competition was a carefully orchestrated bride selection for the notoriously cruel and disfigured serpent lord, Alaric Kingsley—a man rumored to be naturally sterile.

That night, a formal Bonding Contract from Kingsley Enterprises arrived, demanding the hand of the elixir's creator.

My fiancé, Dalton, panicked.

He and my stepsister, Lacey Carmichael, immediately locked themselves in his room.

Hours later, after their frantic coupling had secured their Bond, Lacey emerged, swaying her hips as she flaunted the fresh wolf-shaped Bond Mark on her lower back.

The mark that should have been mine.

“Your fiancé is mine now,” she cooed, her voice dripping with saccharine poison.

“What will you do, Carys? You turn twenty-five in three days. If no one claims you, you’ll be thrown into the Matching Mandate. Forced to Bond with some old, abusive wanderer.”

She was wrong.

I had another choice.

A terrible one.

I found my parents in the front hall, already spinning lies to the press to manage Lacey's "sudden but beautiful" new Bond.

“She won’t marry the serpent lord,” I announced, my voice cutting through their cheerful chatter.

“I will.”

§02

My words were a thunderclap in the quiet opulence of our home.

The Bond contract trembled in my father’s hand, frozen mid-air.

My mother’s eyes widened, her fox-like tail fluffing up in alarm—a dead giveaway of her shock.

“Carys, are you insane?” she gasped. “Alaric Kingsley is sterile! He’s a bloodthirsty monster! I heard he nearly tore a servant's throat out during a Primal Shift. Marrying him is jumping into a pit of fire!”

Before I could speak, my father cleared his throat, his gaze flicking nervously towards Lacey's closed door.

“If she doesn't go... what about Lacey? She’s already Bonded with Dalton...”

A flicker of conflict crossed my mother’s face before she slowly, reluctantly, released her grip on my arm.

My heart turned to ice.

I was their biological daughter, yet they always, always chose the sweet, manipulative act of their adopted one.

A bitter laugh escaped me. “I have one condition. On my wedding day, Lacey must publicly admit she stole my elixir.”

“How can you be so vicious? You’ll ruin your sister’s reputation!” my father roared, slamming his hand on the mahogany table.

My mother just stared at me, her expression painted with disappointment.

My face was a mask of pure scorn.

“The serpent lord wants the alchemist who created the elixir. You can’t have it all. She can have her reputation, or she can have her life. Choose.”

For Lacey, they eventually relented.

I turned and walked away without another word, only to collide with Dalton Montgomery emerging from Lacey’s room.

§03

Dalton was wrapped in a plush bathrobe, his chest a canvas of angry red marks.

The cloying scent of Lacey’s signature rose perfume clung to him like a shroud.

It was obvious their "bonding" had been a multi-day affair.

He saw me wrinkle my nose in disgust and rushed to block my path.

“Carys, I know you’re angry,” he said, his voice urgent. “But this was the only way to save Lacey. The Snake Clan is possessive. The only way to make Kingsley back off was for me to Bond with her.”

I forced a brittle, broken smile.

“And what about me?”

We were supposed to Bond on my twentieth birthday.

But he’d postponed it, again and again, every time Lacey threw a tantrum or feigned a mysterious illness.

Now, on the eve of my twenty-fifth birthday, with the Matching Mandate looming like a guillotine, he’d Bonded with her.

He left me with two paths: forced matching with a stranger, or marriage to a monster.

Guilt flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by a frantic sort of logic. He grabbed my hands.

“Carys! I won’t let them match you with some wanderer! I have a plan. I can give you the Servitude Brand. You can live at my family’s estate as a Servant-kin. Then you won’t have to marry anyone.”

He squeezed my hands tighter, as if imparting a great gift.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a formality. At home, I’ll treat you just the same as Lacey.”

I laughed, a raw, incredulous sound.

How could he be so shamelessly cruel?

Only the most disgraced, desperate Beastkin, those with nowhere else to go, accepted the humiliation of the Servitude Brand.

A branded Servant-kin could be bought and sold at will, a second-class citizen for life.

Even their children would be born into servitude.

I ripped my hands from his grasp. “Dalton, I would rather marry anyone than become a slave!”

§04

His face darkened, his pride wounded by my rejection.

“Carys Redding! Don’t you love me? Is your reputation more important than being with me?”

“Is it?” I shot back, my voice dripping with ice. “Then why not have Lacey take the Brand? It would have saved her just the same.”

“She could never be a slave!” he blurted out, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “She’s delicate, innocent... She deserves to be cherished, protected from any hardship.”

Years of accumulated pain and injustice finally stung my eyes.

Of course.

Because she was a "delicate" Rabbit Beastkin, and I was the clan's only Nine-tailed Fox—strong, resilient, with nine lives to spare.

So my parents favored her.

My fiancé pitied her.

And I was expected to absorb all the pain.

The raw mockery in my eyes seemed to scald him. He recoiled, his shame twisting into anger.

“Fine. You can reflect on your stubbornness,” he spat, his voice cold.

“But don't come crying to me when you realize this is the only path you have left.”

After he stormed off, I drifted downstairs in a daze, only to be met by a courier from Kingsley Enterprises.

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