My Fated Enemy, My Fated Mate

"Elowen, stop stabbing your food and go sit by Riven."

My father’s voice cut through the noise of the banquet hall, sharp and commanding.

I kept my fork buried in the roasted carrots. "I am eating, Dad. I require sustenance."

"You are making a scene," he corrected, leaning down so only I could hear. "The Thorne family is our oldest ally. Show some respect. Keep their heir company."

"He has plenty of company. Look at him."

I gestured with my chin toward the far side of the room. Riven Thorne sat at a large oak table, surrounded by a dozen clan members hanging onto his every word. Arrogant. Insufferable. The absolute bane of my existence since we were five years old.

"Elowen." My father's tone dropped, carrying a finality I knew better than to test. "Now."

I shoved my chair back. The wood scraped harshly against the stone floor.

"Fine."

Navigating the crowded hall felt like walking to an execution. The Voss and Thorne clans had shared this annual dinner for decades. Every year, the elders pushed Riven and me together. Every year, I tried to escape.

I reached his table and stood behind an empty chair.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked.

Riven stopped talking. He turned his head, his dark eyes scanning me from head to toe. A familiar, infuriating smirk formed on his lips.

"By my ego? Yes," he replied. "But you might be able to squeeze in."

"Hilarious." I dropped into the chair.

Instantly, my skin prickled. A flush started at the base of my neck and crawled upward. It always happened. Every single time I got within three feet of this guy, my blood felt like it was boiling. A literal, physical fever. I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the sudden, suffocating warmth.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," Riven muttered, leaning his elbows on the table.

"Do not flatter yourself. I was ordered here."

"Tragic. And here I thought you missed my charming personality."

"I would rather swallow glass."

The clan members around us chuckled awkwardly before scattering, sensing the immediate hostility. They always did. Within seconds, it was just the two of us at the massive table.

"You look flushed, Voss," he noted. "Fever?"

"Allergy," I shot back. "To you."

He laughed, a low sound that grated on my nerves. "You should get that checked out. Considering our fathers just spent the last hour toasting to our future."

My jaw tightened. "They can toast until their livers fail. It is never happening."

"Careful. You sound like you actually care."

"I care about my freedom. And my sanity."

I grabbed a glass of ice water and pressed it to my cheek. The condensation froze against my skin, but it did nothing to combat the sudden furnace radiating through my veins. The closer I sat to him, the worse the burning became. It felt like a restless energy trapped under my skin. He was a curse. My biological nemesis.

"You are shaking," Riven pointed out. His voice dropped a fraction.

"I am perfectly still."

"Your hand is vibrating against the glass. Need a doctor?"

"I need you to move back."

He leaned in closer instead. The heat spiked violently. My chest tightened, and a bead of sweat rolled down my spine.

"Why?" he asked. "Am I making you nervous?"

"You are making me nauseous."

Before he could respond, two elders from the Thorne clan walked past our table. They did not even try to lower their voices.

"They look good together," one whispered loudly.

"A perfect match. The Voss and Thorne lines, finally united. The ceremony will be magnificent."

I slammed my glass down. Water sloshed over the rim, pooling on the mahogany surface.

Riven did not flinch. He just wiped a drop from the table with his thumb.

"Did you hear that?" I demanded.

"I hear a lot of things. Mostly you complaining."

"They are planning a wedding, Riven! Our wedding!"

"Let them plan. Doesn't mean we have to show up."

"You are too calm about this."

"One of us has to be."

I laughed. It was not a happy sound. It was sharp, cold, and entirely out of place in the warm, festive hall. Riven's eyes narrowed, tracking the sound.

"What is funny?" he asked.

"You. You think you can just ignore them. You think because you are the golden boy, you get a say."

"I always get a say."

"Not this time." I leaned across the table, ignoring the intense, suffocating heat rolling off him. "My father already told me to clear my schedule for next month. For a bonding retreat. With you."

Riven’s expression hardened. The smirk vanished completely.

"A what?"

"You heard me."

My skin felt like it was on fire. I rubbed my arms, trying to soothe the burning sensation. It was unbearable tonight. Usually, I could tolerate the heat for at least an hour before needing to bolt. Tonight, I was ready to jump out a window after five minutes.

"I am not going on a retreat," Riven stated flatly.

"Tell your dad that. I dare you."

He stood up. The chair squeaked against the floorboards. "Maybe I will."

"Good luck."

He did not walk away. Instead, he rounded the table and stopped right beside my chair. The proximity hit me like a physical blow. My vision blurred for a split second. The heat morphed into a heavy, restless pressure in my chest.

"Why are you sweating?" he asked.

"It is hot in here."

"It is sixty degrees, Elowen."

"Then I am running a fever. Step away."

"No."

He reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Fire shot up my arm. I yanked my hand back, but his grip was iron.

"Release me," I snapped.

"Your skin is burning," he said, ignoring my command.

"I told you, I am sick."

"This is not a sickness." His eyes locked onto mine. The usual mockery was gone, replaced by a sharp intensity. "How long has this been happening?"

"How long has what been happening?"

"The heat."

I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"How do you know about that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Because," Riven murmured, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "I feel it too."

He dropped my wrist. The fire did not fade. It flared higher, consuming my senses, leaving me completely disoriented. He felt it? The entire time we had been fighting, he was burning up too?

Before I could form a response, the grand hall doors blew open with a deafening crash.

The heavy oak slammed against the stone walls, silencing the entire room. The festive music screeched to a halt.

My father stood up from the head table, his face entirely drained of color.

"Secure the perimeter!" my father shouted, drawing his weapon. "They found us!"