I came to kill him. Not to feel.
The thought is a steel rod through my spine as I press myself into the cold stone alcove, my breath shallow, my fingers curled around the hilt of the ritual dagger hidden beneath my cloak. Below me, the Nocturne Citadel’s Blood Sanctum hums with power. Candles burn black wax in silver sconces. The air is thick with the scent of iron and something darker—aged wine, decay, and desire. Vampires in long, high-collared coats move in silent procession around the central dais, where a single figure stands with his back to me.
Kaelen D’Rae.
High Prince of the Nocturne Court. Last living heir of the bloodline that stole my mother’s soul. The man whose death is the only thing that can save me.
He’s taller than I imagined. Broad-shouldered, wrapped in a coat of obsidian silk trimmed with silver runes that pulse faintly with each beat of his heart. His dark hair falls just above his collar, and when he turns slightly, I catch the sharp line of his jaw, the pale, almost luminous skin. He doesn’t move like a man. He moves like a predator—still, precise, every motion calculated. And when he speaks, his voice cuts through the low chanting like a blade through silk.
“Let the Oath be renewed,” he says, and the room falls into absolute silence. “Let the blood remember. Let the dead remain silent.”
My fingers tighten on the dagger. My mother’s name was Elara Vale. She died screaming, her soul ripped from her body to seal a curse that now lives in me. And this man—this monster—presided over her execution. I’ve seen the records. I’ve traced the bloodline. He is the key.
The curse in my chest flares, a familiar burn spreading beneath the sigil carved into my skin. Twenty-nine years old. One year left. If I don’t reclaim my mother’s stolen life-force from his bloodline, I’ll die at thirty, my soul siphoned into the same void that took hers.
I don’t have time for fear. I don’t have room for doubt.
But then he lifts his hand, and the sleeve of his coat slides back, revealing the inside of his wrist—pale, unmarked. And I realize with a jolt: I need his blood. Not his death. Not yet. Just a single drop. A sample. A trace of his essence to break the binding.
The ritual begins. A young vampire steps forward, offering his palm. Kaelen takes it, his fangs elongating with terrifying grace. He bites—clean, precise—and the blood flows into a crystal chalice. The room thrums with energy. The vampires chant in low, guttural tones. The air shimmers.
This is it. The moment of vulnerability. When his guard is down. When his power is focused on the ritual.
I move.
Slipping from the alcove, I glide down the shadowed stairwell, my boots silent on the stone. My magic hums beneath my skin, suppressed, coiled. I can’t use it here—not without alerting every blood-sensitive creature in the sanctum. I have to be precise. One cut. One drop. One escape.
I reach the edge of the dais. The chanting grows louder. The chalice is nearly full. Kaelen raises it high, his voice rising in a final incantation.
I step onto the dais.
No one sees me. Or if they do, they don’t react. The ritual binds their focus. My dagger flashes in the candlelight as I close the distance. I don’t hesitate. I lunge.
My blade slices across his palm.
He gasps—more in surprise than pain—and the chalice tilts, blood spilling across the stone. The room erupts in shouts. Guards surge forward. But I’ve already got what I need. I yank back, holding the dagger aloft, a single drop of his blood glistening on the silver edge.
And then—contact.
His wounded hand grabs my wrist.
Our blood touches.
Fire explodes in my veins.
It’s not pain. Not at first. It’s heat—white-hot, searing—racing up my arm, flooding my chest, crashing into the cursed sigil like a tidal wave. My knees buckle. My vision whites out. I hear screaming—mine—and then a voice, deep and resonant, not in the room, but in my *mind*:
You’re mine now.
I wrench free, stumbling back. The guards are closing in. I turn and run.
My body is on fire. Every step sends shockwaves through me. My skin is too tight. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I can’t think. I can’t focus. All I know is the burn in my chest—and the echo of his voice in my skull.
I burst through the sanctum doors into the citadel’s inner corridor. Torches flicker. The stone walls press in. I don’t know where I’m going. I only know I have to get out.
Behind me, a command is barked—“Stop her!”—and footsteps thunder in pursuit.
I round a corner and slam into something solid. A guard. He grabs my shoulders, fangs bared. I bring the dagger up, slashing across his throat. He gurgles, blood spraying. I shove him aside and keep running.
The corridor splits. I take the left. A stairwell. Down. Deeper into the citadel. My lungs burn. My legs tremble. The sigil on my chest pulses like a second heart, each beat sending waves of agony through me.
But beneath the pain—something else.
Desire.
It coils low in my belly, sudden and undeniable. My skin flushes. My breath hitches. I press a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the whimper that rises in my throat. This isn’t me. This isn’t *real*. I didn’t come here to want him. I came here to destroy him.
And yet—his scent lingers on my skin. Dark. Spiced. Like smoke and midnight. I can still feel the pressure of his grip, the heat of his body. The memory of his voice in my mind—mine—sends a shiver down my spine.
No. No, no, no.
I force myself forward, down the stairs, through a narrow passage, into a storage chamber filled with crates and dust. I slam the door shut behind me, pressing my back against it, my chest heaving.
Silence.
For a moment, I think I’ve lost them. Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Stopping just outside the door.
I hold my breath.
The doorknob turns.
I raise the dagger.
The door opens a crack—and a hand darts in, slamming it shut from the inside. A figure slips through, hooded, cloaked. Riven. Kaelen’s lieutenant. Half-werewolf, half-vampire. I’ve seen his file. Loyal. Deadly.
But he doesn’t attack.
He locks the door behind him, then turns to me, his amber eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
“You’re bleeding,” he says, voice low.
I glance down. My wrist—where Kaelen grabbed me—is torn, blood welling from four deep gouges. His blood and mine are mixed on my skin.
“So are you,” I snap.
He doesn’t deny it. “You don’t know what you’ve done, do you?”
“I took what I needed.”
“You didn’t just take blood.” He steps closer. “You triggered a bond. A *Soul-Siphon Link*. It’s forbidden. It hasn’t been seen in centuries.”
My stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”
“Your magic and his,” he says. “Your pain and your desire. They’re linked now. If you lie, you’ll burn. If he withholds truth, he bleeds. If you stay apart too long, you’ll both weaken. It feeds on honesty. On proximity. On *truth*.”
I stare at him. “That’s impossible.”
“Look at your chest.”
I pull back my shirt. The cursed sigil—once a dull, ashen gray—is now glowing faintly red. The lines pulse in time with my heartbeat.
“It’s feeding,” Riven says. “But not just on your life-force. On *his* blood. On the bond.”
I feel sick. This changes everything. I can’t kill him now. Not without risking my own life. Not without unraveling whatever twisted connection has formed between us.
“Why are you telling me this?” I whisper.
He hesitates. “Because I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you when your blood touched. And I’ve never seen him lose sleep over anyone. Until you.”
I don’t know what to say.
Outside, voices echo in the corridor. They’re searching.
“You need to go,” Riven says. “Now. There’s a service tunnel at the end of this chamber. It leads to the outer district. Take it. And don’t come back.”
“I have to come back,” I say. “I have no choice.”
He studies me. “Then be careful. The bond will make it harder. Every time you resist him, your body will weaken. Every time you touch him, your mission will tremble.”
He turns to leave.
“Wait,” I say. “Why help me?”
He glances back. “Because if he’s going to fall, I’d rather it be for someone who might actually save him.”
And then he’s gone.
I don’t wait. I find the tunnel, crawl through the narrow passage, emerge into the cold night air of Eldergrove’s undercity. The skyscrapers loom above, their upper levels hidden by fae glamour. Blood bars pulse with neon. The scent of magic and decay hangs in the air.
I stumble into an alley, press my back against the wall, and slide to the ground.
My body is a battlefield. The curse burns. The bond hums. My skin still thrums with the memory of his touch.
I came to destroy him.
But now I can’t even lie to myself about how much I want him.
I close my eyes. And in the darkness, his voice returns:
You’re mine now.
I open my eyes. My hand trembles as I press it to the sigil on my chest.
And for the first time in ten years, I’m not sure I want to kill him.