The dream comes again.
Not a memory. Not a vision. A *pull*—deep in my bones, in the cursed sigil burning beneath my skin. I’m standing in a chamber of black stone, the air thick with the scent of iron and old magic. Chains hang from the walls, their links fused with dried blood. At the center, an altar—cracked, scorched, carved with runes I know from my mother’s grimoire. And on it, a blade.
Not just any blade.
The *Sanguis Vinctus*—the Blood-Bound Blade. The weapon used to sever my mother’s soul from her body. The vessel that holds her essence, bound to the last heir of the D’Rae line.
Kaelen.
I reach for it. My fingers tremble. The moment I touch the hilt, a scream rips through the chamber—not mine. *Hers*. My mother’s voice, raw with agony, echoing through centuries of silence.
Amber… run…
I wake with a gasp, my body drenched in sweat, the sigil on my chest pulsing like a wound. The room is dark. The fire in the hearth has burned to embers. And beside me—though not touching me—Kaelen lies in the connecting chamber, his breathing slow, even.
We didn’t speak after the gala. After Mira’s poison-laced words and his memories flooding into my mind. He showed me the truth—cold, clinical, *real*. No passion in his touch with her. No desire. Only duty. Only politics.
And yet, when he pulled me into his arms, when he let me see inside him… I felt something shift.
Not trust.
Something deeper. Something dangerous.
I press a hand to the sigil, feeling the heat, the rhythm. The bond is quiet now—calm. But it’s not peace. It’s the stillness before a storm.
I have to move. I have to *act*.
The blade is real. The dream wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a *summons*. My mother’s soul is trapped in that weapon, and if I don’t reclaim it, the curse will take me before my thirtieth birthday.
And if I do… what then?
Kill him?
The thought should be easy. It’s been my purpose for ten years. But now, when I imagine driving a dagger into his heart, my hand falters. Not from fear. From *hesitation*.
I hate that.
I throw back the covers and rise, padding barefoot to the wardrobe. My clothes are still there—black trousers, a fitted tunic, boots. I dress quickly, silently, strapping the ritual dagger to my thigh. The same one I used to cut him. The same one that started this… this *bond*.
I glance at the connecting door.
Still closed. Still silent.
I can do this. I can find the blade. Take it. Break the curse. And then—then I’ll decide what to do with him.
I slip out of the suite, moving through the citadel’s halls like a shadow. The night is deep. The guards are few. Most vampires are in their chambers, resting, feeding, or lost in the city’s underbelly. The werewolf sentries at the east gate sniff the air as I pass, but I carry Kaelen’s scent on me—his blood, his mark, the bond. They don’t stop me.
I reach the inner sanctum—the restricted wing. The door is sealed with a blood-lock. I press my palm to the scanner. It glows red. Rejects me.
Of course.
I need his blood.
I close my eyes, focusing on the bond. It hums, warm, insistent. I can feel him—sleeping, dreaming, *alive*. And I can feel the thread between us, taut, unbreakable.
I don’t want to wake him. Don’t want to give him the chance to stop me.
But I don’t have a choice.
I press my fingers to the sigil and *pull*—not at the curse, but at the bond. A sharp tug, like plucking a wire. Pain flares in my chest. And then—
A jolt.
He’s awake.
I feel it—the sudden spike in his pulse, the shift in his breath. He’s sitting up. Calling my name in his mind.
Amber. Where are you?
I don’t answer.
I press my palm to the scanner again.
This time, it glows green. The door hisses open.
I step inside.
The chamber is cold, lit by flickering torches. Shelves line the walls, filled with ancient weapons, cursed relics, and vials of preserved blood. At the far end, a staircase spirals down into darkness.
The crypt.
My breath catches. This is it. The place from my dream.
I descend slowly, my boots echoing on the stone. The air grows heavier, thick with the scent of decay and old magic. At the bottom, a single door—iron, bound with silver chains, etched with runes that pulse faintly.
I recognize them. Blood-binding. Soul-sealing. The same magic used on my mother.
I press my palm to the door. It doesn’t open.
But the bond does.
A whisper in my blood. A pull in my chest. The blade is here. *She* is here.
I step back and draw the dagger. Not to cut the door. To cut *myself*.
I slice across my palm. Blood wells, dark and warm. I press it to the runes.
The door shudders. The chains rattle. And then—
It opens.
Inside, the chamber is small, circular. The walls are lined with bones—fused, twisted, glowing faintly. At the center, a pedestal. And on it, the blade.
Black metal, curved like a fang, the hilt wrapped in leather stained with old blood. Runes spiral up the length, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic light. And in the guard—a single, blood-red gem, flickering like a dying heart.
My mother’s soul.
I step forward, my breath shallow. The air hums with power. The sigil on my chest burns—not with pain, but with *recognition*. It knows her. It knows *me*.
I reach for the hilt.
And then—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I freeze.
Kaelen stands in the doorway, his coat open, his hair disheveled from sleep. His eyes are dark, unreadable. But I feel the bond—tight, strained, *angry*.
“You pulled me awake,” he says, stepping inside. “You used the bond to force entry.”
“I had to,” I say, not turning. “She’s here. My mother. Her soul is in this blade.”
“And you think taking it will save you?”
“It’s the only way.”
“It’s not.” He moves closer. “The curse isn’t broken by blood. It’s broken by *truth*.”
I laugh—harsh, disbelieving. “Truth? You’re the one who lied to me. Who let Mira wear your shirt like a trophy. Who let her whisper in your ear while I watched.”
“I didn’t *let* her do anything,” he snaps. “I was testing you.”
“Testing me?” I whirl to face him. “You wanted to see if I’d run? If I’d believe her? If I’d *doubt* you?”
“I wanted to see if you’d *fight* for me.”
The bond flares.
Heat surges through me. My vision whites out. I stagger, clutching the pedestal for support.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he says, stepping closer. “Every time you lie. Every time you resist. The bond knows, Amber. It knows you *want* me. It knows you’re afraid of what that means.”
“I’m not afraid,” I gasp. “I’m *angry*. You took everything from me. My mother. My future. My *life*.”
“I didn’t take anything,” he says. “My father did. And he’s dead.”
“But you’re still here. You’re still *his* heir. You’re still the one who benefits from her death.”
“I didn’t know,” he says, his voice low, raw. “I didn’t know she was innocent. I didn’t know the curse was a lie. I thought she broke the Blood Oath. I thought she deserved it.”
“And now?”
“Now I know the truth.” He steps closer. “And I know *you*.”
His hand reaches for mine.
I yank back. “Don’t touch me.”
“You can’t keep doing this,” he says. “Running. Fighting. Hating. The bond won’t let you. *I* won’t let you.”
“You don’t get to decide what I feel.”
“I don’t.” He steps closer. “But the bond does. And right now, it’s screaming that you’re lying.”
Another surge. I cry out, collapsing to my knees. The sigil burns like a brand. My vision blurs.
“Say it,” he murmurs, kneeling beside me. “Say you don’t hate me.”
“I do,” I choke.
Pain rips through me. I scream.
He cups my face. “No, you don’t. You’re afraid. You’re hurting. But you don’t hate me.”
“I came here to destroy you.”
“And yet,” he says, his thumb brushing my lip, “you’re still here. Still breathing. Still *wanting*.”
I close my eyes. I can’t fight this. Not the bond. Not him. Not the truth.
“Then let me take the blade,” I whisper. “Let me break the curse. And then—then I’ll decide what to do with you.”
He studies me. “And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll take it anyway.”
He sighs. “You always were stubborn.”
Before I can react, he moves—fast, inhumanly fast. His body slams into mine, pinning me to the pedestal. One hand grips my wrist, the other presses against my chest, right over the sigil. His thigh slides between my legs, holding me in place.
Heat explodes.
Not from the bond.
From *him*.
His body is hard, warm, *alive*. His breath is hot on my neck. His fangs graze my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he murmurs. “The way your body arches toward me. The way your breath hitches when I touch you. The way you *burn* when I’m near.”
My pulse races. My skin flushes. I don’t push him off.
I *can’t*.
“You want to kill me,” he says, his voice a whisper against my ear. “But your body begs for me.”
I turn my head, our lips inches apart. “Then give me a reason not to.”
His eyes flash. “You already have one.”
And then—
A scream.
Not mine.
Not his.
Her.
Amber… no… don’t let him have the blade…
I gasp. “My mother.”
Kaelen pulls back, fangs retracting. “What?”
“She’s warning me.” I push to my feet, staring at the blade. “She doesn’t want you to have it.”
“Then take it,” he says. “But know this—if you do, the bond will break. And you’ll die within days.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
I reach for the hilt.
He grabs my wrist. “Amber, *listen* to me. The curse isn’t in the blade. It’s in the *lie*. The Blood Oath wasn’t broken by your mother. It was broken by *mine*. My father framed her. He used her soul to strengthen our bloodline. But the magic is unstable. It’s dying. And so are we.”
I stare at him. “You’re saying… the curse is killing *you* too?”
“Yes.” He releases my wrist. “And the only way to break it is for us to *accept* the bond. Not fight it. Not deny it. But *embrace* it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we both die.”
The chamber falls silent.
I look at the blade. At the gem flickering with my mother’s soul. At the man who could save me—or destroy me.
“You expect me to believe you?” I whisper.
“No.” He steps back. “I expect you to *feel* me.”
He opens his mind.
Memories flood in—his father standing over the altar, my mother’s name burning in ash. His voice, cold: *“She was a witch who broke the Blood Oath. Her soul is forfeit.”* And then—Kaelen, young, furious, demanding the truth. His father’s laugh. *“Power is taken, not given.”*
I see it all. The lie. The betrayal. The *shame* in Kaelen’s eyes.
He knew. Not at first. But later. And he did nothing.
“You let it happen,” I say, pulling back. “You let them take her.”
“I was powerless,” he says. “Until now.”
“And now?”
“Now I have you.”
The bond flares.
Not with pain.
With *truth*.
I look at him—really look. At the shadows under his eyes. At the way his hand trembles when he reaches for me. At the raw, unguarded hunger in his gaze.
He’s not just my enemy.
He’s my *cure*.
And I’m his.
I step toward the blade.
Not to take it.
But to *free* it.
My fingers close around the hilt.
The gem flares.
And then—
A voice, clear, strong, echoing through the chamber.
Amber… my daughter… it’s time.
The blade rises.
The runes burn.
And the bond—
—*screams*.