I woke alone.
Not in the way I had the past few mornings—Vex beside me, one arm flung over his eyes, his breathing slow and even, the scent of him thick in the air like a promise I couldn’t name.
This was different.
The bed was cold. The sheets tangled, as if I’d thrashed in my sleep. The room was dim, lit only by the faint pulse of runes along the obsidian pillars, the air still heavy with the residue of magic, of heat, of *him*. But Vex—
He was gone.
I sat up slowly, my body aching in ways I couldn’t ignore. My neck throbbed—the new bite mark, small and precise and *permanent*, just below my ear. My thighs burned. My core ached—deep, dull, unrelenting—a reminder of what had happened, of what I’d *let* happen, of what I still couldn’t remember.
Had we…?
Had I—
No.
I pressed my fingers to the bite, wincing at the tenderness. It wasn’t just a claim.
It was a *memory*.
And I—
I didn’t have one.
I slid out of bed, my legs trembling, my bare feet meeting the cold stone floor. My robe was crumpled on the floor where he’d torn it off me—where *I’d* let him tear it off me—and I snatched it up, wrapping it tightly around myself, as if it could shield me from the truth.
From the way my body still hummed with need, even now.
From the way my heart still *burned* for him.
Across the room, the door opened.
Not Vex.
A servant.
A Fae woman with silver hands and eyes like moonlight, dressed in the muted grays of the royal staff. She carried a tray—steaming tea, dark bread, a vial of something thick and crimson.
“My lady,” she said, bowing her head. “The king sends this. For the bond-heat.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because the vial—
It was blood.
Vampire blood.
His blood.
And it wasn’t just for the heat.
It was a message.
A reminder.
You’re mine.
“Leave it,” I said, my voice flat.
She hesitated. “He said to tell you—”
“I don’t care what he said,” I snapped. “Leave. Now.”
She bowed again and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
I didn’t touch the tray.
Didn’t look at the vial.
Just walked to the bathing chamber, my steps slow, deliberate, trying to steady my breathing, trying to push down the flood of sensations that still lingered—his hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck, the way he’d whispered my name like it was sacred.
Avalanche.
Not Lira.
Never Lira.
He’d known all along.
I stepped into the room, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and something sharper—ozone, maybe, or the residue of magic. The tub was empty now, the water drained, the runes along its rim still faintly glowing. I turned the taps, letting the water rush in, steam rising in thick, curling tendrils.
I didn’t undress.
Just sat on the edge, my hands gripping the stone, my head bowed.
What had I done?
I’d let him touch me. Let him inside me. Let him *feel* me in ways no one ever had.
And worse—I’d *wanted* it.
Not just the release. Not just the survival.
But *him*.
His strength. His control. The way he’d looked at me—like he saw *me*, not just the mission, not just the vengeance, but the woman beneath.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if I started seeing him as more than a monster…
If I started believing he might not have killed my mother…
Then what was I even fighting for?
I pressed my fingers to the bite mark again—still warm, still tender. My breath hitched. My thighs pressed together. And then—
It hit me.
The plan.
The *real* plan.
I hadn’t come here just to kill him.
I’d come here to *avenge* him.
Not from him.
From *Nyx*.
Because she’d framed him. She’d made the world believe he’d slaughtered my mother, that he’d seized the Crown for himself, that he was the monster who’d started the Crimson Schism. And he’d let it happen—because it was easier than the truth. Because it kept the peace. Because he’d *protected* me, even then, even when I was just a child, even when he didn’t know I existed.
And now—
Now I was falling for him.
And the worst part?
I didn’t even know if I could stop.
The door opened behind me.
I didn’t turn.
“You can’t run from it,” Vex said, stepping inside. He was dressed now—black trousers, no shirt, his chest still bare, scars tracing his ribs like old battles. His hair was tousled, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but alert. Watching me.
“I’m not running,” I said. “I’m cleansing.”
“With your clothes on?”
“It’s symbolic.”
He exhaled, stepping closer. “The bond-heat will return. It always does. The first climax stabilizes it, but it doesn’t erase it. We’ll need to suppress it again. And again. Until the magic settles.”
I clenched my jaw. “Then we’ll do the ritual. Hands on skin. Controlled. Nothing more.”
“You think you can keep it clinical?” he asked, voice low. “You think you can pretend last night didn’t change anything?”
“It didn’t,” I said, lifting my chin. “It was survival. Nothing more.”
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, close enough that his scent wrapped around me like a vice—smoke, iron, that dark sweetness that had haunted me since the Oath bound us.
“Liar,” he murmured. “Your pulse just jumped. Your breath hitched. Your skin flushed. The bond feels every lie, Avalanche. And right now, it’s screaming the truth.”
I didn’t move.
“Then let it scream,” I said. “I don’t care.”
He reached out, slow, giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t.
His fingers brushed my wrist, just above the pulse point.
Fire.
It exploded through me, sudden and sharp, my sigils flaring beneath my skin, heat pooling low in my belly, my thighs pressing together. My breath came in a gasp, my back arching involuntarily.
“See?” he said, voice rough. “You can’t lie to it. You can’t lie to *me*.”
I jerked my hand back. “Don’t touch me.”
“Then don’t provoke me,” he said, stepping back. “You think I don’t feel it too? The heat? The need? The way my fangs drop when you look at me? The way my blood sings when you say my name?”
I looked away. “Then suffer.”
He laughed—short, dark. “I already am.”
The water was rising, steam filling the room, the air thick, suffocating. I stood, turning the taps off, the tub now half-full, shimmering with that faint, starlight glow.
“We’ll do the ritual,” I said, my voice tight. “Now. Before it gets worse.”
He nodded, already moving to the other side of the tub. “Clothes stay on. Physical contact only where necessary. We ground the heat. We breathe. We survive.”
“And nothing more,” I added.
“Nothing more,” he agreed.
I stepped into the water, wincing at the heat—almost scalding, but I welcomed it. Let it burn. Let it punish me for the way my body still craved his touch. For the way my core still throbbed with need.
Vex followed, stepping in across from me, the water rising to his waist. He sat on the submerged ledge, his chest still bare, water sluicing down his skin, catching in the grooves of his muscles, the scars, the dark trail of hair leading below the waterline.
I looked away.
“Sit,” he said.
I did, lowering myself until the water reached my collarbones. The steam curled around us, the room dim, the floating candles casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. It felt too intimate. Too quiet. Too much.
“Hands on the ledge,” he said. “Palms down. I’ll place mine over yours. We sync our breathing. We ground the heat.”
I obeyed, placing my hands on the cool stone, fingers spread. He reached out, his palms settling over mine, his skin hot against mine, his fingers long, calloused, strong.
The bond flared.
Heat surged through me, sudden and sharp, my sigils glowing beneath my skin, my breath hitching. My thighs pressed together, a whimper catching in my throat.
“Breathe,” he said, voice low. “In. Out. With me.”
I tried. In. Out. But every breath pulled me deeper into him, into the heat, into the need.
His thumbs moved, just slightly, stroking the backs of my hands. My hips jerked forward. A moan escaped me.
“Don’t,” I gasped. “Don’t make me—”
“I’m not,” he said. “You’re doing this to yourself. Your body knows what it wants.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “But your heart doesn’t.”
We stayed like that—hands on hands, breath syncing, heat slowly ebbing. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it was control. It was survival.
And then—
His leg brushed mine under the water.
Just a graze. Accidental. On purpose?
I didn’t know.
But the contact sent fire through me, white-hot, my back arching, a moan tearing from my throat. My sigils blazed, crimson light painting the walls. His breath hitched. His thumbs pressed harder against my hands, his fingers tightening.
“Avalanche,” he said, voice raw.
“Don’t,” I gasped. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you *mean* it.”
He was silent for a long moment. Then—
“Because I do.”
The words hit me like a blade.
I looked up, meeting his gaze.
His eyes were red. His fangs bared. But his expression—God, his expression—wasn’t lust. Not cruelty. Not triumph.
Pain.
And something else.
Something that looked too much like *longing*.
My breath caught.
And then—
His hand slid from mine, moving down, his fingers brushing my hip just above the waterline.
“No,” I whispered, but I didn’t pull away.
“Just grounding,” he said, voice rough. “Just the ritual.”
But it wasn’t.
And we both knew it.
His thumb stroked the curve of my hip, slow, deliberate, and I felt it—*felt him*—in every part of me. The bond pulsed between us, a living thing, feeding on the touch, on the heat, on the need.
My thighs pressed together, a deep, insistent throb between them. My breath came in gasps. My skin burned.
“Vex,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“I know,” he said. “I feel it too.”
His other hand moved, sliding up my arm, over my shoulder, to my neck, his fingers brushing my pulse. My head fell back, a moan escaping me.
“We can’t,” I gasped. “We said—”
“I know what we said,” he said, leaning closer, his breath hot against my skin. “But the bond doesn’t care about promises. It only cares about truth.”
“And what’s the truth?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
He just kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Aching.
And this time, I didn’t fight.
This time, I kissed him back.
Because the truth?
It wasn’t just the bond.
It wasn’t just the magic.
It was *me*.
I wanted him.
And if I was going to survive this—
Then I had to stop lying.
To myself.
And to him.
My hands fisted in his hair, yanking him closer, my tongue tangling with his, my body pressing against his, every inch of me screaming for more.
And when he lifted me, carrying me from the water, I didn’t resist.
Because survival wasn’t just about staying alive.
It was about staying *me*.
And right now?
The only way to do that—
Was to stop pretending.
That I didn’t want him.
That I didn’t need him.
That I wasn’t already falling.
Across the room, the clock began to tick.
Another day.
Another battle.
Another lie.
And I wasn’t sure which one I’d lose first.
But one thing was certain.
I couldn’t do this alone.
And maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to.
Maybe I could let him in.
Just a little.
Just enough to survive.
And as his mouth moved to my neck, his fangs grazing my skin, I didn’t pull away.
I arched into him.
And I whispered the words I never thought I’d say.
“Don’t stop.”
But he did.
He pulled back, breathing hard, his eyes still red, his fangs bared, his chest heaving. “You’re not ready,” he said, voice rough. “Not for this. Not yet.”
“What?” I gasped. “Why?”
“Because if we do this now,” he said, “if we give in completely, the bond will *own* us. It’ll strip us bare. And when it does—” he looked at the Crown, then back at me—“you won’t be able to take it. You’ll be too lost in me. And I won’t be able to let you go.”
I stared at him. “You’re saying you *want* to let me go?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stood, offering me his hand.
I didn’t take it.
I pushed myself up, my legs trembling, my body still aching. “You think you’re protecting me,” I said, my voice low. “But you’re not. You’re just afraid. Afraid of what happens if I take the Crown. Afraid of what happens if I *win*.”
He looked at me—really looked—and for the first time, I saw it.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of *us*.
“Maybe I am,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the truth. The Crown isn’t the prize, Avalanche. *You* are.”
I froze.
And before I could respond, he turned and walked to the door, opening it with a wave of his hand.
“Go,” he said. “Before I change my mind.”
I didn’t move.
“Or stay,” he said, not looking at me. “And take it. But know this—once you do, there’s no going back. The bond will demand more. The heat will rise. And I won’t be able to stop myself from claiming you. Not just your body. Not just your blood. But your *soul*.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I stepped forward.
Not toward the door.
But toward the Crown.
My hand reached out—
And the moment my fingers brushed the cold metal, the world *shattered*.
Images flooded me—my mother, kneeling before the Fae Queen, silver ink carving into her spine. A vow. A pact. A *prophecy*.
Then darkness. Blood. A blade falling.
But not Vex’s hand.
*Nyx’s.*
And then—
A whisper, so faint I almost missed it.
“*You will bind the Unbroken King… or die as he did.*”
I stumbled back, gasping, my hand flying to my spine, where the vow was etched in scar tissue beneath my skin.
It wasn’t just a threat.
It was a *destiny*.
And Vex—
He wasn’t the monster.
He was the *key*.
I looked at him, my heart pounding, my mind racing.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure who I was fighting for.
Or what I was really trying to destroy.
“You feel it,” he said, stepping closer. “The truth.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because the worst part?
It wasn’t just the revelation.
It was the way my body still ached for him.
The way my blood still sang for the Crown.
The way my heart still *burned*—not for vengeance.
But for *him*.
And as he reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek, I didn’t pull away.
Because the truth?
It wasn’t just in the past.
It was in the future.
And it was written in fire.
In blood.
In the bond between us.
And I wasn’t sure I could survive it.
But I knew one thing.
I couldn’t run.
Not from him.
Not from the Crown.
Not from the truth.
Because the truth?
It wasn’t just coming.
It was already here.
And it was wearing his face.
Across the room, the Crown pulsed.
Waiting.
Watching.
And for the first time—
I wasn’t sure if it wanted to be claimed.
Or if it wanted to claim *me*.
And I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.