The silence after the blood pact was worse than the noise.
The Council had dispersed in hushed murmurs, their eyes flicking between me and Vex like we were some new kind of monster—half vampire, half witch, bound by blood and law and something deeper, darker. Mira had stormed out, her silver gown trailing like a curse, her pale eyes burning with betrayal. Nyx had smiled—thin, sharp, knowing—and vanished into the shadows without a word.
And Vex?
He’d said nothing.
Just led me from the hall, his hand firm on the small of my back, his presence a wall between me and the whispers. The mark on my wrist throbbed—hot, tender, alive—pulsing in time with my heartbeat, with the bond that now hummed between us like a live wire. It wasn’t just magic anymore.
It was *ownership*.
And I—
I didn’t hate it.
That was the worst part.
By the time we reached our chambers, the silence had become unbearable. I yanked my arm from his grip the second the doors closed, stepping away, my breath coming too fast, too shallow. My skin burned. My core ached. And my wrist—*God*—it felt like his mouth was still on me, his fangs buried in my flesh, his groan vibrating through my bones.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, pressing my back against the cold stone wall.
He didn’t flinch. Just turned, his golden eyes locking onto mine, the red still bleeding into them, his fangs pressing against his lip. “You’re still in heat,” he said, voice rough. “The blood pact intensified it. The bond is demanding release.”
“Then leave me alone,” I said, my voice breaking. “Let me suffer in peace.”
He stepped closer. “You think I don’t feel it too? You think I don’t want to tear you apart just to feel something other than this *ache*?”
“Then do it,” I hissed. “Take what you want. Isn’t that what you do? What you’ve always done?”
His eyes darkened. “You think I’m like Mira’s lovers? That I take without asking? That I mark without meaning?”
“You just did,” I said, lifting my wrist, the fresh bite glistening in the dim light. “You just claimed me in front of everyone. You just—”
“I *protected* you,” he growled. “You don’t think I saw the way they looked at you? The way they whispered? The bond was unstable. They were going to tear you apart, Avalanche. And I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice low. “Why do you care?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stepped closer, slow, deliberate, giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t.
His hand rose, fingers brushing my cheek, then tracing down my neck, over the pulse hammering there. My breath hitched. My skin burned. My thighs pressed together, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, though my voice wavered.
“No,” he said. “You’re afraid of *this*.” His thumb pressed against my lower lip. “Of how much you want me.”
“I don’t—”
“Liar,” he said, his voice a growl. “Your pulse just jumped. Your breath hitched. Your sigils are glowing. The bond feels every lie, Avalanche. And right now, it’s screaming the truth.”
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Because he was right.
And the truth?
It wasn’t just the bond.
It wasn’t just the magic.
It was *me*.
I wanted him.
Not just to survive.
Not just to stabilize the heat.
But because he’d *seen* me. Because he’d *protected* me. Because he’d called me his in front of the entire Council, not as a possession, but as a *reckoning*.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
“Say it,” he said, his voice low. “Say you want me. Just once. Just to see if the bond will believe you.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding.
And then—
Softly, barely a breath—
“I want you.”
The moment the words left my lips, the bond *exploded*.
Heat tore through me, white-hot, my sigils blazing crimson, my back arching off the wall. My breath came in a gasp, my thighs pressing together, a moan catching in my throat. Vex caught me as I stumbled, his arms locking around me, his mouth crashing down on mine.
And this time, I didn’t fight.
This time, I kissed him back.
Desperate. Furious. *Hungry.*
My hands fisted in his coat, yanking him closer, my tongue tangling with his, my body pressing against his, every inch of me screaming for more. He growled into my mouth, his hands sliding down to my hips, lifting me, pinning me against the wall. My legs locked around his waist, my core grinding against the hard ridge of his cock, the friction sending sparks through my nerves.
“Vex,” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my breath ragged. “I—”
“Don’t think,” he said, his mouth moving to my neck, his fangs grazing my skin. “Just feel.”
And I did.
I let the heat consume me. Let the bond pull me under. Let his hands tear at my robes, let his mouth burn a trail down my chest, let his fangs sink into the curve of my shoulder—sharp, deep, *blissful*—a pleasure-pain that made me cry out, my back arching, my nails raking down his back.
And then—
A scream.
Not mine.
Not his.
From the corridor.
Vex froze.
His mouth still on my skin, his body still pressed to mine, his breath hot against my neck. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
And then—
He was gone.
Vanishing into the shadows like smoke, his form shifting, blurring, reappearing at the door in an instant. It burst open, and he was gone, a blur of darkness down the hall.
I slid down the wall, my legs trembling, my skin still humming, my body still aching. The mark on my wrist throbbed. The bite on my shoulder burned. And my core—*God*—it still pulsed with need, with want, with *him*.
I shouldn’t have cared.
Shouldn’t have felt the loss of his touch, the emptiness of his absence.
But I did.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
I stood, stripping off the torn robes, stepping into the bathing chamber. The water was cold, lifeless. I didn’t care. I needed to wash the scent of him off my skin, the memory of his mouth off my lips. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, it didn’t work. His smell clung to me—smoke, iron, that dark sweetness—like a second skin.
I dressed in fresh robes—crimson, edged in black, the fabric heavy with Fae embroidery—and forced myself to walk. Through the corridors. Past the guards. Past the whispers. Past the knowing looks.
And then I saw it.
Light.
From the medical wing.
And blood.
Thick, coppery, *vampire*.
I didn’t think.
I just ran.
The doors were open. The room dim, lit only by floating candles and the faint glow of healing runes along the walls. And there, on the slab in the center—
Vex.
He was on his back, his chest bare, his skin pale, his breathing shallow. Blood soaked the bandages wrapped around his abdomen, black and glistening in the low light. A healer—a Fae with silver hands—worked over him, chanting in a low, steady voice, her fingers tracing sigils in the air above the wound.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice tight.
The healer didn’t look up. “Ambush. In the Undercroft. A rogue vampire faction. They used sunfire blades. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
My stomach dropped.
Sunfire.
Artificial UV. The only thing that could truly kill a vampire.
And he’d walked into it.
For *me*.
Because of *me*.
Because he’d protected me in the Council. Because he’d called me his. Because he’d defied Mira. Because he’d defied *Nyx*.
And now he was dying.
“Can you save him?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“Not alone,” the healer said. “He needs blood. Strong blood. Witch blood. But not just any witch. One bound to him. One who shares his bond.”
My breath caught.
She looked at me. “You.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I stepped forward, rolling up my sleeve, offering my wrist—the one he’d bitten, the one still throbbing, the one still *his*. “Take it.”
She didn’t ask. Just pressed her fingers to the mark, murmuring a chant. The sigil flared, crimson light bleeding into the air, and then—
Pain.
Sharp, deep, *blissful*—just like his bite. Blood flowed from the wound, not in a stream, but in a pulse, a rhythm, a *transfer*. And as it did, I felt it—
His pain.
His fear.
His *regret*.
Images flooded me—Vex, young, standing over a body, his hands covered in blood. Not my mother. Not a witch. A vampire. One of his own. A traitor. And Nyx, standing behind him, whispering, *“Let them believe it was her. Let them believe you killed the witch queen. It will keep the peace.”*
And then—
Darkness.
Loneliness.
Two centuries of ruling, of surviving, of *hating* himself for what he’d done.
And then—
Me.
Stepping onto the dais. The bond flaring. His fangs grazing my ear. *“You came to kill me. But the bond doesn’t lie. Your body wants me.”*
And the truth?
It wasn’t just the bond.
It wasn’t just the magic.
It was *him*.
He hadn’t killed my mother.
Nyx had.
And he’d let the world believe he had—because it was easier than the truth.
Because it kept the peace.
And now—
Now he was dying for *me*.
Because he’d protected me.
Because he’d claimed me.
Because he’d *wanted* me.
Tears burned in my eyes.
“Keep going,” I said, my voice raw. “Take as much as you need.”
The healer didn’t stop.
And neither did I.
I let the blood flow. Let the bond pull me under. Let the visions tear through me, let the pain consume me, let the truth *burn*.
And when it was over—when the healer finally pulled back, when the wound on his abdomen began to close, when his breathing steadied, when his skin warmed—I didn’t leave.
I stayed.
Sliding onto the slab beside him, pressing my body to his, my hand over his heart, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath my palm.
“You idiot,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You absolute *idiot*. You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to protect me. You didn’t have to—”
His hand rose, weak, trembling, his fingers brushing my cheek. “I did,” he said, his voice a whisper. “Because if I lost you… I’d have nothing left.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not desperate. Not furious. Not hungry.
Soft.
Slow.
*Aching.*
My lips moved over his, gentle, reverent, my tears falling onto his skin, my hand still over his heart, feeling the rhythm, matching my breath to his. And when he kissed me back—weak, trembling, *real*—I didn’t pull away.
I deepened it.
My tongue tangling with his, my body pressing against his, every inch of me screaming for more. He groaned into my mouth, his arms tightening around me, his fangs grazing my lip, his breath hot, his body warm, *alive*.
And then—
The Crown of Thorns.
It wasn’t in the vault.
It was *here*.
On the pedestal beside the slab, glowing faintly, pulsing in time with the bond, with our breath, with our hearts.
And as we kissed—desperate, furious, *hungry*—it *flared*.
Light exploded through the room, blinding, white-hot, the runes along the walls blazing to life, the air humming with power. The bond *screamed*—not in pain, but in *recognition*. In *need*.
And then—
A voice.
Not mine.
Not his.
Old. Ancient. *Fae*.
“The Crown has awakened,” it whispered. “And it recognizes her.”
The light faded.
The Crown dimmed.
And we—
We were still kissing.
Still holding each other.
Still *burning*.
And when we finally pulled back, breathless, trembling, our foreheads pressed together, his golden eyes searching mine, his voice a whisper—
“The bond isn’t fake, Avalanche. It’s been waiting for you.”
And I—
I believed him.
Because the truth?
It wasn’t just in the past.
It wasn’t just in the future.
It was in the blood on his lips.
In the mark on my wrist.
In the way my heart still *burned*—not for vengeance.
But for *him*.
And as the healer backed away, as the runes dimmed, as the Crown pulsed softly on its pedestal, I knew one thing.
I wasn’t just here to kill him.
I was here to *live*.
And maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to do it alone.
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.”