The note was still burning in my mind.
Break the Covenant during the Blood Moon Ritual. Or die trying.
Riven’s words—sharp, urgent, laced with warning—echoed in my skull like a death knell. Not a threat. A prophecy. And worse, a confirmation. Vexis knew I was here. Knew what I was. Knew the truth I’d buried beneath twenty years of rage and silence: that I wasn’t just a witch. I was a moon-blooded heir. A daughter of the last true lunar line. And if I didn’t act, if I didn’t find the proof before the ritual, I’d be silenced—like my mother. Like the others.
I stood at the edge of the training grounds, the morning mist clinging to the stone like a shroud. The sparring ring was empty now, the torches doused, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and old blood. My body still hummed from the fever, from the steam, from the way Kaelen’s hand had slid between my thighs in the healing chamber—slow, deliberate, maddening. I’d wanted to shove him away. Wanted to claw his eyes out. Wanted to scream.
Instead, I’d arched into his touch.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever had.
“You’re thinking about him.”
I didn’t turn. Just kept my gaze on the ring, my hands clenched at my sides. Taryn stood beside me, her presence quiet, unassuming, but sharp as a blade. She wore her usual leather armor, her dark hair pulled back, her expression unreadable. But her voice—low, calm—held a note of something else. Not judgment. Not pity. Understanding.
“I’m thinking about the mission,” I said.
“Same thing.”
I exhaled, long and slow. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know how he looks at you.” She tilted her head slightly. “Like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. Like if you disappeared, he’d tear the world apart looking for you.”
My breath caught.
“And I know how you look at him.” She turned then, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “Like you hate him. Like you want to destroy him. But also like… you’re afraid you already belong to him.”
I didn’t answer.
Because she was right.
“The Fae Archives are in Vienna,” she said, stepping back. “Under the old cathedral. Heavily warded. Only a bloodline heir can breach the inner sanctum.”
My pulse spiked.
“Riven told you where to go,” she continued. “But he didn’t tell you how to get in. Or what you’ll find.”
“And you’re telling me this why?”
“Because I’ve seen what happens when an Alpha loses his mate.” She met my gaze, steady, unflinching. “And I don’t want to see it happen to him. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
And then she was gone, melting into the mist like smoke.
I stayed where I was, my chest rising and falling, my magic coiled tight beneath my ribs. The Archives. The journal. The truth.
It was time.
---
We left at dawn.
No fanfare. No ceremony. Just a black carriage, drawn by two silver-eyed wolves, waiting at the edge of the enclave. Kaelen stood beside it, bare-chested, his scars catching the first light of morning, his ceremonial cloak gone, replaced by simple black trousers and a leather vest etched with runes. His hair was loose, dark and wild, framing a face that was all sharp angles and colder intent. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge the whispers, the stares, the way the air thickened as he moved through the chamber.
“You’re not dressed for travel,” I said, stepping forward.
“Neither are you.” He turned then, his ice-blue eyes locking onto mine. “But we’re not going as envoy and Alpha. We’re going as thieves.”
I didn’t flinch. Just reached into the satchel at my side and pulled out the disguise kit—Fae glamour vials, forged seals, a stolen key to the Archives’ outer gate. “Then let’s move.”
He nodded, then opened the carriage door and gestured for me to enter. I didn’t hesitate. Just stepped inside, my boots silent on the wood, my cloak pulled low over my face. He followed, closing the door behind him, the lock clicking into place.
And then—
Stillness.
No driver. No horses. Just the scent of pine and frost, the soft creak of leather, the faint hum of magic beneath the floorboards. The carriage began to move—smooth, silent, as if floating on air.
“No one knows we’re gone,” he said, voice low.
“Good.”
“Mira’s gone too.”
My breath caught.
“Left the enclave last night. No trace. No scent.” He leaned forward, his presence like a storm. “She’s working for Vexis.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still going?”
“I don’t have a choice.” I met his gaze, steady, unflinching. “The journal’s in the Archives. My father’s last words. The truth about the Covenant. If I don’t get it—”
“You’ll die trying.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached out, his fingers brushing the hidden sigil on my collarbone—one, two, three times—until it glowed faintly beneath his touch. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes.” His voice dropped to a growl. “I do. Because if you die, I die. And I’m not ready to burn yet.”
The bond flared—a surge of heat low in my belly, a whisper of memory: his mouth on my neck, her nails in his back, the moon above us—
I shoved it down.
But I didn’t look away.
Let him see me. Let him see the cold, sharp edge of me—the part that had survived twenty years in the shadows. Let him see the weapon. The ghost. The daughter with a mother’s last scream still echoing in her bones.
And then—
He reached out.
Not to touch me.
Not to claim.
To hand me a dagger.
Black steel. Moon-forged. The blade etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the dark. The hilt wrapped in leather, worn smooth from use.
“For protection,” he said.
I took it. “I don’t need your gifts.”
“No.” He leaned back, his eyes burning into mine. “But you’ll take it anyway.”
And I did.
---
Vienna was a city of ghosts.
Narrow alleys. Crumbling stone. The scent of blood and salt and magic thick in the air. The Fae Archives were hidden beneath the old cathedral—stairs slick with something dark, the walls lined with sigils that pulsed faintly in the dark. The outer gate was guarded by two Unseelie sentinels, their eyes glowing violet, their cloaks shimmering with illusion.
We didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate.
Kaelen moved first—fast, silent, a shadow in the dark. One sentinel went down with a snap of the neck. The other turned, fangs bared, but I was already there—my dagger slicing across his throat, the moon-forged blade cutting through magic like paper. He fell, silent, his blood pooling on the stone.
“Clean,” Kaelen murmured, stepping over the bodies.
“Efficient,” I replied, wiping the blade on my cloak.
We moved through the corridors in silence, our boots silent on the stone, our senses stretched thin, searching. The Archives were vast—circular, open to the sky, ringed with torches that burned with silver-flame. The ground was packed earth, marked with claw-scores and bloodstains from past battles. No weapons allowed. Just fists, fangs, and fury. It was where Alphas proved themselves. Where Betas earned respect. Where the weak were broken.
And tonight, it was empty.
Except for one thing.
In the center of the chamber—a pedestal. Black stone. Etched with lunar runes. And on it—
A book.
Not large. Not ornate. Just leather-bound, old, brittle, the pages yellowed with age. But the magic radiating from it—thick, ancient, *familiar*—made my skin prickle.
“That’s it,” I whispered.
Kaelen didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, his presence like a storm, his silence a vow. He didn’t touch the pedestal. Didn’t reach for the book. Just scanned the chamber, his ice-blue eyes sharp, assessing.
“Trap,” he said.
“I know.”
“You go in. I’ll cover you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do.” He turned to me, his voice dropping to a growl. “Because if you die, I die. And I’m not ready to burn yet.”
I didn’t argue. Just nodded, then stepped forward, my boots silent on the stone. The air changed as I approached—the magic thickened, humming with power, the runes on the pedestal pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My father’s journal. The truth. The proof.
I reached out.
My fingers brushed the leather.
And then—
The world shattered.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically. Shattered. The torches flared silver. The runes pulsed. The ground trembled. A wave of magic crashed through me, not with pain, but with recognition. The journal—older than memory, deeper than blood—was screaming, closer, closer, give in.
I gasped, snatching it from the pedestal, clutching it to my chest as the chamber erupted in light. The trap was sprung—alarms blaring, wards flaring, the scent of Fae magic thick in the air.
“Go!” Kaelen roared, spinning to face the corridor as shadows moved in the dark.
I didn’t hesitate. Just turned and ran, the journal pressed to my chest, my boots pounding against the stone. He was behind me—fast, silent, a shadow in the dark—his presence like a storm, his silence a vow. We moved through the corridors like ghosts, the alarms blaring, the sentinels closing in, the magic thickening with every step.
And then—
We reached the surface.
The cathedral loomed above us, its spires cutting through the night like blades. The carriage was still there—waiting, silent, the wolves’ eyes glowing in the dark. We didn’t speak. Didn’t stop. Just threw open the door and dove inside, the lock clicking into place as the first sentinels burst from the stairs.
And then—
Stillness.
The carriage began to move—smooth, silent, as if floating on air. I sat back, my chest heaving, my fingers trembling as they traced the cover of the journal. My father’s handwriting—familiar, aching, *real*—was etched into the leather.
“You got it,” Kaelen said, voice low.
“Yes.”
“And now?”
I looked at him—really looked. His face was shadowed, his eyes sharp, his presence like a storm contained. But beneath it—something else.
Hope.
“Now,” I said, my voice breaking, “we find out what he knew.”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached out, his fingers brushing mine—hot, rough, unyielding.
And then—
The journal pulsed.
Not with magic.
With memory.
I didn’t open it.
Didn’t need to.
Because deep in my bones—where the truth lived, where the pain of my mother’s death still burned—I already knew.
The Covenant wasn’t forged to stop a war.
It was forged to steal power.
And the real enemy?
He wasn’t just in the shadows.
He was in the light.
And he was coming for us.
---
The carriage rolled on, silent, swift, unseen. I sat back, my chest rising and falling, my fingers tracing the runes on the journal. The truth was in my hands. The mission was still alive.
But the enemy?
He wasn’t just across the table.
He was in my blood.
And for the first time since I’d walked into this cursed hall—
I wasn’t sure I wanted to destroy him.
Because what if he wasn’t the monster?
What if I was?