The silence after Cassian left the archives should have been a relief. The cold dark, the absence of his voice, the retreat of that relentless, pulsing bond—he was gone. I should have felt free. Safe. In control.
Instead, I felt exposed. Stripped bare. Like he’d peeled back every layer of deception I’d built over the last ten years and seen the raw, trembling truth underneath: I didn’t want to destroy him.
I wanted to *remember* him.
The vision in the vault still burned behind my eyes—me in white, him younger, softer, slipping a ring onto my finger, his voice breaking as he swore he’d rather die than live without me. It wasn’t just a memory. It was a *vow*. One I’d made. One he’d made. And someone—some force, some enemy—had stolen it from us.
But who?
And why?
I pressed a hand to the sigil at my throat, feeling the bond hum beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. It wasn’t just magic. It was a thread, pulling me toward him, toward the truth. And the more I fought it, the tighter it wound.
I shouldn’t have gone to the archives. I shouldn’t have tried to steal the grimoire. But I had to know. I had to believe there was a way out—some spell, some ritual, some forgotten loophole that would let me break the curse without breaking myself.
And now Cassian knew.
He knew I was hunting him. Not just for revenge—but for escape.
And worse, he’d looked at me like he *understood*.
---
I returned to his chambers slowly, every step weighted with dread. The corridors of the Shadowveil Court were quiet now, the usual hum of political scheming and whispered alliances subdued. It was late—past the blood-tide hour, when vampires retreated to their private sanctuaries and the Fae slipped into dreams woven from stolen emotions.
But I wasn’t tired.
My body was still thrumming with the aftermath of the bond’s flare, my skin too sensitive, my breath too shallow. Every shadow felt like it was watching me. Every flicker of candlelight seemed to pulse in time with my pulse.
And then I saw it.
The door to Cassian’s chambers—slightly ajar.
My breath caught.
He hadn’t left it open when he went to the archives. I’d watched him shut it behind him, the lock clicking into place with cold finality.
Someone was inside.
I pressed myself against the wall, hand sliding to the bone dagger at my thigh. My magic coiled beneath my skin, ready. If it was another guard, another spy, I’d slit their throat before they could scream.
But when I crept forward, silent as a wraith, it wasn’t a guard.
It was *her*.
Lysandra Vale.
She stood in the center of the room, bathed in the silver glow of the sconces, wearing nothing but Cassian’s black silk shirt.
It hung off one shoulder, revealing the curve of her breast, the pale column of her neck. The cuffs were rolled to her elbows, the buttons undone just enough to show the smooth plane of her stomach, the faint trail of silver hair leading beneath the fabric. Her feet were bare, her silver-streaked hair loose and wild, like she’d just risen from bed.
And on her collarbone—fresh, glistening—the unmistakable mark of a vampire bite.
His mark.
My stomach dropped.
She turned, sensing me, and smiled—a slow, venomous curl of her lips.
“Back so soon?” she purred, stretching like a cat. “I was just… *comforting* myself.”
“You don’t belong here,” I said, stepping inside, dagger still in hand.
“Don’t I?” She ran a hand down her body, lingering over the bite. “Cassian let me in. Said I could wait for him. Said he *missed* me.”
“He’s not here.”
“No,” she said, stepping closer. “But you are. And isn’t that *interesting*?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Get out.”
“Or what?” She tilted her head. “You’ll tell on me? Run to your *consort* and cry that I was in his shirt?” She laughed, low and cruel. “He’s worn mine often enough. And he’s certainly worn *me*.”
My fingers tightened around the dagger.
“You think you’re special?” she continued, circling me. “You think this bond makes you *his*? Darling, he’s bound others. Marked others. *Loved* others. And they all ended up broken.”
“Then why are you still here?” I asked, voice cold. “If he breaks everyone he touches, why haven’t you left?”
She stopped. Smiled. “Because I’m the only one who *let* him.”
And then she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “You want to know how to break the bond? Make him love you. Make him *need* you. And then—” Her fingers brushed my throat, light as a whisper. “—tear his heart out while he’s still whispering your name.”
I shoved her back.
She stumbled, laughing. “Oh, you’re good. I’ll give you that. But you’re not *her*.”
“Who?”
“The woman he loved before,” she said, straightening, smoothing the shirt. “The one who vanished. The one he still dreams about. You’ve seen her in the visions, haven’t you? With your eyes. Your face. But *her* soul.”
My breath caught.
She knew about the visions.
“He calls her name in his sleep,” Lysandra whispered. “*Basil.* Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a curse.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She stepped back toward the bed, trailing a hand over the black silk sheets. “He hasn’t touched me in months. Not since the bond formed. But he *dreams* of you. He *aches* for you. And that—” She pointed at the bite on her neck. “—this is just a reminder. To him. To me. To *you*. That I was here first. That I *know* how to make him forget.”
“You don’t know anything,” I said, but my voice wavered.
“I know he’s afraid of you,” she said. “I know the bond terrifies him. Because for the first time in centuries, he can’t control it. Can’t suppress it. Can’t *hide* from it.”
She stepped toward the door. “And I know that if you’re not careful, you’ll end up like her. Vanished. Forgotten. *Erased*.”
And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stood there, trembling, the dagger still in my hand.
She’d been lying. She had to be. Cassian didn’t dream of me. He didn’t ache for me. He wanted answers. Control. Power.
But the bond hummed beneath my skin, a low, insistent throb. And beneath it—something else. A whisper. A memory.
Me, in his arms. Him whispering my name. Over and over. Like a prayer.
Like a curse.
---
I didn’t sleep that night.
Instead, I paced. I meditated. I traced sigils into the floor with my blood, testing the wards, searching for weaknesses. But the bond was restless, flaring every time I thought of Cassian, every time I imagined his hands on Lysandra, his mouth on that bite mark, his voice whispering her name.
And then, just before dawn, the door opened.
He stepped inside, his coat gone, his hair slightly disheveled, his scent thick with frost and dark amber. He froze when he saw me—awake, dressed, standing in the center of the room like a sentinel.
“You’re up,” he said, voice low.
“So are you,” I said. “Out late?”
He didn’t answer. Just watched me, his crimson-rimmed eyes unreadable.
And then I smelled it.
Her.
Lysandra’s perfume—sweet jasmine and blood—clinging to his skin, his clothes, his hair.
My breath caught.
“She was here,” I said, stepping closer. “In your chambers. Wearing your shirt.”
He didn’t deny it. “She came to speak with me.”
“About what?”
“Council matters.”
“Council matters?” I laughed, sharp and bitter. “Is that what you’re calling it now? Letting your ex-lover wear your clothes? Letting her mark you?”
“The bite wasn’t mine,” he said, voice calm. “She faked it.”
“I saw it.”
“With your eyes,” he said. “But not your magic. Run a truth spell. Smell the blood. It’s not mine.”
I hesitated.
He was right. I could test it. I could use a blood recognition charm, feel the resonance of his essence. If it wasn’t his mark, I’d know.
But I didn’t want to.
Because if it wasn’t his mark… then why had she done it? Why had she worn his shirt? Why had she touched his bed?
“You could have turned her away,” I said. “You didn’t have to let her in.”
“She has information,” he said. “About the Council. About Dain. About the Bloodfire Pact.”
“And you needed to *comfort* her to get it?”
“I needed to keep her close,” he said, stepping closer. “She’s dangerous. Unstable. If I push her away, she’ll turn on me. And right now, I can’t afford enemies.”
“So you let her pretend?”
“I let her *believe*,” he said. “It’s easier than fighting her.”
“And what about me?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Am I just something to be *managed* too? Another threat to contain? Another piece on your board?”
He stopped. Looked at me. Really looked.
And for the first time, I saw it—*regret*. Not for her. For *me*.
“You’re not a piece,” he said, voice rough. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I’m not alone.”
The bond flared—hot, sudden, *unbearable*.
I gasped, stumbling back. But he caught me, one hand at my waist, pulling me against him. His other hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my lower lip.
“You think I don’t know what she was doing?” he murmured. “You think I don’t see the way she watches you? The way she tries to make you doubt?”
“Then why let her?”
“Because I’m trying to protect you,” he said. “From her. From Dain. From the Council. From *myself*.”
“You don’t get to protect me,” I whispered. “You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to—”
“Want you?” he finished, his voice a velvet command. “Too late. I do.”
And then the door burst open.
Lysandra stood there, dressed in a sheer silver gown, her hair wild, her eyes blazing.
“There you are,” she purred, her gaze locked on Cassian. “I’ve been looking everywhere for—”
She stopped. Saw us.
Me in his arms. His hand on my face. My body pressed against his.
And then she smiled.
Slow. Triumphant.
“Well,” she said, stepping inside. “This is *intimate*.”
Cassian didn’t let go.
“Lysandra,” he said, voice cold. “This is private.”
“Is it?” She walked around us, her fingers trailing over the edge of the bed. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re doing exactly what I accused you of. *Seducing* her. Using the bond to manipulate her. To *claim* her.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“Don’t I?” She turned to me, her smile sharp. “You think this is real? You think he *wants* you? He’s using you, darling. Just like he used me. Just like he’ll use every woman who dares to stand in his shadow.”
“Get out,” Cassian said, his voice like ice.
“Or what?” she asked, stepping closer. “You’ll banish me? Exile me? You can’t. The Council needs my loyalty. And you—” She reached out, touched his chest. “—you still want me. I can *smell* it.”
He grabbed her wrist, hard. “You’re drunk on bloodwine. Leave. Now.”
She laughed, pulling free. “Fine. But remember—” She turned to me, her eyes gleaming. “—you’re not the only one who’s tasted him. But I’m the only one he *wanted*.”
And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her.
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.
Cassian let go of me, stepped back. “You should sleep,” he said, voice flat.
“I’m not tired.”
“You will be.”
He turned away, unbuttoning his sleeves.
And I realized—
He was sending me to bed.
Alone.
After everything. After Lysandra’s lies. After his confession. After the way he’d held me, touched me, *wanted* me.
He was pushing me away.
Again.
“You’re afraid,” I said, stepping closer. “Aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re afraid of this,” I said, gesturing between us. “Afraid of what it means. Afraid of *me*.”
He turned, his eyes blazing. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then why are you running?”
“I’m not running.”
“You are,” I said. “Every time we get close, every time the bond flares, every time you say something real—you pull away. You hide behind duty. Behind politics. Behind *her*.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, voice low. “You don’t know what I am.”
“Then show me,” I said, stepping closer. “Stop hiding. Stop lying. Stop *protecting* me from the truth.”
He looked at me—really looked—and for the first time, I saw it.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of *us*.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said, voice breaking. “And I’m terrified that the only thing you’ll destroy… is yourself.”
And then he turned, walked to the door, and left.
I stood there, trembling, the bond humming beneath my skin like a wound.
I came here to kill him.
But what if the only person I end up destroying… is me?
And worse—
What if I don’t even care?
You’re not the only one who’s tasted him, Lysandra had whispered.
But I’m the only one he wanted.
I pressed my hand to the sigil at my throat, feeling the pulse of the bond.
But she was wrong.
Because in that moment, when he held me, when he said he wanted me—
He wasn’t lying.
And I wasn’t either.
I *wanted* him too.
God help me.
I wanted him too.