I don’t remember agreeing to this.
Not the safehouse. Not the shared quarters. Not the quiet, strained truce that settled between us after the fourth collapse—another shattered chamber, another near-kiss, another moment where the world burned down around us and all I could feel was *him*. But here I am, standing in the dim light of a narrow Edinburgh flat tucked into the Old Town’s crooked spine, my boots scuffing against worn floorboards, the scent of damp stone and old wood filling my nose.
And him.
Kaelen D’Vaire.
He stands by the window, backlit by the pale morning fog that clings to the city like a shroud. His coat is off, folded over the arm of a threadbare chair. His shirt is open at the throat, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone, the faint pulse beneath his skin. He hasn’t spoken since we arrived. Hasn’t looked at me. But I feel him—through the bond, through the silence, through the way the air thickens whenever he breathes.
The bond.
It’s quieter now. Not gone. Never gone. But calmer, like a storm that’s passed, leaving behind wreckage and a strange, uneasy stillness. It hums beneath my skin, low and steady, a second heartbeat that syncs with his. I can still feel his pulse. His breath. The way his body tenses when I move too close. And worse—I can feel the echo of my own desire, reflected back at me, twisted by magic and memory.
I press my palm to my sternum, as if I can hold the truth down by force. But it’s already there, burning in my veins.
My mother’s blood fuels the Oath.
And if I break it, I lose my magic.
I lose *myself*.
That’s the choice now. Not just revenge or survival.
But who I am.
And who I become.
“This place is secure,” Kaelen says suddenly, voice low, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Wards are intact. No one knows we’re here.”
I don’t answer. Just move to the small kitchenette, opening cupboards I don’t need to. Empty. Dusty. A single chipped mug sits on the counter. I pick it up, run my thumb over the rim. It’s cold. Like everything else in this place.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say.
“Yes, I did.”
“The bond doesn’t require us to sleep in the same bed.”
“No.” He turns from the window, his black eyes locking onto mine. “But Malrik does. And if he’s altering the Archives, if he’s leaving messages in blood, then he’s close. Too close. And he’ll come for you.”
“Then let him.”
“You’d rather die than accept my protection?”
“I’d rather die than pretend this is about anything but control.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just steps closer, slow, deliberate. The bond flares—hot, sudden. A jolt of heat slams through me. My breath hitches. My pulse jumps. My magic flares, unbidden, like a whip cracking in the dark.
“You think I want to control you?” he asks, voice rough. “You think I brought you here to cage you?”
“Haven’t you?”
“I brought you here to *keep you alive*.” He stops two feet away. Close enough that I can smell him—old blood, winter pine, something metallic, something hungry. “You read the same book I did. You know what happens if the bond isn’t severed in time. And you know what Malrik will do if he gets his hands on you.”
“And if I break the Oath, I lose my magic.”
“Then don’t break it alone.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“We break it together.” He reaches out, not to touch me. Not yet. But his fingers twitch, as if drawn to the bite on my neck. “The book says the bond must be consummated by mutual consent—blood shared, bodies joined, magic entwined. But it doesn’t say we have to *love* each other to do it. It just says we have to *choose* it.”
“You’re suggesting we have sex to survive?”
“I’m suggesting we stop pretending we’re not already bound. That we stop fighting the bond and start using it. That we stop being enemies and start being *allies*.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“No.” He steps closer. His hand lifts, hovering near my jaw. “The bond does. And so do you. Every time you look at me. Every time you don’t pull away. Every time you let me hold you.”
“That was—”
“Real.” His voice drops, low, dangerous. “You felt it. Last night. When I held you. When you said I was *yours*. You didn’t pull away.”
“I was angry.”
“No.” His thumb brushes the edge of my lip. “You were *claiming*.”
My breath hitches. My body arches—just slightly—into his touch.
And then—
Shouting.
From the street below.
We both turn.
Through the grimy window, I see them—two figures arguing outside a pub, one human, one vampire. The vampire grabs the human by the throat, fangs bared. The human struggles, face turning red.
“They’ll kill each other,” I say.
“No,” Kaelen says. “They’re lovers. They do this every Tuesday.”
I blink. “What?”
“Power play. They like it.” He glances at me. “You’ve never seen it before?”
“I’ve never lived among them.”
“Among *who*?”
“Humans. Vampires. Anyone.”
He studies me. “You’ve been alone a long time.”
“I’ve been *safe*.”
“Loneliness isn’t safety.”
“It’s better than betrayal.”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, his black eyes searching mine.
And then—
“We should rest,” he says. “The bond will spike again tonight. During the full moon. It’s stronger then. Harder to control.”
My stomach twists. “You expect me to sleep in the same bed as you?”
“I expect you to survive.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then the bond will pull us together anyway. And it’ll be worse. More violent. More painful.” He moves to the bedroom—a narrow space with a low bed, a single blanket, no sheets. “It’s not about desire, Blair. It’s about survival.”
I don’t answer. Just follow him, my boots quiet on the floor. The room is small. Claustrophobic. The bed takes up most of it. There’s no door. No lock. Just us. And the bond. And the silence.
We stand on opposite sides of the bed, neither of us moving.
“You first,” I say.
He doesn’t argue. Just removes his coat, folds it neatly, places it on the chair. Then his boots. Then his belt. He doesn’t undress further. Just climbs into the bed, lying on his side, facing me, his back to the wall.
“Your turn,” he says.
I hesitate. Then, slowly, I remove my boots. My dagger. My belt. I don’t take off my tunic. Don’t touch my trousers. Just climb in beside him, lying on my side, facing him, the blanket pulled up to my chin.
The space between us is small. Too small. I can feel his body heat, even through the fabric. Can smell him—winter pine, old blood, something deeper, something *his*. The bond hums, alive, restless.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper.
“I won’t.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
Silence.
The fog presses against the window. The city hums below. Somewhere, a dog barks. A car passes. Normal sounds. Human sounds. And yet, nothing about this feels normal.
“Why did you save me?” I ask, voice quiet.
“What?”
“In the first collapse. You could have let me die. You could have walked away. But you didn’t.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “Because I felt you. In the bond. Your fear. Your rage. Your *life*. And I couldn’t let it go.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
“You didn’t even know me.”
“I knew your magic. I knew your scent. I knew the way your pulse jumped when I touched you.” He turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “And I knew I wasn’t alone anymore.”
My breath catches. “You’re not alone now.”
“No.” He turns his head, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light. “But I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.”
“Maybe it’s both.”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me.
And then—
The bond flares.
Hot. Sudden. A wave of heat crashes through me, flooding my veins, pooling between my thighs. I gasp. My body arches. My magic flares, wild, uncontrolled.
“It’s the moon,” Kaelen says, voice rough. “It’s rising.”
“I can’t—”
“Fight it.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.”
He reaches out.
Not to grab. Not to claim.
Just to touch.
His hand finds mine beneath the blanket. His fingers thread through mine. His skin is cold. His grip is firm. And the bond—*explodes*.
Heat. Fire. A scream—mine? His? The magic tears through us, raw and uncontrolled. I see it—*feel* it—every vision we’ve shared, every moment of hunger, every flicker of desire, *amplified*.
His hands on my hips. My back arched. His fangs at my throat. A mark burning between my shoulder blades—his claim, his curse, his *need*.
But then—no. Not him. *Me*. My voice in his ear. My body over his. A cry—pleasure, not pain. A pulse—ours, not his. A bond—*real*, not forced.
I gasp. My knees buckle. I would fall if he didn’t catch me.
But I’m already in his arms.
He pulls me against him, my body fitting into his like we were made for this. My leg brushes his. My thigh presses against his hip. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me tight.
“Blair,” he growls. “Look at me.”
I can’t. I’m drowning. The visions won’t stop. The heat won’t fade. My body *aches*—for him, for release, for *something*.
“Fight it,” he says, voice rough. “Don’t let it take you.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. *Look at me*.”
I force my eyes open.
And for one breathless moment, we’re not enemies.
We’re *hunger*.
His lips are inches from mine. His breath is cold. His fangs graze my lower lip—just a whisper, a threat, a *promise*.
My body arches toward him. My hands clutch his shirt. My magic flares, wild, uncontrolled.
I want to kiss him.
I want to *hate* him.
I want—
And then—
Stillness.
The heat fades. The visions stop. The bond settles into a low, steady hum.
We’re still tangled together. Still pressed close. Still breathing each other’s air.
But the moment has passed.
“It’ll happen again,” he says, voice rough. “Every hour, until dawn.”
“And we’ll have to do this every time?”
“If we want to survive.”
“And if we don’t?”
“The bond will tear us apart. Literally.”
I don’t answer. Just press my face into his chest, my ear against his heart. His heartbeat is slow. Steady. *Calm*.
“You’re not afraid,” I whisper.
“I am.”
“Then why are you so calm?”
“Because I have you.”
My breath catches.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it sounds like a lie.”
“It’s not.” He strokes my hair, slow, deliberate. “You’re not just here to destroy the Oath, Blair. You’re here because you *need* me. Because the bond knows it. Because your body knows it.”
“I hate you.”
“No.” His voice drops, low, dangerous. “You’re *afraid* of me. Afraid of what you feel. Afraid of what I make you want.”
“I’m not weak.”
“No. You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.” His hand slides down my back, slow, deliberate. His thumb brushes the sigil beneath my tunic. I gasp. My magic flares. The bond roars. “But strength doesn’t mean you don’t *ache* for me.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” He presses closer. His hips tilt, just slightly, so I can feel him—hard, aching, *ready*. “You want this. You want *me*.”
My breath hitches. My eyes close. For one terrible, beautiful moment, I think I’ll say it. I think I’ll *break*.
Then I open my eyes.
And they’re full of fire.
“You think this changes anything?” I snap. “You think a touch and a lie make us allies? You think I’ll just *submit* because your magic decided to pull me into your arms?”
“No.” He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. “I think you’ll fight. I think you’ll rage. I think you’ll try to destroy me every chance you get.”
“And you’re still smiling.”
“Because I know the truth.” He leans in. His lips hover over mine. A breath apart. “You’re not fighting me, Blair. You’re fighting *yourself*.”
I don’t pull away.
Can’t.
The bond holds me. My body holds me. My magic holds me.
And for one breathless moment, I want him to kiss me.
Then—
The bond flares again.
Hot. Violent. Unstoppable.
And this time, neither of us fights it.
We just hold on.
And wait for dawn.