I don’t move.
Not when the door bursts open. Not when Riven stands there, breathless, eyes wide with alarm. Not even when he speaks the words that should send ice through my veins—*Malrik’s spirit is rising*.
I stay where I am—on the cold stone floor, Blair still straddling me, her body warm and slick with sweat, our breaths tangled, our magic still humming in the air like a live wire. Her palm presses against my chest, her fingers splayed, the sigil glowing faintly beneath her skin—her mark. On me. Not a claim from me. Not a curse. A reversal. A declaration.
And it changes everything.
She marked me.
Not the bond. Not the magic. Her.
And for the first time in centuries, I feel—
Seen.
Not as a monster. Not as a vessel. Not as Malrik’s heir.
As mine.
Riven doesn’t step inside. Doesn’t speak again. Just watches us—Blair, still half-naked, her tunic torn, her hair wild, her eyes burning with something I can’t name. Me, beneath her, exposed, vulnerable, claimed. He’s seen me feed. Seen me fight. Seen me command. But he’s never seen me like this.
And he knows it.
“Malrik,” I say, voice rough, still holding Blair’s gaze. “Where?”
“The Oath Chamber,” he says. “The wards are failing. The sigils are bleeding. He’s trying to manifest.”
Blair tenses. Her fingers dig into my chest. “He’s using the bond.”
I nod. “He felt it. When we… when the magic broke.”
“And now he’s coming for me.”
“For both of us.” I sit up slowly, not breaking contact. My hands slide to her waist, holding her in place. “He wants your blood. Your magic. And he’ll use me to get it.”
She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches me, her green eyes searching mine. “You believe me.”
“I feel you,” I say. “In my blood. In my dreams. And if I can feel you… so can he.”
She swallows. “Then we have to stop him.”
“Yes.” I press my forehead to hers. “Together.”
She doesn’t answer. Just closes her eyes. For one breathless moment, I think she’ll say it—*yes, together*—but then she pulls back, sliding off me, her body trembling as she stands. The bond hums—low, steady, satisfied—but I can feel her retreating, pulling back into the armor she wears like a second skin.
She’s afraid.
Not of Malrik.
Of this. Of us. Of what just happened.
And I don’t blame her.
I’m afraid too.
Because for the first time, I don’t want to control her.
I want to protect her.
And that terrifies me more than any curse.
“We need to move,” Riven says, stepping aside as we gather our torn clothes, re-lacing boots, tucking daggers back into belts. “The Undercourt is in chaos. The council is calling for you. The wards are failing.”
“Then we go,” I say, buttoning my coat, ignoring the blood on my shirt, the tear in my trousers. “But not to the council.”
“Where, then?”
“The Oath Chamber.” I look at Blair. “We end this now.”
She doesn’t argue. Just nods, her jaw set, her eyes sharp. “He’ll be waiting.”
“Let him.”
We move fast—through the shattered remains of the safehouse, down the broken stairs, into the fog-choked streets of the Old Town. The city is dark, the power still out, the wards down. Vampires and witches alike are in the streets, some fighting, some fleeing, some standing still, staring at the sky as if waiting for the end. The air hums with magic, with fear, with the scent of blood and iron and something older—something hungry.
Malrik.
He’s close.
And he’s angry.
The Undercourt looms ahead, its black stone towers rising like fangs from the earth. The great doors are sealed, but the wards flicker—once, twice—then die. We don’t wait. I kick the doors open, the wood splintering, the hinges screaming. Inside, the chamber is chaos—council members shouting, guards drawn, witches casting spells that fizzle in the air. The Oath Table—obsidian, ancient, etched with runes—pulses with dark light. And above it—
Smoke.
Not fire. Not mist.
Smoke that twists, that forms.
A face.
Malrik.
His eyes open—two pits of shadow, endless, cold. His lips curl into a smile that isn’t a smile. And his voice—
Not a sound.
A vibration. A whisper in the blood.
Kaelen…
I don’t flinch. Don’t move. But Blair does—she steps in front of me, her magic flaring, her dagger raised.
“Stay back,” she says, voice sharp. “You don’t get to speak to him.”
Malrik laughs—a sound like bones breaking. You think you can protect him, little witch? You think you can break the Oath?
“I already did,” she says. “With him. With our blood. With our magic.”
Lies. The smoke swirls, thickens. The Oath is not broken. It is only… weakened. And it will rise again. Stronger. Hungrier.
“Not if we destroy it first.”
You cannot destroy what is eternal. What is blood. What is mine.
“You don’t own me,” I say, stepping beside Blair. “You never did.”
The smoke twists. The face contorts. I made you. I raised you. I kept you alive when they would have killed you. And this is how you repay me?
“You didn’t raise me,” I say, voice low, dangerous. “You tortured me. Starved me. Used me. And you killed the only person who ever showed me kindness—Seraphine Vale.”
Blair tenses beside me. Her hand finds mine. Not possessive. Not controlling. Just… there.
She was weak, Malrik hisses. She was nothing. And her daughter— His form shifts, the smoke curling toward Blair. You. You are stronger. Smarter. And your blood— He inhales, as if tasting the air. So sweet. So full of power. I can feel it. In the bond. In the mark.
“Don’t touch her,” I snarl.
Or what? You will stop me? You, who let a witch mark you? Who let her ride you like a common whore?
Blair doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. “You’re afraid.”
What?
“You’re afraid,” she says again, stepping forward. “Because the bond changed. Because the Oath is breaking. Because you can’t control us anymore.”
I control everything.
“No.” She raises her dagger. “You control nothing. Not him. Not me. Not the Oath. And if you don’t leave, I’ll make sure you never come back.”
The smoke swirls, furious. You think you can banish me? You, who are nothing but a fraud? A half-breed? A witch?
“I’m more than you’ll ever be.”
Then prove it.
The chamber shakes.
Not from the bond.
From him.
Stone cracks. Torches gutter. The Oath Table splits down the center, black light pouring from the fissure. And then—
Hands.
Not smoke. Not shadow.
Hands—pale, skeletal, clawed—reaching from the rift, grasping at the air, at the council, at us.
Malrik is trying to manifest.
“Now!” I shout, grabbing Blair’s hand. “Break the Oath!”
She doesn’t hesitate. We run to the table, our boots echoing on the stone. The council scatters. The guards fall back. Only Riven stays, drawing his blade, standing between us and the cultists who surge forward from the shadows.
Blair places her palm on the obsidian. I do the same. Our blood still stains the surface from the ritual, from the bond, from the act that changed everything.
“Say the words,” I say.
She closes her eyes. “By blood and magic, by life and death, I break the Oath of Crimson Fealty. I sever the bond of the cursed line. I release the bound. I reclaim the stolen. And I destroy the pact that feeds on suffering.”
I join her—my voice low, steady. “By blood and magic, by life and death, I break the Oath of Crimson Fealty. I sever the bond of the cursed line. I release the bound. I reclaim the stolen. And I destroy the pact that feeds on suffering.”
The table shatters.
Not cracks.
Shatters.
Black shards explode outward, the runes burning away, the blood evaporating into smoke. The hands in the rift scream—no, not scream, wail—a sound of pure rage, of loss, of defeat.
And then—
Stillness.
The chamber is silent. The rift closes. The smoke dissipates. The hands are gone.
Malrik is gone.
But the bond—
It’s still there.
Not weaker.
Not broken.
Stronger.
Deeper.
Not a tether.
A bridge.
And for the first time, I don’t feel trapped.
I feel free.
Blair turns to me. Her eyes are wide. Her breath is fast. “It’s over.”
“It’s not,” I say. “He’s not dead. Just banished. And he’ll come back.”
“Then we’ll be ready.”
I don’t answer. Just pull her into my arms, holding her tight, my face in her hair, her body pressed to mine. The bond hums—low, steady, satisfied—but I can feel her trembling. Not from fear.
From exhaustion.
From relief.
From us.
“You marked me,” I say, voice rough.
She pulls back, looking up at me. “You said you wanted me to.”
“I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m not alone anymore.”
She doesn’t answer. Just presses her palm to my chest, over the sigil. It glows faintly, red as fresh blood.
And then—
A whisper.
Not from the chamber.
Not from the council.
From inside.
You think you’ve won, Malrik’s voice slithers through my mind. You think the Oath is broken? It is only sleeping. And when it wakes… it will consume you both.
I freeze.
Blair feels it. “What is it?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because he’s not gone.
He’s in my blood.
And he’s laughing.
“Kaelen?”
I turn to her. My hands find her face. My thumbs brush her cheeks. “He’s still here.”
“In the bond?”
“No.” I shake my head. “In me. In my mind. In my blood. He’s not gone. He’s waiting.”
Her breath catches. “Then we’re not safe.”
“No.” I pull her close again. “But we’re together.”
She doesn’t answer. Just holds me, her body pressed to mine, her breath warm against my neck.
And for the first time, I don’t feel like a monster.
I feel like a man.
And for the first time, I don’t want to own her.
I want to love her.
The council watches. The guards stand down. Riven lowers his blade. The chamber is in ruins, the Oath Table destroyed, the wards failing, the air thick with the scent of magic and blood and something older—something new.
And then—
Blair lifts her head.
Her eyes meet mine.
And for one breathless moment, I think she’ll say it.
I think she’ll break.
But she doesn’t.
She just whispers—
“We’re not done.”
And I know she’s right.
Because Malrik is still out there.
And the bond—
It’s not a curse.
It’s a promise.
And I’ll keep it.
No matter what it costs.