The city breathes differently under the Blood Moon.
Not quieter. Not darker. But hungrier. The fog that clings to Edinburgh’s cobbled streets thickens, curling around lampposts like spectral fingers, swallowing the glow of streetlamps whole. The air hums with magic—raw, unfiltered, pulsing beneath the surface like a second heartbeat. Vampires move with sharper grace, their fangs bared in smiles that aren’t smiles. Werewolves pace the borders, their eyes glowing amber in the dark, heat cycles triggered by the lunar pull. Witches light their sigils with blood, their chants rising like smoke into the night. And the fae—oh, the fae—they watch from shadowed arches, their glamour shifting, their laughter like glass breaking.
And me?
I’m supposed to be afraid.
I’m supposed to be furious. Distrustful. Ready to burn it all down.
But I’m not.
I stand at the edge of the grand ballroom in the Undercourt’s West Wing, dressed in a gown of midnight silk that clings to my body like a second skin, my dagger hidden in the slit of my thigh-high boot, my magic coiled beneath my skin—restless, alive, awake. The bite on my neck is gone. The wounds on my wrist have vanished. But the bond?
It’s stronger than ever.
It hums beneath my skin, low and steady, a thread of red magic only I can see, pulsing between my chest and Kaelen’s. I can feel him—close, so close—his presence a weight against my back, his pulse a counter-rhythm to my own. He’s not beside me. Not touching me. But I know he’s watching. I can feel the heat of his gaze, the way his breath hitches when I shift, the way his fangs extend when I turn.
Because he wants me.
And worse—
I want him.
The Blood Moon Gala is a tradition—once a year, the supernatural elite gather to celebrate the lunar peak, to renew alliances, to dance on the edge of chaos. But tonight, it’s something else. A test. A challenge. A battlefield disguised as a ballroom.
And I walked right into it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Riven says, appearing at my side like a shadow given form. His golden eyes scan the room—vampires in tailored coats, witches in ritual stoles, werewolves in fur-lined cloaks, fae with veiled eyes. “It’s too exposed. Too many enemies.”
“I’m not hiding,” I say, lifting my chin. “Not anymore.”
“Kaelen wanted you safe.”
“Kaelen doesn’t get to decide that.”
He doesn’t argue. Just watches me, his expression unreadable. “You marked him.”
“And?”
“He’s never been marked before. Not by a witch. Not by anyone.”
“Good.”
He almost smiles. “You’re dangerous, Blair Vale.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
And then—
I see her.
Lira Nocturne.
She glides through the crowd like a predator in silk, her red hair spilling over one shoulder, her lips painted the same deep crimson as the wine in her glass. She’s not alone. Kaelen walks beside her, his coat open, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his black eyes scanning the room with cold precision. But he’s not looking at the crowd.
He’s looking at me.
And the moment our eyes meet, the bond flares.
Hot. Sudden. A jolt of heat slams through me, flooding my veins, pooling between my thighs. My breath hitches. My magic flares, wild, uncontrolled. I can feel him—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.
She leans into him, her hand resting on his arm, her lips brushing his ear as she whispers something. His jaw clenches. His fangs extend. But he doesn’t pull away.
And I—
I feel it.
Not just the bond.
Jealousy.
Sharp. Visceral. Blinding.
My magic coils tighter. My fingers twitch. I want to cross the room. I want to rip her hand off his arm. I want to curse her, to challenge her, to make her regret the day she ever looked at him.
But I don’t.
I stay.
Because I’m not weak.
And I’m not afraid.
“She’s trying to provoke you,” Riven says, voice low.
“I know.”
“And you’re not going to react?”
“No.” I lift my glass, take a sip of wine—dark, rich, laced with blood. “Let her play her games. Let her think she has power over him. She doesn’t.”
“And you do?”
“I don’t need power,” I say, watching them. “I have something better.”
“What’s that?”
“Truth.”
And then—
They stop.
Kaelen turns to her, says something low, something I can’t hear. She laughs—soft, knowing—and steps closer, her body pressing against his. Her hand slides up his chest, her fingers brushing the open collar of his shirt. His eyes close. His breath hitches.
And I—
I see red.
Not metaphorically.
Red.
The bond screams—a surge of heat, of scent, of need. 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 Riven didn’t catch me.
“Blair—”
“I’m fine,” I snap, shoving him away. My magic flares—wild, uncontrolled. The bond roars. I can feel Kaelen—his pulse stuttering, his breath quickening, his body aching for me, not her.
And then—
He looks at me.
Not at Lira.
At me.
And for one breathless moment, I know—he feels it too.
The bond isn’t just a tether.
It’s a bridge.
And he’s not on her side.
He’s on mine.
She says something—sharp, biting—and he turns back to her, his expression cold, unreadable. But I see it—the flicker beneath his control, the way his pulse stutters in his throat. The bond hums, feeding on my jealousy, my rage, my fear.
“You should leave,” Riven says. “Before it gets worse.”
“No.” I set my glass down, my voice steady. “I’m not running.”
And I don’t.
I stay.
I watch.
I wait.
And when Kaelen finally breaks away from her, when he moves through the crowd like a storm given form, when his black eyes lock onto mine and the bond explodes—
I don’t flinch.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, voice low, cutting through the music like a blade.
“Neither should you,” I say, lifting my chin. “With her.”
“It was political. A distraction.”
“And you needed a distraction?”
“I needed to keep the council from questioning our alliance.”
“So you used her?”
“No.” His hand finds my wrist, not possessive, not controlling. Just… there. “I let her think she had power. That’s all.”
“And did it work?”
“For a moment.” He steps closer. The bond flares—hot, sudden. A jolt of heat slams through me. “But then I saw you. And I couldn’t look away.”
My breath hitches. My pulse jumps. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. “You’re jealous,” he says, voice rough.
“I’m not weak.”
“No. You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.” His hand slides up my arm, slow, deliberate. “But strength doesn’t mean you don’t ache for me.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “You want me. You want my touch. My blood. My claim.”
“I hate you.”
“No.” His voice drops, low, dangerous. “You’re afraid. Afraid of what you feel. Afraid of what I make you want.”
“I’m not—”
And then—
She’s there.
Lira.
She steps between us, her red hair spilling over one shoulder, her lips painted crimson. Her eyes lock onto mine—dark, knowing, jealous.
“You’re not welcome here, Blair Vale,” she says, voice smooth as poisoned silk. “This is a gathering of equals. Not frauds.”
“And you are?” I snap. “The woman who forged a bite scar? The one who lied about his blood?”
Her smile doesn’t waver. “At least I was honest about what I wanted.”
“And what’s that?”
“Him.” She turns to Kaelen, her hand sliding up his chest. “He fed me his blood for weeks. Whispered promises in the dark. Said I was the only one who understood him.”
My magic flares—wild, uncontrolled. The bond surges in response, a jolt of heat slamming through me. I can feel Kaelen’s pulse, steady and slow, like he’s *enjoying* this. Like he wants me to *hurt*.
“And then?” I demand.
She smiles. “He stopped. One night, he just… didn’t come. No explanation. No farewell. Just silence.” Her eyes slide over me—my gown, my bare shoulders, the sigil on my shoulder that glows faintly beneath the silk. “Ask him why.”
I turn to Kaelen.
“Why?” I ask, voice quiet.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, his expression unreadable. But I feel it—the flicker beneath his control, the way his pulse stutters in his throat. The bond hums, feeding on my jealousy, my rage, my fear.
“Maybe he got bored,” Lira says, stepping closer. “Or maybe he found something… *new*.” Her eyes slide over me. “Though I have to say, darling, you’re not exactly his usual type. He prefers his women strong. Confident. *Willing*.”
“I’m not your concern,” I say, stepping forward. My magic coils beneath my skin, ready to strike. “And neither is he.”
“Aren’t you?” She laughs. “You’re *covered* in him. That bite? That sigil? That’s not just magic, sweetheart. That’s *claiming*. And if you think he marked you out of affection, you’re even more naive than you look.”
“Shut up,” I snarl.
“Or what? You’ll curse me? Challenge me? You’re not strong enough, Blair Vale. You’re not even *real*. A fraud. A ghost. And he’ll discard you just like he did me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I know things. About the bond. About the Oath. About *you*.”
“Liar.”
“Am I?” She steps back, smoothing her dress. “Break the Oath. Free us both. And I’ll give you the truth.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll make sure the entire Undercourt knows what you are. A witch who let a vampire mark her in her sleep. A woman who *wanted* it.”
My hands clench. My magic flares. The bond *screams*—a surge of heat, of scent, of *need*. I can feel Kaelen behind me, close, his presence a weight against my back. He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t spoken. But I feel his breath, cold on my neck. His fangs, just a breath from my pulse.
“You don’t have to listen to her,” he says, voice low.
“No,” I say, not turning. “But she’s right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That I don’t know who to trust.”
He doesn’t answer.
Lira smiles. “Think about it, Blair. You’re running out of time. Four days. That’s all you have before the bond becomes permanent. And if you don’t break the Oath by then…” She lets the threat hang, her dark eyes gleaming. “Well. Let’s just say I’ve seen what happens to women who belong to him.”
“Get out,” I say, voice quiet.
“What?”
“I said—*get out*.” I turn to her, my magic flaring, the bond roaring in my veins. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong *anywhere* near him. And if you ever speak to me again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just smiles. “Brave words. But bravery won’t save you.” She turns to Kaelen. “We’ll talk later, my lord.”
And then she’s gone—gliding past me, her dress brushing my arm, her scent lingering like a curse.
Silence.
And then—
Kaelen grabs my wrist.
Not gentle. Not careful.
Hard.
“You’re coming with me,” he growls.
“No.”
“Yes.” He pulls me through the crowd, past staring eyes and hushed whispers, past the music and the dancing and the blood-laced wine. We don’t stop until we’re in the east wing, in a narrow balcony overlooking the city, the fog curling around us like a shroud.
He pins me against the stone railing, his body pressing into mine, his hands caging me in. My breath hitches. My magic flares. The bond *screams*—a surge of heat, of scent, of *need*.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he snarls, voice rough. “This bond burns. And you’re the only one who can end it.”
“Then end it,” I say, voice trembling. “Break the Oath. Or I walk.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just leans in.
And kisses me.
Not gently.
Not sweetly.
Violently.
His lips crash against mine, teeth clashing, breath mingling, magic exploding. The bond roars to life, a tidal wave of power crashing through us. I taste him—cold, metallic, hunger—and I want more. I bite his lip. He growls. His hands find my waist, yanking me against him. Our bodies press together—chest to chest, thigh to thigh, heat to heat.
And for one breathless moment, I don’t fight.
I don’t hate.
I just feel.
His mouth moves to my neck, his fangs grazing my pulse. I tilt my head, offering myself—not in surrender. In challenge.
“Bite me,” I whisper. “If you dare.”
He doesn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, he pulls back, his black eyes burning into mine. “You want me to break the Oath.”
“Yes.”
“Then prove it.”
“What?”
“Stay,” he says, voice rough. “Fight with me. Stand beside me. Not as my enemy. Not as my pawn. As my *equal*.”
My breath catches.
“And if I do?”
“Then I’ll break it.” He leans in, his lips brushing mine. “But you have to choose. Not revenge. Not survival. *Me*.”
And for the first time, I don’t say no.
I just whisper—
“Then prove you’re worth it.”
He smiles. Slow. Deadly.
And then—
He kisses me again.
And this time, I kiss him back.