I don’t go back to my quarters.
Riven walks beside me in silence, his presence a solid weight at my shoulder, but I don’t feel protected. I feel exposed. Stripped. Like I’ve been flayed open and left to bleed in front of Kaelen D’Vaire’s cold, hungry eyes. The bite on my neck pulses with every heartbeat, a raw, throbbing reminder of what happened—what *didn’t* happen, and yet *did*. The sigil on my shoulder burns beneath the torn fabric of my shift, a brand that doesn’t hurt, but *claims*. It’s not magic I cast. Not a spell I chose. It’s the bond’s doing. *His* doing. And it feels like a violation.
“You should rest,” Riven says, voice low. “Let the healers see the mark.”
“No.” My voice is rough, barely controlled. “I don’t need healing. I need answers.”
He glances at me, golden eyes sharp. “You won’t get them from him.”
“Then I’ll take them.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to stop me as I turn down the corridor toward the North Quarter’s private wing—where only Kaelen and his inner circle are allowed. The air grows colder, the torchlight dimmer. Wards hum along the walls, ancient runes etched into the stone, pulsing faintly with vampire magic. I don’t care. I walk straight through them. The bond flares as I pass—hot, electric—like it knows I’m trespassing, like it *approves*.
Riven follows, silent. Watchful.
At the end of the hall, a pair of iron doors stand ajar. Warm light spills into the corridor. The scent of sandalwood and blood curls through the air. Kaelen’s chambers.
I stop.
And then I hear it.
A laugh.
Low. Familiar. Mocking.
And a voice—smooth as poisoned silk.
“You always did prefer your women awake, didn’t you, Kaelen?”
My breath catches.
I step forward.
And I see her.
Lira Nocturne.
She’s wrapped in a black silk robe—*his* robe—that hangs open just enough to reveal the curve of one pale breast, the smooth line of her collarbone. Her red hair spills over her shoulder, damp, as if she’s just stepped from a bath. Steam curls from the doorway behind her. Her lips are painted the same deep crimson as the wine in her glass, and her eyes—dark, knowing—lock onto mine the moment I appear.
She doesn’t flinch.
She *smiles*.
“Oh,” she purrs. “Look who’s finally awake.”
Kaelen stands by the hearth, one hand braced against the mantle, his coat discarded, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He turns slowly, his black eyes meeting mine. No surprise. No guilt. Just that same cold, unreadable gaze that makes my skin crawl and my pulse jump in the same breath.
“Blair,” he says. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Clearly,” I say, my voice sharp, cutting through the thick air like a blade. “I didn’t realize you were… *entertaining*.”
Lira takes a slow sip of wine. “We were just catching up. Kaelen and I have a lot of history.” She lifts her sleeve. The bite mark—*his* bite mark—is still there, red and fresh. “He likes to leave his mark.”
My stomach twists.
“And you like to wear it,” I snap.
“I like to *remember*.” She steps closer, the robe slipping further off one shoulder. “He came to my room every night during the Blood Moon. For weeks. Fed me his blood. 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 ask, voice trembling. “What happened?”
She smiles. “He stopped. One night, he just… didn’t come. No explanation. No farewell. Just silence.” She tilts her head. “Ask him why.”
I turn to Kaelen.
“Why?” I demand.
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—my torn shift, my bare feet, the bite on my neck. “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 steps closer, close enough that I can smell her—perfume, blood, something faintly floral. “Because I know things. About the bond. About the Oath. About *you*.”
“Liar.”
“Am I?” She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I know Malrik is still alive. I know he wants you. And I know Kaelen would let you die before he’d risk his own power.”
My breath catches.
“You’re working with him,” I say. “You’re one of his spies.”
She laughs. “No. But I know others who are. And if you want their names, you’ll have to pay the price.”
“And what’s that?”
“Your cooperation.” She steps back, smoothing her robe. “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 robe brushing my arm, her scent lingering like a curse.
The door shuts.
Silence.
And then—
“You let her wear your robe,” I say, voice trembling. “You let her show me that *bite*.”
“I didn’t stop her,” he says. “But I didn’t invite her either.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“There was nothing to deny.”
“You fed her your blood.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He steps closer. The bond flares—hot, sudden. “Because she was useful. Because she had information. Because I needed her.”
“And now?”
“Now I have you.”
My breath hitches. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get.”
“You could have told me.”
“And what would you have done? Run? Fought? Tried to destroy me?” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “You’re doing that anyway.”
“Because you *lied* to me.”
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing the bite on my neck. I flinch, but he doesn’t pull away. “Lying is saying something false. I said nothing. And you—” His thumb traces the edge of the wound. “You let the bond mark you. You *wanted* this.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.” His hand slides up to my jaw, tilting my face up to his. “You want me. You want my touch. My blood. My *claim*.”
“I hate you.”
“No.” His voice is rough, low. “You’re afraid. 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.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “But strength doesn’t mean you don’t *ache* for me.”
My breath hitches. My body arches—just slightly—into his touch.
And then—
A scream.
Not from the corridor.
From *me*.
The sigil on my shoulder *burns*—not with pain, but with *power*. The bond surges, a tidal wave of magic crashing through me. 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.
His arm wraps around my waist, yanking me against him. Our chests press together. Our breaths mingle. His eyes—black, endless—burn into mine.
“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 coat. My magic flares, wild, uncontrolled.
I want to kiss him.
I want to *hate* him.
I want—
CRACK.
The chamber shakes.
Stone groans. Dust falls. A crack splits the floor, racing toward the hearth.
“The bond—” someone shouts. “It’s destabilizing the wards!”
Kaelen doesn’t move. Doesn’t let go.
“Hold on,” he whispers, his voice rough, urgent. “Hold on, witch. I’m not letting you die yet.”
And then the ceiling *collapses*.
Stone rains down. Torches gutter. The hearth explodes in a shower of sparks.
He spins me, shielding me with his body as debris crashes around us. I feel the impact—the crack of stone against his back, the shudder of his body—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t let go.
“Kaelen—”
“Shh. Don’t move.”
Dust fills the air. Darkness. The weight of stone above us.
We’re alive.
Trapped.
And still, he holds me.
His arm is tight around my waist. His breath is at my neck. The bond hums between us, a live wire, a pulse, a *promise*.
I try to pull away. He tightens his grip.
“Don’t,” he says. “The bond—it’s unstable. If we separate now, it’ll tear us apart.”
“Then let it.”
He laughs. A dark, broken sound. “You’re brave. Or stupid. Either way, you’re not going anywhere.”
I turn in his arms. We’re face to face in the dark. I can see him—barely. His eyes glow faintly, like embers in ash. His fangs are bared. His lips are stained with blood—his own? Lira’s? Mine?
“You did this,” I whisper. “You knew the bond would react.”
“I didn’t know it would *collapse the chamber*,” he says. “But yes. I knew it would force a reaction. And I needed to see how strong it is.”
“Why?”
“Because if we can’t control it,” he says, “it’ll destroy us. Or worse—it’ll lead Malrik to you.”
My breath catches.
“You believe me.”
“I feel you,” he says. “In my blood. In my dreams. And if *I* can feel you… so can he.”
Silence. Dust. The weight of stone.
And the bond—still there. Still *pulsing*.
“You want me dead,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I want the Oath broken. We need each other. Hate me all you want—just don’t die before I get what I came for.”
He stares at me. For the first time, something flickers in his eyes. Not hunger. Not rage.
Recognition.
“You’re not here to kill me,” he says slowly. “You’re here to break it. And you need me to do it.”
“Maybe.”
“Then we’re not enemies.”
“No,” I say. “We’re worse.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re bound.”
He doesn’t answer. The bond flares—hot, sudden. A surge of heat between us. My breath hitches. His hand tightens on my waist. His thumb brushes my pulse.
And for one terrible, beautiful moment, I want him to kiss me.
Then the dust shifts. Light filters through. Voices. Shouting. Rescue.
He pulls back. Slowly. Reluctantly.
“This isn’t over,” he says.
“No,” I whisper. “It’s just beginning.”
They pull us from the rubble. The council watches. The chamber lies in ruins. And the bond—still there. A thread of red magic, invisible to all but us, pulsing between our chests.
Kaelen doesn’t let go of my arm until the healers arrive. His fingers leave bruises. His eyes never leave mine.
And when he finally speaks, it’s not to the crowd. Not to the council.
It’s to me.
“You’re mine now, witch,” he says, low, so only I can hear. “And I won’t let you go.”
I lift my chin. Meet his gaze.
“I came to unmake you,” I say. “And I will. One way or another.”
He smiles. Slow. Deadly.
“Try.”