I don’t sleep.
Not after the third collapse. Not after the bond flared like a live wire beneath my skin, not after I held her in the rubble again—her body pressed to mine, her breath hot on my neck, her magic screaming through the tether between us. Not after the way she looked at me in the dark, eyes wide, pulse jumping, *wanting*, even as she spat hatred like a curse.
I sit in the council chamber long after the healers have cleared the debris, long after the tribunal members have dispersed with wary glances and hushed whispers. The room is still cracked, the sigil on the floor shattered, the air thick with the residue of raw magic and something darker—*need*. The bond hums beneath my skin, restless, insistent, a second heartbeat that refuses to quiet. I can feel her—Blair—somewhere in the Undercourt, pacing, seething, fighting the pull as if she could win.
She can’t.
The bond doesn’t care about her revenge. Doesn’t care about her lies or her rage. It only knows *her*—her scent, her pulse, the way her magic flares when I’m near. And it’s growing stronger. Every collapse, every touch, every surge of emotion—it feeds the connection, deepens the tether, pulls us closer to the edge.
Seven days.
Three left.
And if we don’t break the Oath before the bond becomes permanent, we’ll both be destroyed. Or worse—we’ll be bound forever, two enemies fused by magic and mutual destruction.
I press my palms to my temples. My fangs ache. My blood burns. I haven’t fed in days. Not because I don’t need to. But because the thought of another mouth on my neck, another body beneath mine, makes my stomach twist. I don’t want *them*.
I want *her*.
And that terrifies me more than any curse.
I’ve spent centuries controlling everything—my power, my emotions, my empire. I ruled with cold precision, with iron will, with the certainty that no one could touch me. Not after what my sire did. Not after I watched him drain a woman who looked at me with my mother’s eyes and called me *son* before he tore her throat out.
I swore I’d never be weak.
Never be vulnerable.
Never let anyone in.
And now, a witch with a fae mother’s grace and a human father’s fury has cracked me open with nothing but a glare and a pulse that jumps when I’m near.
The door opens.
I don’t look up.
“My lord,” Riven says, voice low. “She’s in the west wing. Refusing to return to her quarters. Refusing to speak to anyone.”
“Let her rage,” I say, still not looking at him. “It won’t change anything.”
“She’s dangerous when she’s like this.”
“So am I.”
He hesitates. “Lira’s still in the stronghold. Says she has more information. Says it’s urgent.”
My jaw clenches. “She’s lying.”
“Probably. But if she knows about the bond—”
“Then she’s a threat.” I finally lift my head. “And I’ll deal with her.”
“And Blair?”
“She’ll come when she’s ready.”
“Or when the bond forces her.”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right.
The bond doesn’t care about pride. Doesn’t care about revenge. It only knows survival. And it’s pulling us together, whether we like it or not.
I stand. My coat falls open, the buttons undone since the last collapse. My shirt is stained with dust, with old blood, with the faint, lingering scent of *her*—jasmine and iron and something wild beneath. I don’t care. Let them see me like this. Let them see the cracks.
Let them see that I’m not untouchable.
“The council reconvenes at dawn,” Riven says. “They’ll want answers. About the collapses. About the bond. About *her*.”
“Let them want.”
“And if they vote to remove her?”
“They won’t.”
“And if they do?”
I turn to him. My eyes go black. Power rolls off me, thick and suffocating. “Then they’ll learn why vampires rule the night.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just nods. “Understood.”
I leave the chamber, moving through the silent halls. The torchlight flickers, casting long shadows on the stone. The air is thick with tension, with magic, with the weight of what’s coming. I can feel her—closer now. She’s not hiding. Not running. She’s waiting. Watching. Like a storm about to break.
And then I see her.
Blair.
Standing at the end of the hall, backlit by the dim glow of the ward crystals. Her hair is loose, dark as midnight. Her cloak is pulled tight around her, but I can still see the curve of her hips, the line of her throat. She’s not wearing the shift from my chambers. She’s dressed in black trousers, a high-collared tunic, boots laced to the knee. Her dagger is at her belt. Her magic hums beneath her skin, coiled tight, ready to strike.
She doesn’t look at me.
But I feel her—through the bond. Her anger. Her fear. Her *hunger*.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say.
She turns. Her eyes meet mine—green, sharp, defiant. “Neither are you.”
“This is my stronghold.”
“And I’m not your prisoner.”
“No.” I step closer. The bond flares—hot, sudden. A jolt of heat slams through me. “You’re my problem.”
“And you’re mine.”
“Then we’re even.”
She doesn’t answer. Just watches me, her breath steady, her pulse jumping in her throat. The bond hums, alive, electric. I can feel her magic tighten, like a coiled spring. She’s close. So close to breaking.
And so am I.
“Lira was in your chambers,” she says, voice low. “In your robe.”
“She let herself in.”
“You didn’t stop her.”
“I didn’t invite her.”
“You didn’t deny her.”
“There was nothing to deny.”
“You fed her your blood.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she had information. Because she was useful. Because I needed her.”
“And now?”
“Now I have you.”
Her 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?” I step closer. “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.” My hand lifts, not to touch her. Not yet. But my fingers twitch, as if drawn to the bite on her neck. “Lying is saying something false. I said nothing. And you—” My thumb brushes the edge of the wound. “You let the bond mark you. You *wanted* this.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.” I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “You want me. You want my touch. My blood. My *claim*.”
“I hate you.”
“No.” My voice drops, rough, dangerous. “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.” I tilt her chin up with my thumb. “But strength doesn’t mean you don’t *ache* for me.”
Her breath hitches. Her body arches—just slightly—into my touch.
And then—
Shouting.
From the council chamber.
We both turn.
The doors burst open. Tribunal members flood into the hall—vampires in dark coats, werewolves with fur-lined cloaks, witches with ritual stoles, fae with veiled eyes. They’re arguing, gesturing, voices rising in anger.
“We can’t ignore this!” a vampire elder snarls. “The bond is destabilizing the wards. The collapses—three in as many days. It’s a threat to the Undercourt.”
“She’s the source,” a witch says, pointing at Blair. “A fraud. A saboteur. She brought this on us.”
“No,” a werewolf growls. “The bond is mutual. He’s just as responsible.”
“Then they both must be removed,” the fae arbiter says, voice cold. “Before they bring the entire stronghold down.”
Blair tenses beside me. Her magic flares—wild, uncontrolled. The bond surges in response, a jolt of heat slamming through me. I can feel her fear, her rage, her *pride*.
They want to take her.
They want to cast her out.
And I—
I can’t let them.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the Oath.
But because the thought of her walking away, of her being *gone*, makes my chest ache like a wound.
I step forward.
The crowd falls silent. All eyes turn to me.
“The bond stays,” I say, voice low, cutting through the silence like a blade.
“It’s a danger,” the vampire elder says. “You know the laws.”
“I *make* the laws.”
“Then you’re defying the council.”
“No.” I turn to Blair. She’s watching me, eyes wide, breath fast. “I’m claiming her.”
Gasps ripple through the crowd.
“You can’t,” the fae arbiter says. “The bond isn’t sealed. It’s not official.”
“It is now.” I grab her wrist, yank her forward. She stumbles, but I hold her tight. My other hand cups her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. “Blair Vale,” I say, loud enough for all to hear, “you are mine. Bound by blood, by magic, by fate. And I will not let you go.”
She doesn’t pull away. Can’t. The bond won’t allow it. But her eyes burn with fire. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I just did.” I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“I am not your property.”
“You are.”
“I *hate* you.”
“Then hate me,” I growl. “But you’re still mine.”
The crowd murmurs. Some look horrified. Some envious. Some afraid.
And then—
She slaps me.
Hard.
The sound cracks through the hall like a whip. My head snaps to the side. My fangs extend. My vision darkens.
But I don’t react.
Because for the first time in my life—
I *feel*.
Pain. Not from the strike. But from *her*. From the way her eyes fill with something I’ve never seen before—shock. Regret. *Guilt*.
I turn back to her slowly. My cheek stings. My pride burns. But worse—my chest aches.
She sees it.
And for one breathless moment, I see it too—recognition. Not of the bond. Not of the magic.
Of *me*.
Of the man beneath the monster.
“You think I wanted this?” I say, voice rough, broken. “You think I *asked* for you? For this? You’re in my blood now, Blair. In my *bones*. And I can’t—” I stop. Swallow. “I can’t let you go.”
She doesn’t answer. Just stares at me, her breath fast, her pulse jumping.
And then—
“She’s not yours,” a voice says.
Lira.
She steps from the crowd, draped in black silk, her red hair spilling over one shoulder, her lips painted crimson. Her eyes lock onto mine—dark, knowing, *jealous*.
“You fed me your blood,” she says. “You whispered promises in the dark. You said I was the only one who understood you.”
“And now?” Blair asks, voice quiet.
Lira smiles. “Now you’re in his way.”
Blair doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. But I feel it—the spike of fear, the way her magic tightens, the way her body shifts into a defensive stance.
“You’re not strong enough,” Lira says. “You’re not even *real*. A fraud. A ghost. And he’ll discard you just like he did me.”
“No,” I say, stepping in front of Blair. My voice is low, dangerous. “She’s not like you.”
“Oh?” Lira steps closer. “And what is she, Kaelen? The woman who let you mark her in her sleep? The witch who *wanted* it?”
“She didn’t want it.”
“Then why is she still here?”
“Because she has no choice.”
“And if she did?”
I don’t answer.
Because I know the truth.
And so does she.
Blair Vale didn’t come here to destroy me.
She came to destroy the Oath.
And if she had a choice—
She’d stay.
“Enough,” I say, turning to the council. “The bond stands. Blair Vale is under my protection. And if anyone tries to remove her—” I let the threat hang, my eyes going black, power rolling off me in waves. “They’ll answer to me.”
The council members exchange glances. No one speaks.
“Meeting adjourned,” I say.
They disperse, murmuring, whispering, casting wary glances at Blair, at me, at the bond that hums between us like a promise.
Lira lingers.
“This isn’t over,” she says.
“No,” I say. “It’s just beginning.”
She leaves.
Silence.
And then—
Blair pulls her wrist free. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes,” I say. “I did.”
“You could have let them take me.”
“And let you die when the bond breaks?” I turn to her. “No.”
“You did it to control me.”
“Maybe.” I step closer. “But I’d do it again.”
She doesn’t answer. Just watches me, her eyes wide, her breath fast.
And then—
She reaches up.
Her fingers brush my cheek—the one she slapped.
And for one breathless moment, I think she’ll say it.
I think she’ll *break*.
But she doesn’t.
She just whispers—
“Why?”
And I don’t know how to answer.
Because the truth—
Is that I don’t know either.