The silence after the fever was worse than the fire.
It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t relief. It was the stillness of a storm that hadn’t passed—just paused, gathering strength. My body still hummed with residual heat, my skin too sensitive, my nerves alight. Every breath I took pulled Kaelen closer, every heartbeat synced with his, the bond a live wire beneath my ribs. And the visions—those flashes of us tangled together, his mouth on my neck, his fangs sinking in as I came apart—still burned behind my eyes.
But it wasn’t just desire.
It was something deeper. Something older.
And I was afraid to name it.
Kaelen stood by the hearth, his back to me, one hand braced on the stone mantel, the other clenched into a fist at his side. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, the scars across his skin catching the firelight like silver thread. He hadn’t spoken since the fever broke. Hadn’t looked at me. Just stood there, rigid, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
But I could feel him.
The way his pulse jumped when I shifted. The way his breath hitched when I moved. The way his cock had hardened when I’d gasped in his arms, when my body had arched into his, when my core had clenched, wet and aching.
He wanted me.
Not just the bond.
Not just the magic.
*Me*.
And that terrified me more than anything.
I stood slowly, my bare feet touching the cold stone, the weight of the second scroll hidden in my boot a dull pressure against my ankle. Veylan had planted the fake one—accused me of treason, of leaking secrets—but he hadn’t found the real one. And he wouldn’t. Not unless he tore me apart stitch by stitch.
But after last night—after the kiss, after the way my body had betrayed me, after the way his had responded—I wasn’t sure what I wanted more.
Justice.
Or him.
And that terrified me more than any trial ever could.
“You’re brooding,” I said, voice steady.
He didn’t turn. “You’re observant.”
“You’ve been staring at that fire for an hour.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
He finally turned, slow, deliberate. His amber eyes burned into mine, fierce, possessive, *hungry*. “About how close we are to losing control. About how the bond is getting stronger. About how every time we touch, every time we’re near each other, the magic *explodes*.”
“It’s the fever.”
“It’s not just the fever.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “It’s *us*. The bond knows what we are. What we’ll become.”
“We won’t become anything.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
He took a step forward. The bond tightened, a physical pull in my chest. “Then why are you lying?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re tense. Your pulse is racing. Your scent—” He inhaled, slow, deliberate. “—is *drenched* in need.”
My face burned. I hated that he could read me like this. That the bond gave him access to my body, my reactions, my *truth*. That he could smell my arousal like it was his right.
“It’s the proximity,” I said. “The bond. It’s not *me*.”
“Isn’t it?” He took another step. Closer. “You want me. Not the bond. Not the magic. *Me*.”
“I want you *dead*.”
He smiled—cold, knowing. “Same thing, sometimes.”
I turned away, moving toward the door. “I need air. I need to think.”
“You’re not leaving the one-mile radius.”
“I’m not.”
“Then where are you going?”
“To the gardens. The moonlight clears my head.”
He didn’t move. Just watched me, his expression unreadable. “You think it’ll help?”
“I think I’ll go insane if I stay in here another second.”
He stepped aside. “Go. But don’t forget—the bond will pull you back. And I’ll be waiting.”
I didn’t answer. Just walked out, my spine straight, my steps even. But I could feel him behind me—close, too close—his presence a weight against my back, his breath a whisper at my neck. The bond hummed, a constant reminder that we were tethered, that every step I took, he took with me.
The gardens of the Fae High Court were a labyrinth of moonlit stone paths, ancient hedges, and blooming nightshade that released their perfume in slow, intoxicating waves. The air was cool, thick with the scent of jasmine and old magic, the Blood Moon casting long, jagged shadows across the ground. I walked quickly, my boots silent on the stone, my coat pulled tight around me, the second scroll a secret weight in my boot.
I needed to think.
Not about the bond. Not about Kaelen. Not about the way his body had felt against mine, the way his breath had heated my skin, the way his cock had pressed into me, thick and hard and *wanting*.
I needed to think about my sister.
About Veylan.
About the truth.
But every time I tried to focus, the bond pulsed, a low throb in my chest, pulling me back to him. And every time I passed a pool of still water, I saw it—the reflection of my own face, pale, haunted, *changed*.
And then—
She appeared.
Elara.
Fae Duchess. Witch Mentor. The woman who had once looked at me with silver eyes and said, *“You’re not weak. You’re a Blood Moon Heir. And they’re afraid.”*
She stood beneath an arched trellis, her ageless face calm, her silver hair catching the moonlight, her gown the color of storm clouds. She didn’t speak. Just watched me, her gaze sharp, knowing.
“You followed me,” I said, voice tight.
“I didn’t have to.” She stepped forward, her movements silent, graceful. “The bond led me. It’s stronger in you now. Can you feel it?”
“I feel it every second.”
“Not just the pull. Not just the fever.” She reached out, her fingers brushing my wrist. “The *power*.”
I flinched. “Don’t.”
“You’re afraid of it.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Liar.” She smiled, faint, knowing. “You’re afraid because you *know*. You’ve felt it in the visions. In the dreams. In the way your blood sings when he touches you.”
My breath caught. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re not just a half-witch, Misty.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “You’re a Blood Moon Heir. A direct descendant of the first witches who forged the Blood Moon Ritual. Your blood carries the magic. Your touch can awaken it. Your *desire* can control it.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, silver locket—identical to mine. She opened it, and inside, instead of ashes, was a single drop of blood, glowing faintly in the moonlight. “This is your mother’s blood. She was a Blood Moon Heir too. And she hid you. Protected you. Because they would’ve killed you if they knew what you were.”
My heart stopped. “My mother—”
“Was murdered,” Elara said, voice soft. “By the same people who killed your sister. By the same man who framed her. They’ve been hunting your bloodline for centuries. Because a Blood Moon Heir doesn’t just *survive* the ritual.”
“What does she do?”
“She *ends* it.”
I stared at her. “You’re saying I can break the bond?”
“Or control it.” She closed the locket, tucked it away. “The ritual didn’t just bind you to Kaelen. It awakened you. And now, the magic answers to *you*.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re running out of time.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “Veylan knows what you are. He’s afraid. And when a Fae lord is afraid, he destroys what he can’t control.”
“Then why hasn’t he killed me?”
“Because he can’t. The bond protects you. As long as you’re tied to Kaelen, you’re untouchable. But if the bond breaks—if you *choose* to break it—he’ll have you executed before dawn.”
My stomach twisted. “So I’m trapped either way.”
“No.” She reached out, her fingers brushing my cheek. “You’re not trapped. You’re *awake*. And now, you have a choice.”
“What choice?”
“To use the bond as a weapon. To expose Veylan. To clear your sister’s name. To *rule*.” She stepped back, her gaze sharp. “Or to run. To hide. To let them win.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
All I knew was that my body believed it. That my heart believed it. That every cell in my body was screaming for him—*for us*—in a way that had nothing to do with magic.
And then—
The bond *screamed*.
Fire ripped through my veins. My vision whited out. My body arched, my hands flying to my chest as agony tore through me—sharp, deep, *wrong*. I gasped, stumbling back, but Elara caught me, her arms wrapping around me, her voice low, steady.
“Breathe,” she murmured. “Just breathe.”
I did.
Slow. Deep. In. Out.
And with each breath, the pain lessened. The fire cooled. The bond settled, not gone, but *calm*.
But the vision didn’t stop.
It came without warning—a flash of heat, of touch, of *power*.
Me standing before the Council, the Blood Moon blazing behind me, my hands raised, magic spiraling from my fingertips like a storm. Kaelen at my side, not as my captor, not as my enemy—but as my *equal*. Our bond not a chain, but a crown. Our union not a curse, but a *reign*.
And then—
Me, kneeling in a circle of ancient runes, blood dripping from my palm, the sigils flaring to life as I spoke words I didn’t know, in a language older than the packs. Kaelen before me, his head bowed, his body trembling, not in pain—but in *worship*. And then—his hand closing over mine, our blood mingling, our magic merging, the bond *breaking*—not with death, but with *choice*.
I gasped, coming back to myself, my breath ragged, my body trembling. The moon still glowed. The garden was silent. Elara still held me, her arms tight, her breath warm at my neck.
But everything had changed.
“You saw it,” she said, voice low. “The other vision. The one with the runes. The blood.”
I didn’t answer.
But she knew.
She could *feel* it.
“That’s not part of the trial,” I said. “That’s not part of the bond.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know.”
She smiled. “You do. You just don’t want to say it.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you’re no longer a pawn.” She stepped back, her gaze sharp. “You’re a queen.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stood there, my hands trembling, my heart pounding, the second scroll a secret weight in my boot.
And then—
Kaelen appeared.
He stepped from the shadows, his broad frame silhouetted by the moonlight, his amber eyes blazing. He didn’t speak. Just walked toward me, his bare feet silent on the stone, his presence a wall, his scent overwhelming—pine, smoke, male.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, dangerous.
“I brought her,” Elara said, stepping aside. “She needed to know the truth.”
“What truth?”
“The truth about her bloodline.”
He turned to me, his eyes sharp. “What is she talking about?”
I didn’t answer.
Just looked at him—into the fear, the hunger, the *need*—and realized something.
I didn’t *want* to break it.
Not yet.
Not until I had the truth.
Not until Veylan was exposed.
Not until my sister’s name was cleared.
And not until I knew—*really knew*—if the man in front of me was a monster…
Or the only one who’d ever seen me.
“I’m a Blood Moon Heir,” I whispered.
His jaw tightened. “And what does that mean?”
“It means I can break the bond.”
“Or control it.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at me, his chest rising and falling fast. “Then do it.”
“What?”
“Break it.” His voice was rough, raw. “If you can. If you *want* to. Prove you’re not mine. Prove you never were.”
My heart pounded.
This was my chance.
My power.
My freedom.
But as I looked into his eyes—into the fear, the hunger, the *need*—I realized something.
I didn’t *want* to break it.
Not yet.
“I won’t,” I said, voice steady. “Not yet.”
His jaw tightened. “Then you’re mine.”
“No,” I said, lifting my hand, pressing my palm to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m *yours*—but only because I choose to be.”
He didn’t answer.
Just lowered his head—slow, deliberate—until his lips were a breath from mine.
And then—
Thunder cracked, shaking the spire.
The torches flared crimson.
And the bond *screamed*.