The keep was quiet after the ritual—too quiet. Like the calm before a storm. The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums, makes your wolf pace beneath your ribs, makes the mating mark on your neck pulse like a second heartbeat. I stood in the war room, my back against the cold obsidian wall, my fingers clenched around the hilt of my dagger. The silver chalice still sat on the dais, its rim stained crimson where Lira’s lips had been. The scent of Kaelen’s blood—dark amber and old blood—still hung in the air, thick with magic, with power, with *possession*.
He’d broken the bond with her.
In front of everyone.
Slashed his palm, whispered the incantation, shattered the connection like it was nothing. And when he turned to me, his crimson eyes burning, his voice rough as he said, *“My blood belongs to one. And it’s not her,”*—I should have felt victorious.
But I didn’t.
I felt… *empty*.
Because he’d done it for me. Not because he wanted to. Not because he’d never cared for her. But because I’d demanded it. Because I’d stood there, trembling, and said, *“Prove it.”*
And he had.
And now—
Now I didn’t know what to do.
I’d come to Blackthorn Keep to burn him. To expose him. To make him pay for my family’s exile. To reclaim the Codex and restore my mother’s name.
And now—
Now I’d done it.
Malrik was dead.
The truth was known.
The bond was real.
And I still didn’t feel free.
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I said, voice flat.
The door opened, and Silas stepped in, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on me. “My lady,” he said. “Lord Duskbane requests your presence in the east wing library. He says… it’s urgent.”
My pulse spiked.
“Why?”
“He didn’t say,” Silas said. “But he’s not in his study. Not in the war room. Not in your chambers. He’s waiting for you. Alone.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned, staring out the narrow window at the Blood Moon, still hanging low over the mountains, staining the sky crimson. The air was thick with magic, with tension. The bond pulsed, a low, steady throb, pulling me toward *him*.
But I didn’t go to him.
Not yet.
––––––
The east wing library was dark when I entered—no torches lit, no candles burning. Just the faint glow of the Blood Moon through the high arches, casting long shadows across the shelves, the stone floor, the pedestal where I’d found the false map that had led me to believe Malrik had the Codex. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, dried herbs, and something else—something deeper, something *needing*.
And then—
I saw him.
Kaelen.
Standing in the center of the chamber, his back to me, his hands clasped behind him, his silhouette sharp against the crimson sky. He wasn’t dressed in his usual black—no tight sleeves, no high collar. Just a simple dark shirt, slightly open at the throat, his boots silent on the stone. The mating mark on his neck was visible now, a silver scar glowing faintly with every beat of his heart. The bond hummed beneath my skin, a deep, steady thrum, like it knew—knew we were close, knew the truth was waiting, knew this was the moment everything would change.
“You wanted to see me,” I said, my voice flat.
He didn’t turn.
Just stood there, his presence a wall of heat and shadow. “I did.”
“Then say what you need to say,” I said, stepping forward. “I’m not here to play games.”
He turned.
Slow.
Deliberate.
And then his crimson eyes locked onto mine. “I’m not playing a game,” he said, his voice low, rough. “I’m trying to tell you the truth.”
My chest tightened.
“You’ve lied to me before,” I said, my voice sharp. “You let me believe you were the thief. You let me hate you. You let me *love* you—”
“And I’ve told you the truth since,” he said, stepping closer. “That I protected the Codex. That I hid it to keep you alive. That I let you believe the worst so Malrik wouldn’t see us coming.”
“And Lira?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Was that the truth too? That you fed from her? That you *claimed* her?”
He didn’t flinch.
Just watched me, his eyes burning. “Yes. I shared blood with her. Ritual-only. Never consummated. But it was real. It was a bond. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d see it as betrayal. And you *did*.”
“Because it *was*,” I said, stepping back. “You let her taste you. You let her believe she meant something to you.”
“She didn’t,” he said, stepping closer. “Not like you do. Not like you *have* from the moment you stepped into this keep. I’ve lied to the Council. To my House. To myself. But not to you. Not about this.”
“Then why break the bond now?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why prove it to me? Why do what I asked?”
“Because,” he said, stepping closer, his hand lifting to my cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of my lip. A jolt of heat tore through me. “I *needed* you to know. That I’m not divided. That I’m not torn. That my blood, my body, my *soul*—they’re not split between two women. They’re *yours*. Only yours. And if you don’t believe that, if you don’t *feel* that—” his voice cracked—“then I’ll spend every night proving it to you until you do.”
My breath caught.
And for the first time—
I saw it.
Not hatred.
Not control.
But *doubt*.
He stepped back.
“Don’t say things like that,” I whispered. “Don’t use my own weakness against me.”
“I’m not using it,” he said, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. “I’m *seeing* you. Not the hunter. Not the avenger. Not the hybrid with a grudge. But *you*. Petunia. The woman who bites back when she’s hurt. Who fights when she’s afraid. Who *loves* even when she says she doesn’t.”
“I don’t love you,” I said, my voice trembling.
He smiled—faint, knowing. “Liar.”
And then he kissed me.
Not hard. Not possessive.
Soft. Slow. *Real*.
His lips moved against mine, gentle, reverent. His hand cradled my neck, his thumb stroking the mating mark. The bond flared, a surge of heat and magic and *truth*, sealing us, binding us, *claiming* us.
And for the first time—
I didn’t fight it.
I leaned into him.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “I’m not trying to manipulate you,” he murmured. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m just telling you the truth. Something you’ve never heard from me before.”
“And what truth is that?” I asked, my breath unsteady.
“That I’ve been yours since the moment the ritual bound us,” he said, his voice rough. “That I’ve watched you. Breathed you. *Needed* you. That I’d rather die than lose you. That I’d burn the world to keep you alive.”
My chest tightened.
“You don’t get to say things like that,” I whispered. “You don’t get to make me *believe* in you.”
“I’m not trying to,” he said. “I’m just telling you the truth. And if you want to walk away, if you want to leave, if you want to *destroy* me—” he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides—“then do it. But know this—” his crimson eyes locked onto mine—“I’ll still be here. Still yours. Still waiting.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my palm to the sigil on my chest—no, not my chest. My *palm*. The mark still glowed faintly, pulsing with every beat of my heart. The bond was awake. Alive. And it *remembered*.
And so did I.
––––––
Later, I stood in the east wing library, the dream still echoing in my skull.
“The archives,” I whispered, tracing the crescent moon on my palm. “Deep beneath the silver spires. Guarded by oath and glamour.”
The Moonveil Court.
The heart of the Fae.
The last place anyone would look for a witch’s grimoire.
And the one place Malrik couldn’t reach.
Because the Fae didn’t steal. They *bargained*. They *claimed*. They *owned* secrets like others owned gold.
And if the Codex was there—
Then someone had traded it.
Someone with the power to break a blood oath.
Someone like Kaelen.
My stomach twisted.
No.
He wouldn’t.
He’d protected it. Hid it. Let me hate him to keep me safe.
But what if Mother was right?
What if the greatest betrayal wasn’t in the theft—
But in the silence?
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I said, not turning.
The door opened, and Silas stepped in, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on me. “My lady,” he said. “Lord Duskbane requests your presence in the war room. There’s been a development.”
“What kind?”
“A message,” he said. “From the Moonveil Court. They’ve summoned you. Both of you.”
My pulse spiked.
“Why?”
“They say,” Silas said, “the Blood Moon demands balance. And you… are unbalanced.”
I turned.
“And Kaelen agreed to go?”
“He did,” Silas said. “But he wants you at his side. Not as his mate. Not as his prisoner. But as his *equal*.”
I stared at him.
He didn’t flinch.
Just held my gaze, steady, unyielding.
And then—
He stepped closer. “He’s not what you think he is,” he said, voice low. “And neither are you. But the truth… it’s coming. And when it does—” he paused—“you’ll have to choose. Revenge. Or him.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned back to the shelves, my fingers trailing over spines.
And then—
I whispered it.
Not to him.
To the air.
To the bond.
To *her*.
“I already have.”
And as the sun rose over Blackthorn Keep, as the Blood Moon faded to a pale smear in the sky, as the bond pulsed beneath my skin—
I knew—
I wasn’t just here to burn him.
I was here to burn *with* him.
And for the first time—
I didn’t want to survive the fire.
I wanted to *live* in it.