I came here to kill him.
The thought burns behind my ribs like a sigil carved into bone. It’s the only thing that’s kept me steady through the obsidian arches, past the fae sentinels with their silver-tipped spears and vacant eyes, across the black marble floor that hums beneath my stolen heels. The air is thick with ozone and glamour—cloying perfumes, whispered spells, the metallic tang of old blood. The Fae High Court doesn’t sleep. It watches. It waits. And tonight, it will bear witness.
My fingers tighten around the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. Not steel. Not silver. This blade is forged from the last bone of my mother’s right hand—the one she used to draw the final sigil before the curse took her. The one that cracked the earth and turned the sky to ash. The one that whispered her last words into the wind before she bled out on the altar of our grove.
And now, twenty years later, I’m bringing it to the man who cast the curse.
Kaelen D’Rae.
Vampire prince. Bloodmage of the Crimson Covenant. The most feared male in the supernatural world—and the one I’ve trained my entire life to destroy.
The Eclipse Ceremony is already underway. The great chamber is a cathedral of shadow and flame, the ceiling open to the night sky where the moon hangs, half-swallowed by the sun. Red light spills through the gap, painting the faces of the court in blood. Vampires in crimson robes stand in rigid formation. Fae nobles shimmer in gowns of living mist. Werewolves crouch at the edges, their eyes glowing gold, muscles coiled. The Supernatural Council is here in full force, and at the center of it all—on a dais of black stone—stands him.
Kaelen.
He’s taller than I expected. Broad-shouldered, draped in a long coat of midnight leather that falls like a shroud. His hair is black as raven’s wing, pulled back from a face carved by centuries of war and power. High cheekbones. A jawline sharp enough to cut glass. But it’s his eyes that stop me—crimson, burning, not with fire, but with something deeper. Something ancient.
He turns. Slowly. As if he feels me.
And maybe he does.
I’m not supposed to be here. Not as me. I’m supposed to be Lysara Vale, a minor witch from the Eastern Coven, here to observe the Eclipse and pay tribute. The illusion is flawless—stolen silks, a glamour-woven face, a forged sigil on my wrist. But beneath it all, my pulse is a war drum. My blood hums with the weight of what I’m about to do.
The ritual begins. Chanting rises from the vampires, low and guttural, the words curling like smoke. The runes beneath the altar—etched in dried blood and ash—begin to glow. This is it. The moment the curse is renewed. The moment Kaelen draws power from the eclipse to strengthen his hold over the courts.
And the moment I end him.
I move. Silent. Fast. My training kicks in—years of combat, of stealth, of blood magic that demands sacrifice. I slip between the rows, my heart a blade in my throat. Ten steps. Five. Three.
Then I’m on the dais.
He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t flinch. As if he’s waiting.
Good.
I lunge.
The dagger flashes in the red light, aimed for the base of his skull—the one spot that can sever a vampire’s connection to his magic. The one spot that will make him mortal, even if just for a second.
But the blade doesn’t strike.
It stops—hovering an inch from his neck—as if the air itself has turned to stone.
And then the world explodes.
A shockwave rips from the altar, throwing me backward. The runes ignite, blazing crimson, and a force like a living thing slams into my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs. I hit the ground hard, the dagger skittering from my hand. Pain lances through my shoulder, but I barely feel it. Because the magic—our magic—is rising.
From the altar, a column of light erupts, spiraling upward like a serpent. It wraps around me, then him, binding us in a coil of pulsing energy. The air crackles. The ground trembles. And then—
My dress tears.
Not from force. From magic. The silk shreds at the shoulders, the bodice splitting open as the bond rips through me, baring my chest to the cold air. I gasp, scrambling to cover myself, but it’s too late. The magic is stripping us both—his coat dissolving, his shirt vanishing—until we’re bare from the waist up, skin exposed, hearts pounding in unison.
And then he’s on me.
Not with violence. Not with rage.
With possession.
He pins me to the ground, one hand gripping both my wrists above my head, the other braced beside my face. His body is a wall of heat and muscle, his chest rising and falling against mine. I can feel his heartbeat—slow, powerful, inhuman. And I can smell him—dark amber, iron, something wild and ancient that coils low in my stomach and makes my breath hitch.
His eyes burn into mine.
“You don’t want to kill me,” he says, voice a low growl that vibrates through my bones. “You want to claim me.”
I shake my head, struggling against his hold. “No. I came here to—”
“To kill me?” He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “Then why does your blood sing for mine? Why does your body arch into mine like this?”
And it does. Gods, it does.
Despite the hatred, despite the mission, despite every vow I’ve ever made—my body betrays me. My skin burns where he touches me. My pulse races. My breath comes in shallow gasps. And between my legs, heat coils, thick and undeniable.
The bond flares—bright, violent, erotic. It pulses through me like a second heartbeat, syncing with his. I feel it in my veins, in my bones, in the very core of me. It’s not just magic. It’s hunger. A need so deep it feels like it’s been waiting for centuries.
“This isn’t real,” I hiss, twisting beneath him. “This is your magic. Your curse.”
He laughs—low, dark. “No, little witch. This is fate. The blood oath doesn’t bind just anyone. It chooses. And it chose you.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“Then believe in this.”
His fangs graze my shoulder—just a whisper of pressure—and I gasp. Not from pain. From pleasure. A jolt of heat shoots through me, straight to my core. My back arches. My thighs press together.
And then—
He bites.
Not deep. Not to feed.
To mark.
The pain is sharp, bright, and then it melts into something else—warmth, pleasure, a pulse of magic that seals the bond between us. I cry out, my body trembling beneath his. The runes on the altar flare one last time, then fade. The magic recedes. The chamber falls silent.
But the bond remains.
And so does he.
He lifts his head, his lips glistening with my blood. His eyes are still crimson, but there’s something else in them now. Something raw. Possessive. Triumphant.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs. “Whether you like it or not.”
I stare up at him, my chest heaving, my skin still burning where his mouth was. Hatred coils in my gut. But beneath it—beneath the fury and the betrayal—there’s something else.
Fear.
Not of him.
Of what I felt when he touched me.
Of what I still feel.
Because the worst part isn’t that he marked me.
It’s that I didn’t stop him.
It’s that a part of me wanted it.
And as I lie there, pinned beneath the vampire prince, the weight of what’s just happened crashes over me.
I came here to kill him.
Instead, I’ve been bound to him.
And the curse—
It didn’t break.
It awakened.
I turn my head, my breath ragged. The court is silent. Dozens of eyes are on us—shocked, scandalized, hungry. This wasn’t just a failed assassination.
It was a claiming.
And now, the entire supernatural world knows I belong to Kaelen D’Rae.
He releases my wrists, but doesn’t move. His hand slides to my throat—gentle, but firm. A warning. A promise.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
“Say what?”
“Why you’re really here.”
I meet his gaze. My voice is steady, cold. “I came here to kill you.”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“Liar,” he whispers.
And then he leans down, his lips brushing mine—just once—before pulling away.
“You came here to claim me.”
And the terrifying part?
He might be right.