The scream echoes through the fortress like a blade through silk—sharp, sudden, *wrong*.
Not human. Not animal. Something in between. A sound that scrapes against the bones, that makes the sigil on my spine flare hot and bright, that sends the bond between Kaelen and me into a violent thrum—like a war drum, like a heartbeat, like the world itself tearing apart.
We don’t speak.
We run.
Kaelen’s hand is locked in mine, his grip iron, his presence a wall of heat and power. Riven flanks us, silent, lethal, his storm-gray eyes scanning the corridors. The child—my sister—clings to my back, small arms wrapped tight around my neck, her breath shallow, her body trembling. I can feel her fear. Not just in the way she holds on, not just in the way her fingers dig into my shoulders.
In the way the sigil on her forehead pulses—crimson, erratic, wrong.
We turn the corner into the east wing, and there—
Chaos.
Not blood. Not fire. Not death.
Smoke.
Thick, black, rolling in waves from beneath the cracked door of the old ritual chamber. The air reeks of burnt sigils, of scorched stone, of something older—something *alive* dying. The torches flicker, then die. The crimson crystals in the ceiling pulse once, twice, then go dark.
And then—
It hits me.
The scent.
Not blood.
Not fear.
Her.
Amber. Iron. Wild.
Mother’s.
My breath stops.
“She’s here,” I whisper.
Kaelen’s head snaps to me. “Who?”
“My mother.” My voice cracks. “Not alive. Not dead. But *here*. In the magic. In the smoke.”
He doesn’t question it. Just nods, pulling me forward. “Then we go in.”
“No.” I stop, turning to him. “You stay with her.” I nod to the child on my back. “She’s not ready. She’s not—”
“—strong enough?” Riven finishes, his voice low.
“No.” I press a hand to the child’s back, feeling her small heart race. “She’s *too* strong. The sigil—it’s not just a seal. It’s a key. And if it breaks here, if it shatters in this place—”
“—it could destroy her,” Kaelen says, his voice rough.
I nod. “So you stay. With her. With the bond. I go in alone.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” he growls.
“I do.” I step into him, my hand finding his chest, my fingers brushing the sigil I carved with my blood. “Because if something happens to you, to *her*—I can’t lose you both.”
His jaw tightens. His crimson eyes burn. But he doesn’t argue. Just pulls me into his arms, holding me against his chest, his heartbeat steady, powerful, inhuman. “Then go fast,” he whispers. “And come back to me.”
“Always,” I say.
And then I step into the smoke.
The chamber is a ruin.
Not just from the fire. Not just from the shattered altar. The walls are cracked, the runes flaking off like dead skin, the floor stained black with centuries of ritual. The air hums with residual magic—old, angry, *hungry*—and the smoke coils like living shadow, shifting, whispering, forming shapes that almost look like faces.
And in the center—
Her.
Not in flesh. Not in bone.
In light.
My mother—tall, silver-haired, her storm-gray eyes glowing—materializes from the smoke, her form shimmering, her presence a hum beneath the earth. She’s not solid. Not real. But she’s *here*.
And she’s angry.
“You brought them,” she says, her voice echoing, not from the air, but from the ground, from the walls, from my very blood.
“I had to,” I whisper. “She’s in danger. We all are.”
“And you think he can protect her?” Her gaze flicks to the doorway, to where Kaelen stands with the child. “The vampire? The predator? The one who feeds on blood?”
“He’s not what you think,” I say. “He’s not the monster they say.”
“And you know this how?” She steps closer, her spectral hand brushing my cheek. “Because he kissed you? Because he marked you? Because he let you live?”
“Because he *fights* for me,” I say, my voice breaking. “Not for power. Not for control. For *her*. For the child. For the truth.”
She studies me—really studies me—for the first time since I was a child. And then, slowly, she smiles. “You’ve grown.”
“I had to.”
“And the mission?”
“I don’t know what it is anymore.” I press a hand to the sigil on my spine. “I came here to kill him. To break the curse. To avenge you. But now—”
“—you’re not so sure,” she finishes.
I nod. “Because I don’t think he cast it.”
Her smile fades. “No. He didn’t.”
My breath hitches. “Then who did?”
“Veyth.” Her voice is low, deadly. “He used Kaelen as a vessel. Bound the curse to his blood. Made it unbreakable. And he’s using the child—your sister—to control the seal. To control *you*.”
“We know,” I say. “We have proof. A memory vial. It shows him casting the curse, using Kaelen as a conduit.”
“Then you know the truth.” She reaches out, her spectral hand brushing the child’s sigil on my spine. “But knowing isn’t enough. You have to *break* it. And to do that—you have to find her.”
“She’s right outside,” I say. “With Kaelen.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not *her*. The *other* one.”
My pulse hammers. “What other one?”
“The one hidden in the Winter Court’s catacombs,” she says. “The one Veyth stole. The one who carries the second half of the seal.”
“But the child—”
“—is a conduit,” she interrupts. “A vessel. But she’s not the key. She’s the *lock*. And the other girl—she’s the blade.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “Where is she?”
“In the lowest cell,” she says. “Surrounded by ice and shadow. Guarded by Winter Court enforcers. But she’s not just a prisoner.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “She’s your daughter.”
The world stops.
My breath. My heart. My soul.
“My… *what*?”
“You were sixteen,” she says. “You don’t remember. The memory was sealed. But you gave birth in secret. Veyth took her. Said she’d be safer with him. Said she’d be trained. Protected.”
“And you let him?” I whisper.
“I had no choice.” Her voice breaks. “He would have killed you. Killed Maeve. Killed everyone.”
My knees weaken. I press a hand to the stone, my vision blurring. A daughter. I have a *daughter*. Hidden. Used. In danger.
“You have to find her,” Mother says. “Before he breaks the seal. Before he turns her against you.”
“How?” I whisper. “The catacombs are guarded. The wards are too strong.”
“Lyria knows the way,” she says. “She’s been there. As his… guest.”
My breath hitches. “And if she lies?”
“Then you’ll know.” She cups my face. “Because you’ll feel it. In the bond. In your blood. In *her*.”
“And if I can’t save her?”
“Then you’ll die trying.” She leans down, her spectral lips brushing my forehead. “Because that’s what a mother does.”
And then—
She fades.
Not vanishing. Not dissolving.
Like mist returning to the earth.
And then—
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. wrong.
I press a hand to the stone, my breath coming in ragged gasps. A daughter. I have a daughter. And Veyth has her. And he’s using her to break the curse. To break *me*.
And I—
I didn’t even know she existed.
The door creaks open.
Kaelen steps in, the child still in his arms, Riven at his back. His crimson eyes lock onto mine—wide, searching, *afraid*.
“You’re pale,” he says.
“I just found out I have a daughter,” I say, my voice flat.
He freezes. “What?”
“My mother—she was here. In the smoke. She said Veyth took her when I was sixteen. That she’s in the Winter Court’s catacombs. That she’s the other half of the seal.” I look at him. “And that I have to save her. Or die trying.”
His jaw tightens. “Then we save her.”
“How?” I snap. “The catacombs are guarded. The wards are too strong. The traps—”
“—Lyria knows the way,” he says.
My breath hitches. “You knew?”
“I suspected,” he says. “She’s been there. As Veyth’s prisoner. His lover. His weapon.”
“And you think she’ll help us?”
“No.” He steps closer, his hand finding mine. “But I think *you* can make her.”
“How?”
“By showing her the truth.” He lifts my hand, pressing it to his chest, over the sigil I carved. “The bond. The curse. The child. The daughter. All of it.”
My breath hitches. “And if she still lies?”
“Then we kill her.”
I stare at him—really stare—and for the first time, I see it.
Not just the predator.
Not just the prince.
But the ally.
The one who fights beside me. Who stands with me. Who *believes* in me.
And in that moment, I know—
I can’t do this alone.
“Then we go,” I say. “Together.”
“Always,” he says, gripping my hand.
We return to the chambers—fast, silent, weapons drawn. The fortress is quiet—too quiet. No guards. No whispers. No flicker of magic. Just silence. And that’s worse.
The child stirs in Kaelen’s arms, her small fingers clutching his coat. “Are we leaving?” she whispers.
“Not yet,” I say, crouching beside her. “But soon. We have to find someone.”
“Another girl?” she asks, her storm-gray eyes wide.
My breath hitches. “Yes. A girl. Hidden. In danger. And I have to save her.”
She nods. “Then you’ll find her.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re strong,” she says. “And you’re not alone.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I don’t let them fall.
Because she’s right.
I’m not alone.
And I’m not just a weapon.
I’m a mother.
Riven appears in the doorway, his storm-gray eyes sharp. “Lyria’s awake. And she’s asking for you.”
My stomach twists. “She’s not to be trusted.”
“No,” he says. “But she’s afraid. And fear makes people talk.”
Kaelen nods. “Then we listen.”
We descend—fast, silent—into the lower levels. The air grows colder, the walls slick with damp, the torches flickering like dying stars. And then—
The cell.
Iron bars. Stone floor. A single figure slumped in the corner, bound in chains.
Lyria.
Her silver hair is matted with blood, her face pale, her lips cracked. Her gown is torn, her skin bruised, her wrists raw from the manacles. But she’s alive. And when she lifts her head, her eyes lock onto mine—wide, desperate, *pleading*.
“Help me,” she whispers.
I don’t move. Just stand there, my spine straight, my hands clenched at my sides. “You tried to kill me.”
“I was afraid,” she says, her voice weak. “Veyth threatened me. Said he’d kill my family if I didn’t obey.”
“And the sigil?” I ask. “The curse?”
“He used me to steal it,” she whispers. “Said it would awaken the Oath. That it would make you weak. But I didn’t know—”
“—that it would *free* you?” I snap.
“No.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t know it would *save* you.”
My breath hitches.
“The curse isn’t just a weapon,” she says. “It’s a balance. And you—” her gaze flicks to my spine—“you’re only half of it.”
“I know,” I say. “There’s another. A girl. My daughter. Hidden in the Winter Court’s catacombs.”
Her breath stops. “You know?”
“My mother told me.”
She closes her eyes. “Then you know she’s in danger.”
“And you know the way,” I say.
She nods. “I’ve been there. As his… guest.”
“And if you’re lying?” I ask.
She looks at me—really looks—and for the first time, I see it.
Not just fear.
Not just guilt.
But regret.
“I don’t expect you to trust me,” she says. “But I *do* expect you to save her. Because if you don’t—”
“—the Oath will consume us all,” I finish.
She nods. “And if you do—”
“—what then?”
“Then the curse can be broken.” She lifts her chin. “But not by hate. By *love*.”
My breath stops.
Just like my mother said.
Kaelen steps forward, his voice low. “If we let you out, you’ll betray us. You’ll go back to him. You’ll try to break us again.”
“I won’t,” she says. “Because I’m done being afraid.”
“Liar,” Riven mutters.
But I don’t care.
Because I believe her.
Not because of her words.
But because of the bond.
I close my eyes. Reach deep—into the magic, into the blood, into the curse. And then—
I feel it.
Not deception.
Not glamour.
Truth.
Raw. Unfiltered. real.
“She’s telling the truth,” I whisper.
Kaelen’s jaw tightens. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I open my eyes. “And if we don’t go now—she’ll die.”
He studies me—really studies me—for the first time. And then, slowly, he nods. “Then we go.”
“Together,” I say.
He grips my hand. “Always.”
And as we unlock the cell, as Lyria stumbles forward, as the fortress trembles with unseen threat—
I know one thing for certain.
He’s not the monster I thought he was.
He’s the only one who can set me free.
And I’m not letting him go.
Brielle’s Blood Oath
The night Brielle’s mother died, the sky turned black at noon, and the earth cracked beneath their ancestral grove. A single phrase was carved into the stone in blood: *“The Oath is not broken.”* Now, twenty years later, Brielle walks into the obsidian halls of the Fae High Court wearing stolen silks and a dagger forged from her mother’s bones. She is not here to plead. She is here to kill. Her target: **Kaelen D’Rae**, vampire prince and bloodmage of the Crimson Covenant, the man history blames for the curse that wiped out her bloodline. But when she strikes during the Eclipse Ceremony, the blade fails. Instead of death, a blood oath erupts from the ancient runes beneath the altar—binding her to him in a surge of magic so violent it leaves them both gasping, naked from the waist up, her wrists pinned above her head by his fangs at her throat. “You don’t want to kill me,” he growls, eyes blazing crimson. “You want to *claim* me.” And the worst part? She does. As their scents entwine and the bond pulses with raw, erotic power, she feels the curse *react*—not weaken, but *awaken*. Someone else is pulling the strings. And the only way to survive is to play the role of his devoted consort… even as desire claws through her resistance. By Chapter 3, she’s publicly marked as his. By Chapter 8, she’s straddling him in a ritual chamber, his hands on her hips, her breath on his lips—when a scream cuts through the silence. The game has changed. So has her heart.