The fortress is a tomb.
Not because of the silence—though it’s thick, suffocating, like the air after a storm breaks. Not because of the shadows—though they cling to the corners, deeper than they should be, shifting when I’m not looking. No. It’s the *absence*.
The bond is gone.
Not weakened. Not frayed.
Gone.
I can’t feel Kaelen. Not his presence, not his heat, not the low, steady thrum of his heartbeat that used to sync with mine. I can’t sense the pull, the hunger, the way my blood used to sing when he was near. It’s like a limb cut off—phantom pain, but no real sensation. Just silence. And the worst part?
I don’t know if I’m relieved… or terrified.
I stand at the window of our chambers—*our* chambers, by law, by bond, by the Council’s decree—and stare down at the city of Vienna. Gothic spires pierce the clouds, fae markets glow beneath the Danube, blood bars hum with forbidden desire. It should feel like victory. We know the truth. Veyth cast the curse. Kaelen was framed. And we have proof.
But the proof doesn’t matter if the curse is stronger.
And it is.
I press a hand to the small of my back, where the sigil still burns—faint, erratic, wrong. It’s not fading. Not breaking. It’s *awake*. And without the bond to stabilize it, it’s feeding on something else.
Me.
The child—my sister—sleeps on the bed behind me, curled beneath the black silk sheets, her small body rising and falling with each shallow breath. The sigil on her forehead pulses—faint, but there—like a heartbeat. She’s not safe. None of us are. And I—
I don’t know what to do.
“You’re not sleeping,” Kaelen says from the doorway.
I don’t turn. Just keep staring at the city. “Neither are you.”
He steps inside, his boots silent on the stone. The firelight catches the sharp lines of his face, the shadows under his crimson eyes. He looks… hollow. Not weak. Not broken. But *empty*. Like the bond wasn’t just a leash.
It was a part of him.
“The wards are reinforced,” he says, moving to stand beside me. “Riven’s on watch. The child is safe.”
“And if Veyth comes?” I ask. “If he uses her? If he uses *me*?”
“Then we fight.”
“We can’t,” I whisper. “Not without the bond. Not without—”
“—me?” he finishes, his voice low.
I finally turn to him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Do I?” He steps closer, his heat pressing against me, his presence a wall of power. “You wanted to break it. You *did* break it. And now you’re afraid of what that means.”
“I’m not afraid,” I snap.
“You’re trembling.” His hand finds my waist, pulling me against him. “Your pulse is racing. Your breath is shallow. You’re afraid of *this*.”
“Of what? You?”
“Of *us*.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “Of what we are without the magic. Without the curse. Without the bond forcing us together.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s right.
And I hate him for it.
“I came here to kill you,” I say, my voice rough. “Not to—”
“—fall in love with me?” He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “You already did.”
I shove him. Hard.
He doesn’t move. Just stands there, his crimson eyes burning, his jaw tight. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do.” I turn back to the window. “Because I’m not letting you in. Not again. Not after—”
“—after I saved your life?” he interrupts. “After I drank the poisoned wine? After I stood in front of the Council and declared you mine?”
“You didn’t do it for me,” I say. “You did it for power. For control. For—”
“—you.” He steps behind me, his hands on my shoulders, his breath hot on my neck. “I did it because I can’t live without you. And if you don’t believe that—”
“—then I’m blind,” I finish, my voice breaking.
He doesn’t answer. Just pulls me back against his chest, holding me, his heartbeat steady, powerful, inhuman. And for a moment—just a moment—I let myself lean into him.
And then—
A knock.
Soft. Delicate. female.
We both freeze.
“Who is it?” Kaelen calls, his voice sharp.
“Lyria,” comes the reply. “I need to speak with Brielle. Alone.”
My stomach twists.
Kaelen’s grip tightens. “No.”
“Please,” she says. “It’s about the catacombs. About the girl. The one in the Winter Court.”
My breath stops.
My daughter.
She’s out there. Hidden. In danger. And Lyria knows where.
“I’ll go,” I say, stepping out of Kaelen’s hold.
“You don’t have to,” he growls.
“Yes, I do.” I turn to him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “If she has information—”
“—it’s a trap,” he says. “She’s playing you.”
“And if she’s not?” I ask. “If she’s telling the truth? If she can help us save her—save *me*?”
He stares at me—really stares—for the first time since the ritual. And then, slowly, he nods. “Then go. But I’m not far behind.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I whisper.
“I do.” He leans down, his lips brushing mine—just once, soft, *real*. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
And then he’s gone.
I open the door.
Lyria stands there—pale, trembling, her silver hair loose, her gown torn. She looks… broken. Not like the scheming noble who tried to kill me. Not like the woman who wore Kaelen’s shirt and smirked as I fled. Just… broken.
“You came,” she whispers.
“You said it was about my daughter,” I say, stepping into the corridor. “So talk.”
She doesn’t move. Just stares at me, her silver eyes wide, her breath shallow. “He’s not coming, is he?”
“No,” I lie. “He’s not.”
She nods, then turns, leading me down the corridor. We walk in silence—fast, silent—past the obsidian walls, past the flickering torches, toward the lower levels. The air grows colder, the scent of damp rising from the stone. And then—
She stops.
At a door—iron, old, its hinges rusted. She doesn’t open it. Just stands there, her hand on the handle, her breath coming fast.
“This is it,” she says. “The old ritual chamber. The one beneath the east wing.”
My pulse hammers. “What’s in there?”
“The truth.” She turns to me, her eyes wide, terrified. “But you have to see it for yourself.”
“Then open it.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. Not without you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s sealed with your blood.” She reaches into her gown, pulling out a small vial. Inside—liquid swirls, dark red, like blood, but *alive*. “The sigil on your spine. It reacts to this. To *her*.”
My breath stops. “You have her blood?”
She nods. “Veyth gave it to me. Said it would help me control you. But I didn’t use it. I kept it. Because I knew—”
“—you’d betray him,” I finish.
She doesn’t deny it. Just holds out the vial. “Put a drop on the sigil. It’ll open.”
I take it—cold, heavy, *alive*—and press it to the sigil on my spine. The moment the blood touches the mark, it *burns*—hot, violent, *wrong*. The door creaks open, revealing darkness beyond.
“Go,” she whispers. “You have to see.”
I step inside.
The chamber is a ruin—cracked walls, shattered altar, scorched runes. The air hums with residual magic—old, angry, *hungry*—and the torches flicker, casting long shadows. And in the center—
A figure.
Not moving. Not breathing.
Bound in chains.
And on her forehead—
A sigil.
Carved in blood.
The same as the one on my sister’s forehead.
My breath stops.
“No,” I whisper.
But it’s not my daughter.
It’s *me*.
Not flesh. Not bone.
In light.
A spectral version of me—taller, fiercer, her storm-gray eyes blazing—materializes from the shadows, her form shimmering, her presence a hum beneath the earth. She’s not real. But she’s *here*.
And she’s angry.
“You brought her,” 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 said you were here. That you had answers.”
“And you believed her?” She steps closer, her spectral hand brushing my cheek. “The woman who tried to kill you? Who helped Veyth steal the sigil? Who wore his shirt and smirked as you fled?”
“I had to know,” I say. “About my daughter. About the curse. About—”
“—him?” She tilts her head. “The vampire? The predator? The one who feeds from you?”
“He’s not what you think,” I say. “He fights for me. For us. For—”
“—love?” She laughs—sharp, mocking. “You think that’s enough? You think love can break a curse older than blood?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But I have to try.”
She studies me—really studies me—for the first time. 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 my mother. But now—”
“—you’re not so sure,” she finishes.
I nod. “Because I don’t think he cast it.”
“No,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean he’s innocent.”
“What do you mean?”
“He knows,” she says. “About the daughter. About the seal. About the balance. And he’s using you. Just like Veyth.”
“No,” I say. “He’s not.”
“Then why did he let you break the bond?” She steps closer, her spectral fingers brushing my neck. “Why did he stand by while you nearly died? Why did he let you walk into this trap?”
My breath hitches.
Because I don’t know.
And then—
The door slams shut.
Not with a crack. Not with a whisper.
With *force*.
I spin—my dagger drawn—but it’s too late. The sigils on the walls ignite—crimson, violent, alive—and the air hums with power. And then—
Laughter.
Soft. Cold. knowing.
From the shadows—
Lyria.
She steps forward, her silver eyes glowing, her gown no longer torn, her hair no longer matted. She looks… powerful. Not broken. Not afraid.
“You really believed me,” she purrs. “That I wanted to help you. That I cared about your daughter. That I was afraid of Veyth.”
My pulse hammers. “You lied.”
“Of course I did.” She smiles. “But you wanted to believe. You wanted to think there was someone on your side. Someone who saw you as more than a weapon.”
“And you don’t?”
“No.” She steps closer, her hand finding my wrist. “I see you as a *threat*. And threats must be eliminated.”
“Then why not kill me?” I snap.
“Because Veyth wants you alive.” She leans in, her breath hot on my ear. “He wants you broken. He wants you desperate. He wants you to *fail*.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
The spectral me fades.
Not vanishing. Not dissolving.
Like mist returning to the earth.
And then—
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. wrong.
Lyria steps back, her silver eyes burning. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she says. “You could have had him. You could have had power. You could have had *love*. But you chose vengeance. And now—”
“—I’ll die for it,” I finish.
She smiles. “No. You’ll live. And you’ll watch as he turns against you. As the bond breaks. As the curse consumes you.”
My fangs lengthen. My blood flares. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do.” She raises a hand.
And the world explodes.
Not with fire.
Not with force.
With sound.
A scream—high, piercing, inhuman—rips through the chamber, shaking the stone, rattling my bones. The sigils flare—crimson, violent, alive—and the curse surges, not through me, but through *her*. Lyria stumbles, her hand flying to her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
And then—
He’s there.
Kaelen.
Not with a flicker. Not with a whisper.
Like a predator who’s just found his prey.
He moves—fast, brutal, inhuman—and slams Lyria against the wall, his fangs bared, his crimson eyes blazing. “You don’t get to touch her,” he growls.
“You’re too late,” she gasps. “The ritual has begun. The curse is awake. And she—” her gaze flicks to me—“she’s already broken.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just snaps her neck.
Her body goes limp. Falls.
And then—
He’s in front of me.
His hands on my face, his breath hot, his eyes burning. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Then why are you crying?”
I don’t realize I am until he wipes a tear from my cheek. And then—
I collapse.
Not from pain.
From truth.
“She was right,” I say, my voice breaking. “You let me walk into this. You knew it was a trap. And you still—”
“—let you go?” He pulls me into his arms, holding me against his chest, his heartbeat steady, powerful, inhuman. “Because I knew you’d find the truth. Not from her. Not from me. From *yourself*.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That you don’t need the bond to be strong.” He cups my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “That you don’t need magic to fight. That you don’t need *me* to survive.”
My breath hitches.
“But I want you,” he whispers. “Not because of the curse. Not because of the bond. Because you’re *you*. And I’m not letting you go.”
And then—
A scream tears through the fortress.
Sharp. Desperate. Human.
We freeze.
The bond hums—low, insistent—but it’s different now. Not just magic. Not just desire.
Warning.
Kaelen pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. “We have to go,” he says. “Now.”
I nod, my fingers curling into his coat. “Then let’s end this.”
“Together,” he says, gripping my hand.
And as we run through the corridors, the fortress trembling with unseen threat, the curse pulsing between us like a second heartbeat—
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.