I find her in the library.
Not where she should be—curled in our chambers, fevered and trembling from the bond’s strain—but here, in the deepest vault of the fortress, surrounded by ancient tomes bound in blood-leather and ink that shifts like smoke. Moonlight spills through the arched windows, silver and cold, painting her in fractured light. She’s sitting on the floor, back against a shelf, knees drawn to her chest, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed. The mark on her shoulder glows faintly beneath the thin fabric of her dress, pulsing in time with her breath. The bond screams between us—a raw, frayed thing, stretched too thin, threatening to snap.
She doesn’t look up when I enter. Doesn’t flinch. Just sits there, still as stone, like she’s already given up.
And that—
That is unacceptable.
I close the distance in silence, boots soft on the stone, my presence a shadow among shadows. I crouch in front of her, close enough that I can feel the heat of her body, the way her breath hitches when I’m near. Close enough that the bond hums, a low, desperate thrum beneath my skin.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, voice low.
She lifts her gaze. Her eyes are storm-gray, sharp, defiant. “Neither should you.”
“I’m not the one running.”
“I’m not running.” Her voice cracks. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how I came here to kill you.” She swallows, hard. “And now I don’t know if I can.”
My chest tightens. Not from pain. From relief.
She feels it too.
The shift. The fracture in her mission. The way the hatred is crumbling, replaced by something softer, deeper, more dangerous.
“Why?” I ask. “Why can’t you?”
She looks away. “Because you might be telling the truth.”
“And if I am?”
“Then I’ve spent twenty years hating the wrong man.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know who to hate instead.”
I reach for her. Not to grab. Not to dominate. Just to touch—to brush a strand of hair from her face, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers. She flinches, but doesn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to hate anyone,” I say. “You can just… be.”
She laughs—harsh, broken. “That’s not who I am.”
“It could be.” I lean closer, my thumb brushing her cheek. “You don’t have to be the avenger. You don’t have to be the weapon. You can just be Brielle.”
Her breath catches. “And what if Brielle doesn’t know who she is without the revenge?”
“Then let her find out.” I shift, moving closer, until our knees touch, until the bond flares, hot and electric. “Let her feel. Let her want. Let her live.”
She looks at me—really looks—and for the first time, I see it.
Not just the anger.
Not just the grief.
But the fear.
“I’m scared,” she whispers.
“Of me?”
“Of this.” She gestures between us. “Of how much I feel when you touch me. Of how much I wanted to stay in your arms tonight, even after everything. Of how much I don’t want to kill you.”
My breath hitches. “Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is.” I cup her face, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You came here to destroy me. Fine. Do it. But not because you’re afraid. Not because you’re running from the truth. Do it because you’ve looked me in the eye and decided I’m guilty. Not because someone told you I was.”
Her eyes search mine. “And if I look and I don’t see a monster?”
“Then you’ll see a man.” I lean in, my lips brushing her temple. “A man who’s been waiting for you for centuries. A man who’d burn the world before he let you go. A man who dreams of your blood, not because he wants to feed, but because it sings to him like a lost hymn.”
She shivers.
“You say that like it’s supposed to make me feel better,” she whispers.
“It’s supposed to make you feel real.” I shift, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. “You think I don’t know what you’re going through? You think I don’t feel the same war inside me? I was built to control. To dominate. To rule. And then you walk in, dagger in hand, fury in your eyes, and the first thing I feel—”
I stop.
“What?” she whispers.
My thumb brushes her bottom lip. “The first thing I feel is relief.”
Her breath catches.
“Relief?”
“That I’m not alone anymore.”
Tears burn in her eyes. She doesn’t let them fall.
“You say these things,” she says, voice breaking. “And I want to believe you. But how do I know it’s not just the bond? How do I know you’re not just saying what I want to hear?”
“Because I could have taken you,” I say, voice rough. “I could have bitten you the moment you stepped onto that dais. Drained you. Claimed you in every way. But I didn’t. I waited. I let you fight. I let you hate me. Because I wanted you to choose me. Even if it took a hundred years. Even if it destroyed me.”
She closes her eyes. “Why?”
“Because your blood sings to me,” I say. “And I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.”
She opens her eyes. “And Lyria?”
“A pawn.” My jaw tightens. “Someone is using her to manipulate us. To break the bond. To turn you against me.”
“And the shirt? The mark on her neck?”
“Glamour. A fake. She’s trying to make you doubt me. Make you doubt us.”
“And if I still don’t believe you?”
“Then prove it to yourself.” I shift, pulling her to her feet, backing her against the shelf. “Touch me. Feel me. Taste me. Let the bond tell you the truth.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is.” I press closer, until our bodies are flush, until her breath fans my neck, until the bond screams between us. “You want to know if I’m lying? Then kiss me. Not because the magic compels you. Not because the bond demands it. But because you want to.”
Her pulse hammers beneath my palm.
“And if I do?” she whispers.
“Then you’ll know.”
She stares at me—eyes wide, breath shallow, body trembling—and for a heartbeat, I think she might do it. Might close the distance, might press her lips to mine, might finally let go of the war inside her.
But then—
A scream tears through the fortress.
Sharp. Desperate. Human.
We both freeze.
The bond flares—violent, electric—and I feel it—something dark, something wrong, pulsing through the wards, seeping into the stone like poison.
But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at me, her chest heaving, her eyes searching mine.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t make me choose.”
“You already did,” I say, voice rough. “The moment you didn’t walk away.”
And then I kiss her.
Not gentle. Not soft.
Desperate.My mouth crashes onto hers, my hands gripping her waist, pulling her against me as if I can fuse us together, as if I can make her feel what I feel, as if I can erase every doubt, every fear, every lie she’s ever believed.
And she—
She claws at me.
Nails raking my jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric, breath coming in ragged gasps between our mouths. She doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t fight. Just takes—her lips moving against mine, her body arching into mine, her pulse racing beneath my hands.
The bond explodes.
Heat coils low in my stomach. My fangs lengthen. My vision sharpens. And beneath it all—beneath the hunger, the need, the centuries of control—there’s something else.
Truth.
She tastes like fire and salt and something deeper—something ancient, something mine. Her scent wraps around me, dark amber and iron and something wild, and I groan, deep in my chest, as the bond syncs our hearts, our breaths, our very souls.
She pulls back—just slightly—her lips swollen, her eyes wide, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Why?” she whispers. “Why do you want me?”
“Because you’re the only truth in a world of lies,” I growl, my hands sliding up her sides, beneath her dress, fingers tracing the sigil on her spine. “Because you fight me at every turn. Because you still try to kill me, even now. Because you’re not afraid of me—you’re afraid of what you feel when I touch you.”
She shivers.
“And you?” she whispers. “What do you feel?”
“Hunger.” My thumb brushes the mark on her shoulder. “Need. Relief.”
“And if I let you in?”
“Then I’ll show you everything.” I lean down, my lips brushing her ear. “The truth about the curse. About your mother. About the ones who framed me. About the ones who want us dead.”
Her breath hitches.
“And if I don’t want to see it?”
“Then you’ll die.” I pull back, my eyes locking onto hers. “But not by my hand. Someone else wants you gone. And they’re getting closer.”
She stares at me—eyes wide, chest heaving, body trembling—and then, slowly, she nods.
“Show me,” she whispers.
And then her hands are in my hair, pulling me back to her, her mouth crashing onto mine with a hunger that matches my own. I lift her, pressing her against the shelf, her legs wrapping around my waist, her body arching into mine as the bond flares—hot, electric, erotic.
And when I slide my hand beneath her shirt, tracing the sigil on her spine—
She gasps.
“I want to taste every part of you,” I growl, my lips brushing her neck. “Every scar. Every secret. Every drop of blood.”
She doesn’t stop me.
Doesn’t push me away.
Just tilts her head, exposing her throat, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling with need.
And then—
The scream comes again.
Longer this time. Louder. Closer.
We freeze.
The bond hums—low, insistent—but it’s different now. Not just magic. Not just desire.
Warning.
I pull back, my hands still on her hips, my breath ragged. “We have to go.”
She nods, sliding down, her legs unsteady. “But this—”
“Isn’t over,” I say, gripping her hand. “It’s just beginning.”
And as we run through the corridors, the fortress trembling with unseen threat, the bond pulsing between us like a second heartbeat—
I know one thing for certain.
She came here to kill me.
But she’ll leave with something else.
Something neither of us expected.
And if I have my way—
She’ll never leave at all.