The Blood Codex rises from the cracked stone like a specter summoned by blood and bone. It’s not just a book—it’s a relic, bound in blackened leather that pulses with trapped magic, its edges lined with silver filigree that glows faintly violet. The air shivers around it, warping like heat over flame. This is it. The truth. The proof. The weapon I’ve been hunting since the night my world burned.
And Lysandra wants it more than I do.
She lunges first—fast, desperate, her fingers outstretched. But Kaelen is faster. He shoves me behind him, shifts just enough to intercept her, and slams his forearm into her throat. She stumbles back, hissing, red eyes blazing.
“You think you can stop me?” she snarls. “You, who stood by while I bled their coven dry? You, who did nothing while I stole her blood to live?”
Kaelen doesn’t flinch. “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t want to.”
“And now I do.”
He turns. Looks at me. “Get the Codex. I’ll hold them.”
I don’t argue. I move.
The moment my fingers brush the cover, the book shudders. A jolt of energy surges up my arm—cold and hot at once, like ice and fire in my veins. The sigils beneath my skin flare, glowing faintly, responding to the ancient magic. This book knows me. It remembers my blood.
And it wants to be taken.
I yank it free—just as a vampire lunges from the shadows, blade aimed at my back.
Kaelen intercepts him mid-leap, tackles him to the ground. They roll, snarling, fangs bared. Another attacker comes at me—this one a werewolf, eyes wild with bloodlust. I drop low, sweep his legs, and drive my knife into his thigh. He howls. I kick him in the jaw. He goes down.
But there are too many.
They keep coming—vampires, werewolves, Fae—Lysandra’s army, her private enforcers, mercenaries paid in blood and power. I fight like a storm, like fire, like vengeance given flesh. My magic flares—small bursts, instinctive, raw. A flick of my wrist sends one vampire crashing into a pillar. A whisper of a counter-charm makes another’s blade shatter in his hand.
But I’m not strong enough.
Not yet.
And then I see it—Kaelen, on his knees, blood pouring from a gash in his side. A Fae assassin stands over him, dagger raised, ready to strike.
No.
I don’t think.
I move.
I throw the Codex aside—out of reach, out of danger—and launch myself at the assassin. I hit him full force, knock him sideways. The dagger skitters across the stone. He grabs for it. I don’t let him.
I drive my knee into his ribs. Twist. Snap.
He goes still.
I turn—just as Kaelen staggers to his feet, clutching his side, face pale. “You idiot,” he growls. “The Codex—”
“You were dying,” I snap.
“I’m not worth it.”
“Shut up.”
I grab his arm, sling it over my shoulder, and half-drag him toward the center of the temple, where the Codex lies. “We’re not dying here. Not like this.”
He doesn’t argue. Just leans into me, his breath hot against my neck, his blood soaking through my clothes. The bond flares—hot, desperate, a scream beneath my skin. I can feel his pain. His fear. His need to protect me, even now, even when he’s the one who’s wounded.
And I hate it.
I hate that he matters.
I hate that I care.
We reach the Codex. I drop to my knees, press my palm to the cover. The magic responds—stronger this time. The book opens on its own, pages flipping like a storm-wind, until it lands on a single page.
Blackthorn Sanctuary. Ten years ago. Three vials. Witch-blood. Recipient: Lysandra Vale.
Proof.
But not enough.
Not yet.
“We need more,” I say. “Names. Dates. Transactions. Everything.”
Kaelen leans over me, his breath ragged. “Then take it.”
“How?”
“Blood magic. Your blood. The book will give you what you need—if you’re willing to pay the price.”
I look at him. “And what price?”
“Pain. Memory. A piece of your soul.”
I don’t hesitate.
I pull my mother’s dagger from my boot. Press the blade to my palm. Cut.
Blood wells—dark, rich, alive with magic. I press my hand to the open page.
And the book drinks.
Pain explodes—white-hot, searing, like fire in my veins. My vision blurs. My body arches. I scream—raw, broken, endless.
Memories flood me—
My mother’s hand in mine.
The fire.
The screams.
Lysandra, standing over the bodies, vials in hand, blood on her lips.
Kaelen, arriving too late, kneeling in the ashes, face twisted in grief.
Me, crawling from the fire, dagger in hand, vowing vengeance.
The book takes it all—every moment, every wound, every breath of rage—and in return, it gives me truth.
The pages flip. Faster. Faster. Names. Dates. Payments. Bribes. Lies. The entire network of corruption—Council members on Lysandra’s payroll, vampire enforcers, werewolf spies, Fae informants. Proof. Power. Justice.
And then—
The temple shakes.
Stone cracks. Dust rains from the ceiling. The runes flare—violet, then gold, then black. The magic is unstable. The temple is collapsing.
“We have to go,” Kaelen says, grabbing my arm.
“Not yet.”
I rip the page free. Tuck it into my boot. Slam the Codex shut.
Then I see her.
Lysandra.
She stands at the entrance, silhouetted by the mist, her face twisted in fury. “You think this changes anything?” she hisses. “You think a stolen page will destroy me?”
“It’s a start,” I say, rising.
“Then let me end it.”
She moves—fast, a blur of silver and shadow. I barely have time to react before she’s on me, slamming me into the altar. Pain explodes in my back. My head spins. The world tilts.
Kaelen roars—raw, feral—and charges.
But Lysandra is ready.
She throws a vial—shatters at his feet. Smoke erupts. He stumbles, coughing, eyes watering. She kicks him in the chest. He goes down.
Then she turns to me.
“You should have died with the others,” she says, grabbing my throat. “You should have burned.”
I claw at her hand. Kick. Twist. But she’s stronger. Older. Fed on my blood for a decade.
“You took everything,” I gasp.
“And I’ll take you too.”
She raises her other hand—claws extended, sharpened to a point. Aims for my heart.
I close my eyes.
Wait for the end.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead—
A roar.
Impact.
Lysandra is torn from me, thrown across the temple. I open my eyes—just in time to see Kaelen on top of her, fangs bared, blood on his hands.
“Touch her again,” he growls, “and I’ll rip your throat out.”
She laughs—weak, broken. “You love her. I see it. The bond has you wrapped around her finger.”
“It’s not the bond.”
“Then what is it? Lust? Pity? Guilt?”
“It’s her.”
He stands. Turns to me. “Celeste—”
And then—
The temple collapses.
A deafening crack. The ceiling splits. Stone rains down. I dive, roll, feel a chunk of rock graze my arm. Kaelen grabs me, pulls me close, uses his body to shield me as debris crashes around us.
Then—silence.
Dust. Smoke. Darkness.
We’re buried.
Trapped.
And the only light comes from the runes—still pulsing, still alive.
Kaelen groans. Shifts. His weight is heavy on me, but I don’t push him off. I can’t. My body aches. My magic is drained. My blood still leaks from the cut in my palm, the slash on my ribs.
“You alive?” he asks, voice rough.
“Barely.”
He lifts himself slightly, winces. “Side’s worse. Might’ve cracked a rib.”
“You’re lucky it’s not your heart.”
He chuckles—low, pained. “That was never in danger.”
I don’t answer.
We lie there, pressed together, the bond humming between us—weak, but still there. The air is thick with dust, the scent of blood, the faint ozone of magic. I can feel his heartbeat—slow, steady, strong. His breath on my neck. His heat against my skin.
And I hate that I don’t want to move.
“You shouldn’t have saved me,” I say.
“You shouldn’t have saved me either.”
“I didn’t. I was going for the Codex.”
“Liar.”
I don’t argue.
“You cut your hand,” he says, touching the wound gently. “Why?”
“To get the truth.”
“And was it worth it?”
“It has to be.”
He studies me. “You saw it, didn’t you? The memories. The fire.”
“I saw you.”
He freezes. “What?”
“In the blood magic. I saw you. Kneeling in the ashes. Too late. You tried to save them. You tried to save me.”
His breath hitches. “I failed.”
“You were there.”
“Not in time.”
“But you came.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me closer, his arm tightening around me. “I won’t fail you again.”
And I believe him.
That’s the worst part.
The silence stretches. The runes pulse. The bond hums. My body aches, but so does something else—deeper, hotter, harder to name. Need. Not just for survival. Not just for revenge.
For him.
I shouldn’t feel this.
I can’t.
But when he shifts—just slightly—and his thigh brushes between mine, I gasp.
His eyes flare. “You feel it too.”
“It’s the bond.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s magic. Biology. Not—”
“Not us?” He leans in. His breath is hot on my lips. “You kissed me in the ruins. You saved me in the fight. You bled for the truth. And now you’re lying here, pressed against me, and you’re telling me it’s not real?”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His hand slides up my side, under my torn top. “Don’t lie to yourself.”
“Kaelen—”
“Say it.”
“I can’t—”
“Say you want me.”
“I—”
And then he kisses me.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger and claim.
His mouth crashes onto mine—hard, demanding, desperate. I don’t fight. I don’t pull away. I kiss him back—fierce, falling, needing. My hands fist in his hair. My body arches into his. The bond ignites—hot, deep, electric. Magic surges through me, uncontrolled, raw. The sigils beneath my skin flare—bright, blazing, alive.
He groans—low, rough—and rolls, pinning me beneath him. His hands are everywhere—my hair, my waist, my hips. His thigh presses between mine, and I moan, loud, broken, his.
“You feel it now,” he murmurs against my lips. “Not magic. Not the bond. Me.”
“Don’t—”
“Don’t what? Don’t make you feel? Don’t make you want? Don’t make you mine?” He bites my lip—just enough to sting. “Too late, Celeste. You’re already mine.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes. You are.” He grinds against me, just once, and I cry out. “Say it.”
“I—”
And then—
The runes explode.
Light erupts—violet, gold, blinding. The ground shakes. The air hums. Magic surges, wild, uncontrolled, ancient. The sigils on my skin blaze—brighter, hotter, spreading across my collarbone, my throat, my chest. I scream—raw, terrified, ecstatic.
Kaelen pulls back—just enough to look at me. His eyes are wide. “You’re not just a witch,” he breathes. “You’re hers.”
“What?”
“The Blood Heir. The last of the Blackthorn line. But more than that—your mother… she wasn’t just a witch.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She was half-Fae. A descendant of the First Moon. That’s why your magic was dormant. That’s why it’s so strong. You’re not just a witch, Celeste.”
“Then what am I?”
He looks at me—golden eyes burning. “You’re power.”
And then—
The temple groans.
The walls crack. The ceiling splits. We’re running out of time.
He grabs my hand. “We have to go. Now.”
I nod. He helps me up. We stumble through the rubble, the Codex tucked under my arm, the stolen page burning in my boot.
And as we crawl out of the ruins, into the mist and moonlight—
I know one thing.
Everything has changed.
The fire. The blood. The vengeance.
It’s not just about justice anymore.
It’s about us.
And when he pulls me close, his blood on my hands, his breath in my hair—
I don’t pull away.
Because for the first time in ten years—
I’m not alone.
And that terrifies me more than any blade ever could.