The war room was silent after Kael left, the torches flickering low, casting long, wavering shadows across the obsidian table. The air still hummed with the aftermath of our near-kiss—the heat of his breath, the press of his hand on my waist, the way my body had arched toward him before I wrenched myself away. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, aching throb, like it knew I was lying to myself.
I hadn’t come here to want him.
But I did.
And that was the most dangerous truth of all.
I pressed my palms flat against the cool stone, grounding myself. The familiar sting of blood welling beneath my glove helped. So did the sharp edge of the dagger in my boot, a constant reminder of who I was, what I’d come for. I wasn’t just a woman bound by magic. I wasn’t just a pawn in Kael’s game. I was Crimson Veyra. Daughter of Seraphine. Witch. Warrior. Avenger.
And I wasn’t done.
The raiders had been dealt with. The saboteur exposed. The ward lines secured. But this wasn’t over. Vexis was still out there. Nyx was still in the keep, slinking through the shadows in Kael’s shirt, wearing his ring like a brand. And I had proof—real proof—that my mother had been framed. That Kael had tried to save her. That he’d carried her last request like a wound for over a century.
But knowing the truth didn’t make it easier.
It made it worse.
Because now, I wasn’t just fighting a monster.
I was fighting a man who’d failed—just like me. Who’d been punished—just like me. Who’d survived—just like me.
And that made him dangerous.
Not because he could kill me.
Because he could *keep* me.
I turned to leave, but a flicker in the torchlight caught my eye—a shadow, too still, too deliberate. I tensed, my hand instinctively moving toward my dagger.
But it wasn’t Nyx.
It wasn’t Kael.
It was *her.*
Elara.
My mentor. My mother’s closest friend. The Seelie witch who’d gone into exile rather than swear allegiance to the Council. She stood in the corner, her form shimmering like mist, her silver eyes glowing faintly in the dark. A dream-walker. A ghost in the flesh.
“You’re late,” I said, voice tight.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve been hard to reach. The bond—it mutes your thoughts. Like a veil over your mind.”
“It’s not a veil,” I said. “It’s a *leash.*”
“Or a lifeline,” she countered. “Depends on how you wear it.”
I didn’t answer. Just crossed my arms. “What do you want?”
“To warn you,” she said. “Vexis is moving. He’s not done with you.”
My breath caught. “What’s he planning?”
“He’s going to frame you,” she said. “For theft. A sacred vampire relic—the Heart of Duskbane—is kept in the royal vault. It’s said to hold the soul of the first king. Without it, Kael’s power weakens. And if it goes missing…”
“He’ll think I took it,” I finished.
She nodded. “And if he believes it, even for a moment, the bond will fracture. The sickness will return. And this time, it might kill you.”
I clenched my jaw. “Kael doesn’t trust me.”
“No,” she agreed. “But he *wants* you. And that’s your leverage. Use it. Before he uses it against you.”
“And what if he doesn’t believe me?”
“Then you’ll have to prove it,” she said. “But be careful. Vexis has allies in the keep. Someone will help him plant the evidence. Someone you might not suspect.”
My mind raced. Lyra? Torvin? Riven? Even Kael’s most loyal enforcer could be bought. Or blackmailed.
“How much time do I have?” I asked.
“Not much,” she said. “The theft will happen tonight. During the change of the guard. The vault’s seal is weakest then.”
“And if I stop it?”
“Then you expose the traitor,” she said. “But you also expose yourself. If you’re seen near the vault, they’ll say you were there to steal it.”
I exhaled, slow and steady. Classic Vexis. No direct attack. Just a web of lies, each thread designed to strangle me slowly.
“Why now?” I asked. “Why not wait?”
“Because you’re gaining power,” she said. “You challenged Kael. You changed his mind. You showed the clans that he listens to you. And that makes you dangerous. To him. To Vexis. To everyone who profits from fear.”
I looked away. The torchlight danced across the maps, illuminating the eastern ridge, the ward lines, the Bloodfang Clan’s territory. I’d won a battle. But the war was just beginning.
“I can’t let this happen,” I said.
“Then don’t,” she said. “But don’t rush in blind. Watch. Wait. Let them make the first move.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then make them,” she said. “Set a trap. Use the bond. Let Kael *feel* the lie before it’s spoken.”
I turned back to her. “You’re asking me to manipulate him.”
“I’m asking you to survive,” she said. “And if that means using the bond, the truth, or even *him*—then do it. Because the moment you hesitate, the moment you let guilt or fear stop you, Vexis wins.”
She reached out, her translucent fingers brushing my cheek. The touch was cold, but it carried a whisper of warmth—memory, not magic. A mother’s hand. A sister’s comfort.
“You’re not alone, Crimson,” she said. “Not anymore.”
And then she was gone—dissolving into mist, leaving only the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine in the air.
I stood there, trembling, my skin still humming from her touch. The bond pulsed, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. I could feel Kael—he was in his chambers, awake, restless. Pacing. Thinking. *Feeling.*
And I could feel the truth in Elara’s warning.
The theft would happen tonight.
And I had to be ready.
—
I didn’t go to my room.
Instead, I moved through the keep like a shadow, my boots silent on the stone, my glamour a thin veil over my presence. The witch-mark on my palm burned beneath my glove, a warning. This was forbidden. To spy on the king’s enforcers, to watch the vault, to intercept a Council plot—any one of these could be grounds for execution.
But I wasn’t here for permission.
I was here for survival.
The royal vault was deep beneath the keep, accessed through a narrow passage lined with bloodstone and silver sigils. A single vampire sentry stood at the door, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
I didn’t approach.
Instead, I climbed to the upper gallery—a narrow walkway that overlooked the vault entrance from above. From here, I could see everything. The sentry. The seal. The flicker of magic that pulsed across the door every time the guard shifted.
And I could wait.
Hours passed.
The torches dimmed. The sentries changed. The keep settled into silence. The bond pulsed, steady, insistent, but no longer painful. Just… present. Like a second heartbeat I couldn’t silence.
And then—
A sound.
Soft. Familiar.
Footsteps.
I turned.
Kael stood at the end of the gallery, silhouetted against the torchlight, his coat whispering against the stone. Not angry. Not even tense. Just… *there.* Like he’d known I’d come. Like he’d been waiting.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low.
“Neither should you,” I said, not looking at him.
He stepped closer, his boots echoing in the silence. “The bond woke me. You were agitated. Angry. *Afraid.*”
“I have reasons,” I said.
“And you couldn’t tell me?”
“And if I had,” I said, turning to face him, “would you have believed me? Or would you have said I was trying to manipulate you? To gain power?”
He didn’t answer. Just studied me, his crimson eyes unreadable. “You think I don’t trust you.”
“I know you don’t,” I said. “And I don’t blame you. I came here to kill you. To burn your legacy to ash. And now I’m standing in your keep, watching your vault, waiting for someone to steal from you.”
His jaw tightened. “And why are you watching?”
“Because I know what’s coming,” I said. “And if I don’t stop it, you’ll lose more than a relic. You’ll lose your throne.”
He stepped closer, his presence pressing against me. “And how do you know this?”
“Because Vexis told me,” I lied. “In a dream. He wanted me to know I’d be blamed.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just stared at me, his gaze burning. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” I challenged. “Or are you just afraid of what it means—that I know things I shouldn’t? That I have allies you don’t control?”
He didn’t answer. Just reached out, slow, deliberate, and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers grazed my cheek, and the bond *screamed,* a wave so intense I swayed, my hands flying to his chest for balance.
He didn’t let go.
Just held me there, his hand on my face, his thumb tracing my jawline, his crimson eyes burning into mine. “You don’t get to keep secrets from me,” he murmured. “Not when they put you in danger.”
“And what if the danger is *you?*” I whispered.
He stilled. His grip tightened. “Then I’ll be the first to know.”
And then—
A flicker.
Below.
The seal on the vault door pulsed—once, twice—then dimmed. The sentry shifted, his hand moving to his blade.
“They’re coming,” I said, pulling back.
Kael didn’t argue. Just stepped to the edge of the gallery, his eyes scanning the passage. “Stay here.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not letting you face this alone.”
He turned. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“And you don’t get to protect me,” I shot back. “Not when protection looks like imprisonment. Not when it looks like *control.*”
He stared at me. The bond flared, a hot pulse that made my skin tighten. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Fine. But stay behind me.”
I didn’t answer. Just followed as he descended the stairs, silent, deadly, a storm wrapped in velvet.
—
The sentry was already dead.
His body lay crumpled against the wall, his throat slit, his eyes wide with shock. The seal on the vault door was broken—shattered, like glass. The door stood ajar, darkness spilling out like blood.
“They’re inside,” Kael said, voice low.
I nodded, my hand moving to my dagger. The bond pulsed, a slow, aching throb, like it knew what was coming.
Kael moved first, silent as shadow, his form blurring as he shadow-walked into the vault. I followed, my steps precise, my breath steady. The chamber was cold, the air thick with the scent of old blood and ancient magic. At the center stood a pedestal, and on it—
Empty.
The Heart of Duskbane was gone.
“They took it,” I said.
“No,” Kael said, crouching. “They didn’t.”
He reached beneath the pedestal, pulling free a small, silver-lined box. Inside—nestled in black velvet—was the relic. A smooth, obsidian stone, pulsing faintly with a deep, crimson light.
“A decoy,” he said. “They broke the seal, left the sentry dead, but they didn’t take it. Why?”
My breath caught. “Because they don’t want it. They want *me.*”
He turned. “And if you were found here—”
“I’d be blamed,” I finished. “For the theft. For the murder.”
He stood, the relic in his hand. “Then they’ll come for you. To frame you. To destroy you.”
“And when they do,” I said, “you’ll feel it. The bond will scream. You’ll know it’s a lie.”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, his presence a wall at my back. “You were right to come,” he said. “But next time, tell me. Before you run. Before you hide.”
“And if I do,” I said, “will you believe me?”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just reached out, slow, and took my hand.
Our fingers intertwined.
The bond flared—a slow, steady pulse, like a heartbeat.
Not a leash.
Not a curse.
A *promise.*
“Try me,” he said.
And for the first time since I’d entered the Obsidian Spire, I didn’t want to run.
I wanted to *stay.*
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t here to kill the Hollow King.
I was here to love him.
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.
Crimson’s Vow: Hollow King
The first time Crimson sees the Hollow King, he’s standing over a pyre where her mother’s name burns in silver ink—erased from history. She watches from the shadows of the Obsidian Spire, her witch-mark hidden beneath gloves, her breath steady, her heart a locked vault. She came to destroy him. Not to desire him. But when the Supernatural Council demands a unity pact between the last unclaimed fae-blooded heir and the vampire monarch, the ritual backfires. Their hands touch. Fire erupts in their veins. A bond—ancient, unbroken, *fated*—snaps into place. The council gasps. The Hollow King’s crimson eyes lock onto hers, not with rage, but recognition. “You are mine,” he murmurs, voice like a blade dragged over silk. “And I will not let you go.” Now, she is bound to him in name and magic, forced into his court, his bedchamber, his world of blood oaths and political knives. Every night, she feels his presence like a fever. Every day, she plots his death. But when a rival—his former blood-mate, the seductive vampire mistress Nyx—emerges from his past wearing his ring and whispering secrets of their shared nights, Crimson’s control wavers. Jealousy claws at her pride. Worse, she saves him from an assassination meant for her—proving her heart is already betraying her mission. Their bodies are tied by magic that demands closeness. Their souls are torn between vengeance and surrender. And the deeper they fall, the more they realize: the true enemy isn’t each other. It’s the Council that forged them into weapons—and will burn the world to keep them apart.