The blood moon rose like a wound in the sky—swollen, crimson, pulsing with the weight of ancient magic. It hung low over Nocturne, casting the city in a dim, arterial glow, turning the spires of the Obsidian Spire into jagged teeth, the streets into veins. The air was thick with power—sharp, metallic, alive. Not just the moon’s pull. Not just the tide of supernatural energy that swelled beneath its light.
It was *ours.*
Kael and I stood at the edge of the Blood Garden, where the first of the new Blood Oath enforcers would be sworn in at midnight. The garden wasn’t a place of beauty. No flowers. No fountains. Just obsidian tiles set in a spiral pattern, etched with runes that glowed faintly beneath our feet. At its center, a stone basin—cracked, ancient, stained with centuries of blood—waited to be filled.
Our blood.
“You’re quiet,” Kael said, his voice low, rough. He stood beside me, his coat whispering against the stone, his presence a wall at my back. The bond pulsed between us—slow, deep, *alive*—a second heartbeat beneath our flesh.
“I’m thinking,” I replied.
“You’re always thinking,” he murmured, stepping closer. “But not like this. This is the kind of thinking that leads to peace.”
I turned to him, my storm-colored eyes locking onto his crimson ones. The moonlight caught the scar at the corner of his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his side—always ready, always restrained. “And if I don’t want peace?” I asked, my voice soft. “What if I want more?”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached up, slow, deliberate, and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch was warm, steady, *certain.* “Then you’ll get it,” he said. “Because I’m not giving you a choice.”
My breath caught.
He saw it. But he didn’t smile. Just stepped closer, until our bodies were almost touching, until I could feel the heat radiating from him, the pulse of his blood beneath his skin. “You don’t get to touch me,” I whispered, echoing his words.
“I already do,” he said, his thumb tracing my jawline, his voice rough. “And you? You *crave* it.”
My core clenched. My skin burned. The bond flared—a hot pulse beneath my skin, like a star collapsing in his chest.
But I didn’t pull away.
Just stayed there, pressed against him, my breath mingling with his, my body aching for more.
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.
—
The enforcers arrived at eleven.
Not in silence. Not in shadow.
In *light.*
Witches in blood-ink veils. Werewolves with silver collars. Vampires without UV lenses. Humans with no protection at all. They filed into the garden, their footsteps echoing against the obsidian, their breath visible in the cold air. Riven led them—his amber eyes sharp, his claws retracted, his posture rigid with pride. Behind him came Mira, Elias’s daughter, the healer who now oversaw the new Blood Oath clinic. And behind her—
The first human enforcer.
A woman, early thirties, her dark hair pulled back, her hands steady. No fangs. No claws. No glamour. Just a silver dagger at her belt and a sigil carved into her palm—the mark of the oath.
My breath caught.
Kael felt it. But he didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, his presence commanding the silence, his voice low, guttural. “You stand here not as subjects. Not as soldiers. But as *keepers.* Of truth. Of balance. Of the blood that binds us all.”
No one moved.
Just watched.
And then—I stepped forward.
Not with power. Not with magic.
With *truth.*
“The Blood Oaths were once a weapon,” I said, my voice clear, steady. “Used to control. To silence. To erase. But no more. From this night forward, they belong to *all* of us. Not just the vampires. Not just the purebloods. To every witch who’s bled for justice. To every werewolf who’s fought for peace. To every human who’s dared to believe in something better.”
The woman—the human enforcer—lifted her chin.
And I saw it then.
Not just courage.
Hope.
Real, unshakable, *earned* hope.
“And if you break the oath?” I asked, turning to face them all. “If you use this power to harm, to lie, to betray? Then the bond will turn on you. The blood will burn. The truth will tear you apart from the inside.”
“And if we uphold it?” Riven asked, his voice rough.
I turned to him. “Then you’ll be protected. By the bond. By the magic. By *us.*”
He didn’t nod. Just stepped forward and knelt.
Then Mira.
Then the human enforcer.
One by one, they knelt—not in submission, but in *unity.*
And when the last one lowered their head, Kael and I stepped to the basin.
“This is not just a ritual,” I said, drawing my dagger from my boot. The blade was still stained with blood—Nyx’s, Vexis’s, my own. But it wasn’t a weapon tonight. It was a *promise.* “This is a vow. Written in blood. Sealed by fire. And witnessed by the moon.”
Kael drew his own blade—a length of black steel, etched with the Duskbane sigil. He didn’t look at me. Just held out his hand, palm up, his crimson eyes burning.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just sliced my palm and pressed it to his.
The moment our blood touched, the bond *exploded.*
Not with pain. Not with fire.
With *light.*
A surge so intense I thought I’d die. My vision blurred. My heart pounded. My core clenched, *aching.* The runes beneath our feet flared—silver, then gold, then blood-red—and the basin filled, not with water, but with liquid light, swirling, merging, until it glowed with a power that wasn’t of this world.
And then—
We spoke.
Not in unison. Not in ceremony.
From the soul.
“By blood and bone,” I said, my voice echoing like thunder, “by fang and flame, by truth and fire, I swear—”
“—to uphold the balance,” Kael finished, his voice a low growl, “to protect the weak, to serve the just, and to stand as one, equal and eternal, bound not by fate, but by choice.”
The light pulsed.
And then—
It *moved.*
Not toward the enforcers.
Toward *us.*
The light rose from the basin like a serpent, coiling around our joined hands, our arms, our bodies, until it wrapped around us both, a living chain of fire and truth. The bond *screamed,* a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to hate him.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard.
Desperate.
*Needing.*
My hands flew to his hair, not to push him away, but to hold on. My body arched into his, my breath hot against his lips. The light flared, the runes ignited, the moon above pulsed like a heartbeat.
And when I finally pulled back, breathless, my forehead resting against his, I whispered the only truth that mattered:
“Equal,” I said. “Eternal. Bound.”
He didn’t answer.
Just held me, my fingers digging into his coat, my body still trembling from the aftershocks.
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t here to destroy the Hollow King.
I was here to *save* him.
And I’d let the world try to break her.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He didn’t move. Just stayed in my arms, my breath warm against my neck.
And then—softly—I said, “Prove it.”
—
The enforcers stepped forward one by one.
Riven first.
He didn’t speak. Just sliced his palm and pressed it to the basin. The light flared, coiling around his arm, searing the oath into his skin. He didn’t flinch. Just stood there, his amber eyes burning, his jaw tight.
Then Mira.
Her hands trembled as she cut her palm, but her voice was steady as she spoke the vow. The light wrapped around her like a lover, gentle, reverent.
Then the human enforcer.
She didn’t kneel. Didn’t bow.
Just stepped forward, sliced her palm, and said, “I swear to protect. To serve. To *believe.*”
The light hesitated.
Just for a second.
And then—
It *embraced* her.
Not as an afterthought. Not as a test.
As an equal.
The garden erupted.
Not with cheers. Not with shouts.
With *silence.*
A silence so deep it felt like the world had stopped breathing. And then—
A single clap.
Then another.
And then—the entire garden was alive with sound. Laughter. Tears. The clink of steel against stone as enforcers raised their daggers in salute.
And in the center of it all—
Us.
Still joined. Still burning. Still *bound.*
—
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I stood at the balcony, barefoot on cold obsidian, my gown gone, my witch-mark glowing faintly beneath my palm. The city below was alive—lights flickering in the undercity, voices rising in song, the scent of burning blood and fae dreams replaced by something sweeter. Something *clean.*
Kael came up behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. “You’re thinking,” he said.
“I’m always thinking,” I replied.
“Not like this,” he said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “This is the kind of thinking that leads to peace.”
I leaned into him, my body a furnace against his. “Then let’s make it last.”
He didn’t answer.
Just held me, his arms tight around my waist, his breath warm against my skin.
And for the first time since I’d entered the Obsidian Spire, I didn’t feel the need to run.
Because I wasn’t alone.
I had him.
I had the truth.
And I had my mother’s name.
And that—more than any blade, more than any bond—was the one thing I couldn’t afford to lose.