The blood on the map wasn’t mine.
I knew that the moment I touched it—cold, slick, still faintly warm. Vampire. Not Kael’s. Too thin, too sharp in scent—like rust and spoiled wine. Not the deep, earthy iron of his blood, the one that haunted my dreams and burned through the bond like a live wire.
Someone had been in the war room after me. Someone who knew the sabotage point. Someone who wanted me to *see* it.
A warning? A trap?
Either way, it changed everything.
I rolled the map carefully, sealing it in a lead-lined tube Riven had given me for sensitive documents. My fingers trembled—not from fear, but from the low, pulsing thrum of the bond, still raw from Nyx’s performance, from the sight of her hand on Kael’s chest, from the echo of her voice whispering, *He likes it when I scream his name.*
I clenched my jaw. I wouldn’t let her get inside my head. I wouldn’t let *any* of them.
But the truth was, I was unraveling.
The mission—clear, sharp, unyielding when I entered the Obsidian Spire—had blurred. I wasn’t just here to kill Kael anymore. I was here to survive the bond, to outmaneuver Vexis, to prove my mother’s innocence, and now—apparently—to stop a war before it began.
And somewhere in the chaos, I’d started to *see* him.
Not just the Hollow King. Not just the vampire tyrant who’d signed my mother’s death warrant. But the man who’d tried to save her. The man whose voice had gone rough when he said, *I’ve never wanted to ruin someone so badly.* The man who’d hesitated when Nyx touched him, who hadn’t pulled away, but hadn’t leaned in either.
I didn’t know what that meant.
But I knew this—my hatred wasn’t enough anymore.
I needed answers.
And the armory was the one place in this fortress where even kings went alone.
—
The armory was carved deep beneath the keep, a vault of black iron and enchanted steel. No torches here—only cold, blue witch-light embedded in the walls, casting long, skeletal shadows across the weapons lining the racks. Swords, daggers, polearms, crossbows—each forged with blood-oaths, each humming with dormant power. The air smelled of oil, ozone, and the faint, metallic tang of old violence.
I moved silently, my boots barely whispering against the stone. My witch-mark burned beneath my glove, a warning. The weapons here were alive. They remembered every kill, every betrayal, every oath broken. To touch one without permission was to invite madness.
But I wasn’t here for a weapon.
I was here for *him.*
And sure enough—there he was.
Kael stood at the far end of the chamber, shirtless, his back to me, running a whetstone down the length of a long, curved blade. His skin was pale as moonlight, his muscles taut and defined, every movement precise, controlled. A scar ran from his left shoulder to his right hip—a jagged, silver line, like lightning frozen in flesh. Another marred his ribs, thick and raised, as if something had torn through him and left its mark.
He hadn’t heard me. Or he was choosing not to.
I should have turned back. Should have left him to his solitude, his rituals, his secrets.
But the bond pulled me forward, a slow, insistent tug, like a leash I couldn’t see. My breath came shallow. My skin tightened. The scent of him—winter pine, dark earth, iron—filled the air, thicker here, unfiltered by fabric or distance.
I took another step.
The whetstone stopped.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, without turning.
“Neither should you,” I said. “This is a private armory.”
“And yet, you’re in it.”
“So are you.”
He turned then, slowly, the blade in one hand, the whetstone in the other. His eyes—crimson, endless—raked over me, slow, deliberate. “You’re looking for something.”
“I’m looking for answers.”
“About the blood on the map?”
My pulse jumped. “You know about it.”
“Riven told me,” he said. “And I know who left it. One of Vexis’s spies. Embedded in the northern garrison.”
“Then why haven’t you dealt with him?”
“Because I want him to think he’s winning,” he said. “Let him believe he’s guiding the game. Then, when he makes his move—” He drew the whetstone down the blade with a slow, lethal scrape. “I’ll cut him open.”
I stared at him. Cold. Calculating. Ruthless.
And yet—when he looked at me, something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Not possession.
*Hunger.*
Raw. Unchecked. *Alive.*
My breath hitched.
The bond flared, a hot pulse that made my knees weak. My skin burned. My nipples tightened beneath my dress. I wanted to step back. To run. To scream.
But instead, I stepped *forward.*
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I said. “Using him to find Vexis. What if he starts a war before you’re ready?”
“Then we’ll end it,” he said. “Together.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust *anyone.*”
“Then why let me stay?”
He set the blade down, the steel whispering against the rack. Then he stepped toward me, slow, deliberate, like a predator circling prey. “Because the bond won’t let me. Because I *feel* you—every lie, every fear, every time your pulse jumps when I get too close.”
“And what do you feel now?” I challenged, lifting my chin.
He stopped inches from me. His heat radiated against my skin. His scent wrapped around me, thick and intoxicating. “I feel your heart racing. I feel the way your breath catches. I feel the heat between your thighs.”
My face burned. The bond *screamed,* a wave of sensation so intense I swayed, my hands flying to his chest for balance.
He didn’t push me away.
Didn’t pull back.
Just placed his hands on my hips, slow, deliberate, and *pulled me closer.*
“You don’t get to say that,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“I don’t get to *lie,*” he said. “And the bond doesn’t lie. You want me. Even now. Even knowing what I am. Even knowing what I’ve done.”
“I don’t—”
“Liar,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the curve of my hip. “You’re trembling. Your scent—storm and iron—just spiked. You’re *aroused.*”
My breath came fast. His hands tightened. The bond flared, a wildfire in my veins, burning through every wall, every reason I had to hate him.
“You don’t get to want me,” I hissed, my voice breaking. “You don’t get to *touch* me.”
“I already do,” he said, stepping even closer, until our bodies were flush, until I could feel every hard plane of him, every beat of his heart. “And you? You *crave* it.”
I should have slapped him.
Should have shoved him away.
But instead, I tilted my head, my lips brushing his jaw, my breath hot against his skin. “Then take it,” I whispered. “If you’re so sure. If you think you can *have* me.”
He stilled.
Then, slowly, his hands slid up my sides, beneath my arms, until his fingers tangled in my hair. He tilted my head back, his eyes burning into mine. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” I dared.
He didn’t hesitate.
His mouth crashed down on mine—hard, desperate, *hungry.* Not a kiss. A *claim.* His tongue slid against mine, his hands fisting in my hair, his body pressing me against the weapon rack. A dagger clattered to the floor, but neither of us moved. The bond roared, a surge of heat so intense I thought I’d combust. My hands clawed at his back, my nails scraping over scars, over muscle, over skin that burned like fire.
He groaned into my mouth, deep and rough, and I felt it—the press of his erection against my thigh, thick and insistent. My breath caught. My body responded, heat pooling low, my core tightening, my thighs pressing together.
This was madness.
This was *suicide.*
But I didn’t stop.
I arched into him, my mouth opening wider, my tongue tangling with his. He tasted like blood and power, like danger and *home.* I hated it. I hated *him.*
But I couldn’t let go.
His hand slid down, over my hip, my thigh, then under my dress, fingers gripping the back of my knee, lifting my leg around his waist. I gasped, but he swallowed the sound, his mouth relentless, his body a furnace against mine.
Then—
A sound.
Footsteps.
We broke apart like criminals caught in the act.
Riven stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze flicking between us—the disheveled hair, the swollen lips, the way my leg was still hooked around Kael’s hip, the way his hand was still under my dress.
No words.
No judgment.
Just silence.
Kael stepped back, slowly, his hand sliding from my thigh. I lowered my leg, my breath ragged, my skin burning. The bond pulsed, a low, aching throb, like it knew the moment had been stolen.
“Report,” Kael said, voice rough, but controlled.
Riven didn’t look at him. Looked at *me.* “Northern scouts have confirmed the ward breach. At the eastern ridge. Just like you said.”
My heart jumped. I’d been right.
Kael turned to me, his eyes dark. “You knew.”
“I *guessed,*” I said, straightening my dress, my voice steadier than I felt. “But now we have proof.”
“And a saboteur,” Riven added. “One of Vexis’s men. We have his name.”
Kael nodded. “Bring him in. Alive. I want to look into his eyes before I rip out his throat.”
Riven hesitated. “And… the clans?”
“Let them come,” Kael said. “Let them test us.” He turned to me. “We’ll meet them together.”
I met his gaze. The air between us still crackled, thick with unsaid things, with heat, with *hunger.*
“Together,” I agreed.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stepped past me, his shoulder brushing mine, sending a jolt through the bond.
Then he was gone.
Riven lingered, watching me. “You’re playing with fire,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I whispered.
“He’ll burn you.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’ll burn him first.”
He studied me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. Not even Nyx.”
My breath caught.
“Be careful, Crimson,” he said. “Because the truth is worse than you think.”
“And what’s that?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re not the only one who’s starting to *want* this.”
Then he turned and followed Kael, leaving me alone in the armory, my heart pounding, my skin still humming from his touch.
I pressed my fingers to my lips. They still burned.
I had come here to kill the Hollow King.
But now, I wasn’t sure I could.
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
It wasn’t just the bond.
It wasn’t just the mission.
It was *him.*
And the terrifying, traitorous thought that maybe—just maybe—I didn’t want him dead.
Maybe I wanted him *alive.*
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.
I turned to leave, but something caught my eye—a glint of silver in the weapon rack.
A dagger.
Not just any dagger.
The one Kael had been sharpening.
I reached for it, my fingers brushing the hilt.
And then—
A vision.
Fire. Blood. A woman screaming. Kael on his knees, his hands bound, his face broken. A voice—Vexis’s—laughing. *“You couldn’t save her. And you won’t save her daughter.”*
I gasped, dropping the blade.
It clattered to the floor.
The vision faded.
But the truth remained.
Kael hadn’t just tried to save my mother.
He’d *failed* trying.
And Vexis had made him watch.
I stared at the dagger, my breath ragged.
He wasn’t just a king.
He was a man who’d loved and lost.
Just like me.
And now, we were both caught in the same web of lies, of vengeance, of *bond.*
I picked up the dagger, my fingers trembling.
Not to kill him.
But to protect him.
Because if Vexis had broken him once…
I wouldn’t let him do it again.
The game had changed.
And this time, I wasn’t just playing for survival.
I was playing for *us.*