The return to Blackthorne Keep felt like walking into a tomb.
Not because of the stone. Not because of the torchlit corridors or the vaulted ceilings ribbed with shadow. But because of the silence. The weight of it. The way it pressed against my skin, thick and suffocating, like a shroud. We hadn’t spoken since the forest. Not a word. Not even when the Council’s retrieval team found us—two silent figures emerging from the cursed wood, one clutching a satchel with a stolen Fae relic, the other with blood on his temple and fire in his eyes.
Kaelen hadn’t looked at me. Not once.
And I hadn’t looked at him.
But I could feel him. The bond still hummed beneath my skin, a low, insistent thrum, quieter now but deeper, heavier. It wasn’t just magic anymore. It was memory. The way his hands had gripped my hips. The way his fangs had grazed my throat. The way he’d said, *“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.”*
And the journal.
He’d offered me Cassia’s journal. Her handwriting. Her truth. And I’d dropped it. Let it fall into the ravine, swallowed by darkness.
I didn’t know why.
Maybe because I was afraid. Afraid of what I’d find. Afraid that if I read her words, if I saw her fear, her love, her final plea—I’d have to believe him. And if I believed him, then everything I’d built—the mission, the fire, the hatred—would collapse like ash in the wind.
And I didn’t know who I’d be without it.
Now, back in the keep, the corridors felt narrower. The torchlight harsher. The guards bowed as we passed, but their eyes lingered—on me, on Kaelen, on the space between us that crackled with unspoken war.
We reached our chambers. The massive oak doors loomed, carved with wolves and serpents. He pushed them open, stepping aside to let me enter. I didn’t thank him. Didn’t look at him. Just walked in, my boots echoing on the stone.
The room was as I’d left it—cold, vast, the fire in the hearth long dead. The bed, draped in black silk, stood like a monument to everything we weren’t. I dropped the satchel on the table, the relic inside pulsing faintly, like a dying heartbeat.
Then I turned.
He was still in the doorway, his back to me, one hand braced against the frame. His shoulders were tense. His jaw clenched. He didn’t move.
“You should rest,” he said, voice low, rough. “You’re injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s a scratch.”
He turned then, slowly. His red eyes burned in the dim light. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I’m not pretending. I’m surviving.”
He stepped forward, boots silent on the stone. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
“Yes, I do.”
He stopped a few feet from me. Close enough that I could smell him—dark earth, frost, bloodied roses. Close enough that the bond flared, a pulse between my thighs, sudden and deep. My breath hitched. I didn’t step back.
“You don’t hate me,” he said. “Not really.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You wouldn’t have stayed.”
“I have no choice.”
“You do,” he said. “You could’ve run in the forest. You could’ve fought me. You could’ve let the vines take you. But you didn’t. You stayed. And you let me touch you.”
My chest tightened. “The bond—”
“Wasn’t the only reason.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because he was right. The bond had been screaming, yes. The fever had been hot, yes. But I had kissed him. I had arched into him. I had *wanted* him.
And that terrified me more than anything.
“I need to be alone,” I said, turning away.
“Athena—”
“Just go.”
He hesitated. Then—
“There’s a Council meeting tomorrow,” he said. “Riven will be there. She’s challenging my seat.”
My stomach twisted. Riven. The werewolf Alpha. Silver-haired, ruthless, ambitious. She’d watched us in the Council chamber, her eyes sharp, calculating. She wanted Kaelen’s power. And now she saw weakness—me.
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded, then turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.
I didn’t move.
The silence pressed in. The bond hummed. My head ached. My shoulder throbbed. I stripped off my coat, my boots, my gloves, leaving them in a heap on the floor. The red silk gown from the ceremony was ruined—torn at the hem, stained with moss and blood. I didn’t care. I let it fall, stepping out of it, standing in the cold air in my underclothes.
Then I walked to the wardrobe.
I pulled out a black dress—simple, elegant, no frills. No red defiance. No challenge. Just survival. I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the buttons. My reflection in the mirror was a stranger—pale skin, dark circles under her eyes, lips still swollen from his kiss.
I turned away.
I needed air. Space. A moment to think.
I left the chambers, moving through the corridors, past guards who bowed but didn’t speak. The keep felt different now—colder, heavier. As if the walls themselves knew what had happened.
I found myself in the garden.
It was enclosed, walled in black stone, the paths lined with thorned roses that bloomed even in winter, their petals deep crimson, their scent sharp and intoxicating. Moonlight spilled through the arches above, silver and cold. I walked slowly, my boots silent on the gravel, my breath fogging in the air.
And then—
“You look like a woman who’s lost a war.”
I froze.
Riven stood at the end of the path, leaning against a marble bench, one hand resting on her hip. She wore a silver tunic, her long braid coiled over one shoulder, her golden eyes watching me with open amusement. A goblet of bloodwine dangled from her fingers.
“I’m not looking for a fight,” I said, voice steady.
“No,” she said, stepping forward. “You’re looking for answers. And you’re not getting them from him.”
“I don’t need your opinion.”
“You don’t,” she agreed. “But you need an ally. And Kaelen Duskbane isn’t one. He’s a tyrant. A liar. A man who lets innocents burn to save his own skin.”
My breath caught. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” She stepped closer, her scent filling the air—wolf musk, pine, something wild. “I know he signed the decree that killed your sister. I know he stood there and watched her burn. And I know he’s bound you to him not out of love, but out of duty. Out of *fear*.”
“He protected her,” I said, voice low. “He kept her safe.”
“By letting her die?” She laughed—short, bitter. “That’s not protection. That’s cowardice.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me.” She stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of her body. “Tell me what he told you in that forest. Tell me why you’re still with him.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is,” she said, voice dropping. “Because I can give you what he can’t. Power. Truth. *Freedom*.”
“I don’t want your freedom.”
“You will,” she said, stepping even closer. “When you realize he’s never going to love you. When you realize he’s just using you to keep his seat on the Council. When you realize that the only way out is to take it from him.”
My pulse roared. “You want his power.”
“I want justice,” she said. “And I want *you*.”
And then—
She kissed me.
Not gentle. Not soft. But fierce. Hot. A claiming. Her mouth was warm, alive, her hands gripping my arms, pulling me closer. I gasped, but she used the opening, her tongue sliding against mine, tasting, devouring. The world blurred. The garden, the moonlight, the roses—all of it faded.
And then—
A roar.
Not human. Not animal. But something deeper. Something primal.
Kaelen.
I tore my mouth from Riven’s, stumbling back. He stood at the entrance to the garden, his coat flaring behind him like the wings of some great carrion bird, his red eyes burning with fury. His fangs were bared. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Get away from her,” he snarled, voice guttural, inhuman.
Riven didn’t flinch. Just smiled, slow, knowing. “Or what, Duskbane? You’ll kill me? In front of your precious wife?”
He moved.
Fast. A blur of shadow and strength. He grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the wall, his forearm pressing into her windpipe. She didn’t fight. Just laughed, low and throaty.
“You don’t own her,” she gasped. “She can choose. And she just chose *me*.”
“She didn’t,” he growled. “She’s *mine*.”
“Not by choice,” Riven said. “By *bond*. And bonds can be broken.”
“Not this one,” he said, voice raw. “Not while I’m still breathing.”
And then—
He turned to me.
His eyes burned into mine. Not with anger. Not with jealousy.
With *fear*.
“Athena,” he said, voice breaking. “Tell me you didn’t mean it.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because I didn’t know.
The kiss had been fire. Heat. A release. A rebellion. But it hadn’t been *him*.
And that—
That was the worst part.
He dropped Riven, letting her slide to the ground. She coughed, laughing, wiping blood from her lip. “You’re weak,” she spat. “You think you can keep her? She’ll leave you. She’ll destroy you. And when she does, I’ll be waiting.”
He didn’t look at her.
Just at me.
And then—
He walked away.
Not fast. Not angry.
Slow.
Defeated.
I stood there, my chest heaving, my lips still burning from Riven’s kiss, my body thrumming with the aftermath of it all.
And the bond—
It flared.
Not with desire.
With pain.
And I realized—
I hadn’t just kissed another woman.
I’d broken his heart.
And I didn’t know if I could fix it.
Or if I even wanted to.