The safe room was silent. Not peaceful. Not still. But sealed. No windows. No doors—only a single reinforced archway sealed with blood sigils that pulsed faintly in the dim light, like veins beneath stone. The walls were carved from black obsidian, etched with ancient wards that hummed with suppressed magic. The air was cold, sterile, thick with the scent of iron and ozone. No torches. No fire. Just a single silver orb suspended from the ceiling, casting a pale, unwavering glow that made shadows cling to the corners like living things.
I stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, back straight, refusing to let my breath betray me. My shoulder still ached from the fall in the forest. My temple throbbed where the stone had split the skin. And my lips—my lips still burned from Riven’s kiss.
It had been fire. Heat. A rebellion.
And now I was trapped.
Kaelen hadn’t spoken since he’d thrown me in here. Not a word as he’d grabbed my arm, dragged me through the keep, his grip iron, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. Not a sound as he’d pressed his palm to the archway, whispering the blood-seal incantation, the sigils flaring crimson before sealing shut behind us.
And now he stood on the far side of the room, arms crossed, back to the wall, his red eyes fixed on me—burning, unreadable. His coat was gone. His sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins like dark rivers beneath pale skin. His fangs were retracted, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his nostrils flared every time I moved.
He was furious.
No—worse than furious.
He was hurt.
And that terrified me more than his rage ever could.
“You don’t get to lock me up,” I said, voice steady. “I’m not your prisoner.”
“You’re my wife,” he said, voice low, rough. “And you just kissed another woman in front of me. In front of the entire garden. In front of the guards, the servants, the Council spies who were no doubt watching.”
“It wasn’t a declaration,” I snapped. “It was a moment. A mistake.”
“A mistake?” He pushed off the wall, stepping forward. “You let her touch you. You let her *kiss* you. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t fight. You just—took it.”
“And what if I did?” I challenged, lifting my chin. “What if I wanted to? What if I needed to feel something that wasn’t *you*?”
He stilled.
And then—
“You think I don’t know that?” he said, voice raw. “You think I don’t feel it? The way the bond twists every time you look at me like I’m the monster you came to destroy? The way it aches when you flinch from my touch? You don’t have to kiss another woman to tell me you don’t want me, Athena. You’ve been telling me that since the first night.”
My breath caught.
“Then why lock me in here?” I asked, voice quieter. “If you already know I don’t want you, why not just let me go?”
“Because I can’t,” he said, stepping closer. “Because if I let you walk away now, Riven will use you. She’ll turn you against me. She’ll feed you lies, twist your grief, make you believe I’m the villain in this story. And you’ll believe her—because you want to. Because it’s easier to hate me than to admit that maybe, just *maybe*, I’ve been telling you the truth.”
“You expect me to believe you?” I said, voice breaking. “You expect me to forget that you signed the decree that killed my sister? That you stood there and watched her burn?”
“No,” he said. “I expect you to *think*. To see beyond the surface. To ask why Malrik didn’t execute her himself. Why he needed *me* to do it. Why he needed the Eastern Coven’s name on the decree. Because it wasn’t about justice. It was about power. About making me complicit. About making me weak. And it worked. For five years, I’ve carried that guilt. For five years, I’ve let the world believe I was the monster. And for five years, I’ve kept *you* alive.”
Tears pricked my eyes. Not from sadness. From rage. From the sheer, *injustice* of it all.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I whispered. “You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”
“I didn’t,” he said, stepping closer. “I chose *you*. I chose to keep *you* safe. Even if it meant letting her go. Even if it meant carrying that guilt for the rest of my existence.”
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to claw the bond from my skin.
But all I could think was—he loved her like a sister.
And now he was bound to me.
Forced. Trapped. Just like me.
“You don’t get to protect me,” I said, voice trembling. “You don’t get to decide what I know. You don’t get to—”
“I do,” he said, cutting me off. “Because I’m the only one who’s not afraid of what we are.”
“And what are we?” I challenged, lifting my chin. “Enemies? Fated mates? Political prisoners?”
“We’re *alive*,” he said. “And we’re *together*. And that’s more than most people ever get.”
The bond flared—hot, deep, a wave of emotion that wasn’t mine. Grief. Guilt. Need.
And then—
A low hum filled the room.
Not from the wards. Not from the sigils.
From the bond.
It started in my chest—a slow, insistent pulse, a pressure behind my ribs. The fever. Not full. Not yet. But close. The safe room was sealed, warded, designed to contain magic, to suppress emotion. But it couldn’t suppress *this*. The bond didn’t care about walls. It didn’t care about silence. It only knew one thing: we were fated. And it wanted completion.
I clenched my jaw, fighting it. Fighting the heat pooling low in my belly, the way my skin tightened, the way my breath came faster. My nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric of my dress. My thighs pressed together, seeking friction.
Kaelen saw it. Of course he did. His nostrils flared. His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, to where my pulse beat in my throat.
“The bond,” he said, voice rough. “It’s getting stronger.”
“I can handle it,” I snapped.
“No, you can’t.” He stepped closer. “This room is warded to contain magic, but it’s also designed to amplify proximity. The closer we are, the stronger the bond becomes. And right now, we’re the only two people in a sealed chamber with no escape.”
“Then open the door,” I said. “Let me out.”
“I can’t,” he said. “The seal takes time to break. And if I do it now, while the bond is flaring, you’ll run. And Riven will find you. And this time, I won’t be able to stop her.”
My breath came faster. The fever climbed. My body was betraying me—heat pooling, breath shortening, skin too sensitive.
And then—
He moved.
One step. Then another. Silent. Predatory. Until he was close—too close. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, to smell him—dark earth, frost, bloodied roses. His presence pressed against my mind, not invading, but *unfolding*. A whisper. A breath. A hand sliding down my spine.
“Kaelen—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said, voice low, rough. “Don’t say you don’t feel it.”
“I feel it,” I whispered. “But I don’t want it.”
“Your body says otherwise.”
“My body doesn’t get to decide.”
“It already has.”
He reached out—slow, deliberate—and pressed his palm flat against the wall beside my head, caging me in. I didn’t pull away. Didn’t fight. Just stared up at him, my chest rising and falling, my lips slightly parted.
“You want me to stop,” he said. “Say it. And I will.”
I didn’t speak.
My silence was an invitation.
My free hand found my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress. I inhaled sharply, but didn’t move. My thumb brushed the dip of my hip, slow, testing. My breath hitched again.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
She turned her head—just slightly—until her lips were a breath from mine.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered.
And then she kissed him.
It wasn’t fire. Not teeth and desperation. It was hunger. Slow. Deep. Devouring. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, her body arching into his. He groaned, his control snapping. My arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly, pressing her against the wall. The wards hummed. The sigils flared. The bond screamed between us—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel her thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
His hand slid up her side, under the curve of her breast, then higher, until his fingers tangled in her hair. I tilted her head back, breaking the kiss, and trailed my lips down her jaw, to the pulse point at her throat. She gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
“Kaelen—”
“Tell me to stop,” I said again, my fangs grazing her skin. “Or I won’t.”
She didn’t answer.
She arched her neck, offering herself.
And gods help me, I wanted to take her.
I wanted to bite. To mark. To claim her in front of every ward, every sigil, every lie this room held.
But then—
I saw it.
In the reflection of the obsidian wall—her face. Not just desire. Not just need.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of herself.
Of what she was becoming. Of what I was making her feel.
And that—
That was the line.
I pulled back.
Not far. Just enough to break the contact. My hand still in her hair. My body still pressed to hers. My breath ragged.
“No,” I said, voice raw. “Not like this.”
She blinked, dazed. “What?”
“I won’t take you like this. Not with the bond screaming in your blood. Not with your mind torn between vengeance and desire. Not when you don’t know if you want me—or if you just want to destroy me.”
Her eyes darkened. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” I said. “Because if I take you now, it won’t be you choosing me. It’ll be the magic. And I want you. Not a spell. Not a bond. You.”
She stared at me. Then—anger. Hot, fierce, beautiful.
“You’re a coward,” she spat. “You don’t get to touch me and then walk away like some noble martyr. You don’t get to—”
“I don’t want to walk away,” I said, cutting her off. “I want to stay. I want to fight for you. I want to earn you. But not like this. Not when the bond is forcing us.”
She shoved me—hard. I let her. Stepped back, giving her space. Her chest heaved. Her eyes burned.
“You hate me,” she said.
“You don’t,” I said. “You hate that you want me.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned, snatching up the satchel, her movements sharp, furious.
And then—
She froze.
Her breath stopped.
Her eyes locked onto something at my neck.
I followed her gaze.
The locket.
I’d forgotten it. In the heat, the hunger, the need—I’d forgotten it was there. The silver chain, thin and old, the locket itself small, antique. Cassia’s face inside. Her dark hair, high cheekbones, haunting smile.
I’d worn it every night since she died. Hidden beneath my shirt. A secret. A penance. A promise.
And now it was exposed.
She reached out—slow, trembling—and snapped it open.
And there she was.
Cassia.
Smiling. Alive. Gone.
Athena’s breath came in short, desperate gasps. Her fingers tightened around the locket. Her eyes filled with tears—but not of grief.
Of rage.
“You kept this,” she whispered. “All this time. You kept her close.”
“Because she asked me to.”
“And you never showed it to me?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see it.”
“You didn’t think you’d want to see my sister’s face?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see it around my neck.”
She stared at me. The bond flared—pain, heat, truth.
And then—
She slapped me.
Not hard. Not cruel. But sharp. A crack in the silence. My head snapped to the side. I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“Did you love her?” she asked, voice breaking. “Did you love her?”
“No,” I said, turning back to her. “I protected her. I promised her I’d keep you safe. And I will. Even if you hate me. Even if you never believe me. Even if you never stop fighting me.”
She didn’t answer.
She just stared at the locket. At her sister’s face. At the promise I’d made.
And then—
She stood.
Not running. Not screaming. Just standing. Slow. Deliberate. Her eyes dark, unreadable.
“I need air,” she said.
And she walked out of the hollow.
I didn’t stop her.
I couldn’t.
Because for the first time in four hundred years—
I was afraid.
Afraid she might believe me.
Afraid she might not.
Afraid that if she did, I’d lose her anyway.
The forest was silent.
The fire between us?
It wasn’t just beginning.
It was consuming us.
And I didn’t know if we’d survive it.