The Council Chamber felt like a tomb after the ritual.
Not because of the stone. Not because of the vaulted ceiling ribbed with silver veins that pulsed like a dying heart. But because of the silence. The way it pressed against my skin, thick and suffocating, like a shroud soaked in blood. The twelve thrones stood in their ring, empty now, the Council members filing out in slow, deliberate silence. No whispers. No glances. No smug satisfaction from Malrik, no triumphant smirk from Riven.
Just silence.
And the echo of what I’d seen.
Not just the memories—mine, his, *ours*—but the way they’d bled together, how the blood-sharing had torn open the veil between us, how I’d *felt* it all: Cassia’s fear in the moonlit garden, her hand pressed to her belly, whispering, *“I think I’m pregnant.”* Me as a child, curled in the dark, her voice a lullaby: *“I’ll always protect you.”* And Kaelen—Kaelen, standing in his chambers, his voice raw, saying, *“I promise.”*
He’d promised her.
He’d promised to keep *me* safe.
And he’d kept that promise—for five years—by letting the world believe he was the monster who’d killed her.
I didn’t know whether to hate him or fall to my knees and weep.
I didn’t know whether to believe him or scream that it was all a lie.
But the bond had pulsed with truth. Not desire. Not magic. Truth. A deep, resonant thrum beneath my skin, like a bowstring drawn taut. And when I’d looked into his eyes after the kiss, when I’d seen the raw, unguarded pain there—
I’d believed him.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Because if he wasn’t the killer—
If he’d *protected* her—
If he’d carried that guilt for *me*—
Then everything I’d built—the mission, the fire, the hatred—was built on sand.
And I didn’t know who I was without it.
I walked through the tunnels beneath Geneva, my boots silent on the bioluminescent moss that lit the path. The obsidian carriage had taken us back to the surface, but I hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t looked at Kaelen. Hadn’t even acknowledged Silas when he’d offered me his arm to steady me. My head ached. My chest was tight. My lips still burned from the blood kiss, from the way his mouth had claimed mine, from the way the bond had *screamed* between us.
And now—now I was back in Blackthorne Keep.
The corridors felt narrower. The torchlight harsher. The guards bowed as I 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 my 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 overwhelmed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I don’t need your concern.”
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 black dress from the ritual 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 red silk gown—the one I’d worn at the wedding. The one that had defied tradition. The one that had made Kaelen’s eyes burn. I dressed slowly, 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 archives.
The vault was deep beneath the keep, accessible only by a hidden staircase behind the library. The walls were lined with shelves of ancient scrolls, bound journals, sealed ledgers—centuries of vampire history, politics, war. Most of it useless to me. But Cassia’s name had been missing from the official records. If she’d been here, if she’d been protected, the proof would be in the private logs. The ones Kaelen kept for himself.
And I hadn’t found them.
Not yet.
I reached the top of the stairs, pushing open the false panel that led into the library’s eastern wing. The corridor was empty, torches flickering in their sconces. I moved quickly, silently, my boots making no sound on the stone. I didn’t head for our chambers. Not yet. I needed to think. To process. To—
“Looking for something?”
I froze.
Lirien stood at the end of the hall, leaning against the frame of a side chamber, one hand resting on her hip. She wore a deep violet gown, the fabric clinging to her curves, her silver hair spilling over one shoulder. And around her neck—Kaelen’s ring. Still.
“We need to talk,” she said, voice smooth, like poisoned honey.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Oh, I think you do.” She stepped forward, graceful, predatory. “You found the dagger, didn’t you?”
My breath caught. “How do you know about that?”
She smiled. “I know a lot of things. Like how Kaelen kept Cassia’s locket. How he whispered to it every night. How he *cried* when they burned her.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She tilted her head. “Or am I the only one who sees him for what he really is? A man who plays the hero while letting innocents die?”
“He protected her.”
“Did he?” She stepped closer. “Or did he let her die so he could have *you*?”
My stomach twisted. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” She reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a small vial—crystal, stoppered with wax. Inside, a single drop of blood, dark and shimmering. “This is from the dagger. I took it before you did. And I know whose blood it really is.”
My pulse roared. “What are you saying?”
She uncorked the vial, holding it to the torchlight. The blood glowed faintly, threaded with gold—fae essence. Forbidden. Dangerous.
“This isn’t Cassia’s blood,” she said. “It’s *mine*.”
I stared at her. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She smiled. “Test it. Use your little witch tricks. See for yourself.”
My hands clenched. She was playing me. Taunting me. But what if—
What if she was telling the truth?
What if the dagger was a fake? A setup? A way to turn me against Kaelen?
“Why would you do this?” I asked. “Why frame me?”
“I’m not framing you,” she said. “I’m *helping* you. You think Kaelen loves you? He doesn’t. He pities you. He sees you as weak. As a liability. And when the time comes, he’ll sacrifice you just like he sacrificed her.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she said, stepping closer. “But you don’t have to be her. You could be *more*. You could take his power. His title. His bed. All you have to do is *choose*.”
“I don’t want his power.”
“Then take *mine*,” she whispered, pressing the vial into my hand. “Drink it. Feel what I feel. Know what I know. And then decide who you really want.”
I pulled back. “I don’t need your blood.”
She smiled. “But you’ll take it. Because deep down, you’re just like me. You want him. And you’ll do *anything* to have him.”
And then she turned, walking down the hall, her heels clicking against the stone.
I stood there, the vial cold in my hand.
The blood inside pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
I didn’t open it.
I didn’t drink it.
But I didn’t throw it away either.
Because for the first time since I’d entered Blackthorne Keep—
I wasn’t sure who the real enemy was.
The fire in my chest hadn’t died.
It had just changed direction.
And I didn’t know where it would lead.
But I would follow.
Even if it burned me alive.
I turned and walked toward the archives, my mind racing. I needed proof. Not just of Cassia’s innocence. Not just of Kaelen’s truth. But of *her* lies.
I reached the vault, the heavy iron door groaning as I pushed it open. The air was thick with dust and decay. I moved to the back wall, where the sealed logs were kept—protected by blood magic, accessible only to Kaelen. But I wasn’t trying to open them. Not yet.
I was looking for something else.
Something small.
Something stolen.
And then I saw it.
On the shelf beside the logs—a silver locket, no bigger than a walnut, etched with the sigil of the Winter Court. The relic from the cursed forest. The one I’d retrieved. The one I’d left in my satchel.
It wasn’t supposed to be here.
My breath caught. I stepped closer. The locket pulsed faintly, cold and rhythmic. And then—
A whisper.
Not words. Not sound. Just a presence. A pressure in the air, like the moment before lightning strikes. The bond flared—hot, sharp, a pulse between my thighs, sudden and deep. My nipples tightened. My breath hitched.
He was coming.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Just stayed there, my back to the shelf, my eyes closed, my body thrumming with the aftermath of what had almost happened in the forest.
“Athena.”
His voice was low. Rough. Not a command. Not a demand. A plea.
I didn’t answer.
“You need to come back,” he said. “The forest isn’t safe. Not alone.”
“Neither are you,” I snapped, finally turning. “You think I don’t see it? The way you watch me. The way your jaw clenches when I mention her. You’re obsessed with her. With her memory. With her *ghost*.”
He flinched. Just slightly. But I saw it—the way his nostrils flared, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I’m not obsessed,” he said, voice tight. “I’m *haunted*.”
“Same thing.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “Obsession is desire. Haunting is guilt. And I carry *both*. I carry the guilt of failing her. The guilt of letting her die. And the guilt of surviving.”
My breath caught.
“You think I wanted this?” he continued, voice raw. “You think I wanted to be bound to you? To love you? To *need* you? I didn’t. I fought it. I walked away in the library. I walked away in the hollow. Because I knew—*I knew*—that if I took you, it wouldn’t be you choosing me. It would be the bond. The magic. The fever.”
“And now?” I whispered.
“Now?” He looked at me, really looked at me. “Now I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s the bond. I don’t care if it’s magic. I don’t care if you hate me. I just care that you’re *alive*. That you’re *here*. That you’re not dead because of me.”
Tears pricked my eyes. Not from sadness. From rage. From the sheer, *injustice* of it all.
“You don’t get to say that,” I said, voice breaking. “You don’t get to play the martyr. You don’t get to wear her locket and say you didn’t love her. You don’t get to—”
“I didn’t,” he said, cutting me off. “I didn’t love her like that. She was like a sister to me. A friend. A ward. I protected her because she was innocent. Because she was *yours*. Because she asked me to keep you safe. And I failed her. But I won’t fail you.”
My chest tightened.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I whispered.
“I do,” he said, stepping closer. “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 crack split the air.
Not thunder. Not a branch. A snare.
The ground beneath me gave way.
One second I was standing. The next, I was falling—down, down, into darkness. My scream was cut short as I hit the bottom, the impact jarring my bones, knocking the breath from my lungs. Pain flared in my shoulder, my hip. I gasped, rolling onto my side, clutching my ribs.
“Athena!”
Kaelen’s voice, sharp with fear. Boots above. Then silence. Then—
A thud.
He’d jumped in after me.
Darkness. Cold. The scent of damp earth and something older—something metallic, like blood left to rust. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. My body was still thrumming from the bond, from the fight, from the near-kiss in the hollow. And now this.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice close. His hands were on me—gentle, searching—checking my limbs, my head, my ribs.
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing him away. “I don’t need your help.”
“Too bad,” he said, not letting go. “You’ve got a cut on your temple. And you’re bleeding.”
My fingers brushed my forehead. Sticky. Warm. Blood.
“Great,” I muttered.
“Sit still.”
He pulled a cloth from his coat, pressing it to my temple. His touch was firm, steady. His body was a furnace against my side. The bond flared—hotter this time, sharper. A pulse between my thighs. My breath hitched.
“Stop,” I said, pulling back. “Just—stop.”
“I can’t,” he said, stepping closer. “The bond is too strong. The forest is amplifying it. And you’re bleeding. Your scent—”
“My scent?” I snapped. “What, does it make you *hungry*?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “It makes me *afraid*.”
I stilled. “Afraid of what?”
“Of losing you,” he said, voice raw. “Of failing you. Of watching you die like I watched her die. I can’t do it again, Athena. I *can’t*.”
My breath caught.
And then—
Light.
Not from above. Not from fire. From *him*.
His eyes glowed faintly in the dark—red, molten, like embers in a dying fire. He reached into his coat, pulling out a small vial of bloodwine. He uncorked it with his teeth, then tilted his head back, swallowing a mouthful. The liquid caught the dim light, shimmering with gold—fae essence. Forbidden. Dangerous.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Buying us time,” he said, handing me the vial. “Drink.”
“No.”
“Drink it, Athena. It’ll stabilize the bond. Reduce the fever. Or we’ll both go feral down here.”
I hesitated. Then took the vial. The bloodwine hit my tongue like fire and iron. Warm. Thick. It carried a current—something electric, something *alive*. I swallowed, forcing it down. The liquid slid through me, pooling in my stomach like molten lead.
And then—*sensation*.
Heat. Pressure. A pulse between my legs, sudden and deep. My nipples tightened. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. The darkness blurred. All I could see was *him*.
His scent flooded my senses—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.
“You feel it,” he murmured. “The connection.”
“It’s not real,” I whispered, but my voice trembled.
“It’s the most real thing you’ve ever known.”
He reached out, his thumb brushing my lower lip. Just a touch. Just a spark. But it was enough.
The bond *screamed*.
Heat. Pressure. A pulse between my thighs, sudden and deep. My breath came faster. My body arched toward him, seeking contact. His hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer, until I was straddling his lap, my thighs bracketing his hips. The other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my face up.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
His eyes were molten gold now, the red receding, replaced by something fiercer, hungrier. His fangs glinted, just visible behind his lips.
“This isn’t about the bond,” he said, voice low, rough. “This is about *you*. About *me*. About what we’ve been fighting since the beginning.”
“Then stop fighting,” I whispered.
And then I kissed him.
It wasn’t slow this time. Not careful. It was *fire*. Teeth and tongue and desperation. He groaned, his arms locking around me, pulling me closer, until there was no space between us. The bond *screamed*—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel his thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
His hands slid down my back, under the curve of my ass, lifting me slightly, pressing me against the hard length of him. I gasped, my hips grinding down, seeking friction. He growled, his mouth trailing down my jaw, to the pulse point at my throat. I arched, offering myself.
“Kaelen—”
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his fangs grazing my skin. “Or I won’t.”
I didn’t answer.
I arched my neck, offering myself.
And gods help me, he wanted to take her.
He wanted to bite. To mark. To claim her in front of every root, every vine, every secret this cursed forest held.
But then—
He saw it.
In the reflection of a shard of broken glass caught in the moss—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.