The archives smelled of dust and decay—centuries of secrets pressed between crumbling leather and brittle parchment. My boots echoed too loudly on the stone floor, each step a betrayal in the silence. The silver locket pulsed faintly on the shelf beside the sealed logs, cold and rhythmic, like a heart that refused to die. I shouldn’t have come here. Not after everything. Not after the blood ritual, after the memories, after the way Kaelen’s truth had torn through me like fire through dry tinder.
But I had to know.
Was Lirien lying? Or was she the only one telling me what I didn’t want to hear? That Kaelen had let Cassia die so he could have *me*? That the locket wasn’t a promise, but a trophy?
I reached for the vial she’d given me—still clenched in my hand, cold against my palm. The blood inside glowed faintly, threaded with gold. Fae essence. Forbidden. Dangerous. A single drop could unlock memories, amplify magic, twist desire into obsession.
I didn’t open it.
But I didn’t throw it away either.
Instead, I turned to the sealed logs—the private records Kaelen kept, protected by blood magic only he could break. I ran my fingers along the spine of the nearest ledger, the leather cracked, the binding ancient. If Cassia had been here, if she’d been under his protection, there would be proof. A name. A date. A note.
And if there wasn’t—
Then everything he’d said was a lie.
I pressed my palm to the lock, testing it. Cold. Solid. The magic hummed beneath my skin, warning me back. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t supposed to touch this. But I wasn’t just a human liaison. I wasn’t just a pawn in their political games.
I was Athena Vale.
And I would not be kept in the dark.
I closed my eyes, focusing. Fire magic ran in my blood—suppressed, hidden, trained out of me by Maeve after Cassia’s death. *“You’re too dangerous,”* she’d said. *“They’ll come for you next.”* But now—now the bond was flaring, the fever climbing, my body thrumming with need and rage and something deeper, something *awake*.
I let it rise.
Heat pulsed in my chest, slow at first, then faster, like a drumbeat. My fingers tingled. My breath came shorter. The air around me shimmered, warping like glass in the sun. I pressed harder, pouring my will into the lock, into the magic, into the silence.
And then—
A crack.
Not the lock. Not the leather.
Me.
Fire erupted from my palm—not flame, not smoke, but *light*. A searing, golden-white burst that tore through the seal, splitting the magic like paper. The log flew open, pages fluttering, ancient ink flaring as if lit from within. I stumbled back, gasping, my hand burning, my heart pounding. The vial slipped from my fingers, shattering on the stone, the blood inside hissing as it evaporated into smoke.
I didn’t care.
Because there it was.
Cassia’s name.
Scrawled in Kaelen’s hand, dated five years ago: *“Cassia Vale. Protected under Eastern Coven sanctuary. Status: Hidden. Threat level: High. Father: Unknown. Mother: Deceased. Sister: Athena. Note: She fears for her sister’s safety. Requests continued concealment.”*
My breath caught.
It was real.
He *had* protected her.
He *had* kept her hidden.
And he *had* failed.
Tears burned my eyes—not of grief. Not of sadness. Of rage. Of the sheer, *injustice* of it all. She’d known. She’d known they were coming for her. And she’d begged him to keep *me* safe.
And he had.
At the cost of his name. His honor. His soul.
And I had called him a monster.
I turned, my chest heaving, my hand still burning. The archives blurred. The torchlight flickered. The bond flared—hot, deep, a pulse between my thighs, sudden and deep. My nipples tightened. My breath hitched.
And then—
Footsteps.
Not slow. Not cautious.
Running.
I spun, fire still crackling at my fingertips, my body thrumming with magic and fury. The door burst open—Silas, Kaelen’s lieutenant, his silver eyes wide, his fangs bared. Behind him, two guards, bloodied, their weapons drawn.
“Athena,” Silas said, voice tight. “You need to come with me. Now.”
“Why?” I snapped. “What’s happening?”
“Malrik sent a spy. One of his Dregs. He was trying to steal the logs. We caught him—but he’s not alone. There are more. And they’re coming for you.”
My stomach dropped. “Me?”
“You’re the key,” Silas said. “The bond makes you vulnerable. If they take you, they can force Kaelen to break. To surrender his seat. To dissolve the contract.”
I clenched my jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I *do*,” I said, stepping back. “I’m not some helpless human you can lock away.”
“You’re not,” Silas said, stepping forward. “You’re his wife. You’re bound to him. And if you die, he dies. And if he dies, the Eastern Coven falls. And if the Eastern Coven falls, war begins.”
“Then let it,” I spat. “Let them all burn.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me—really looked at me. And for the first time, I saw it. Not pity. Not disdain. *Respect.*
“You’re not what I expected,” he said. “He didn’t tell me you were a witch.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Not fully.”
“You just burned through a blood seal,” he said. “That’s not human magic.”
“It’s not witch magic either,” I said. “It’s *mine*.”
And then—
A crash.
From the corridor. Shouts. Snarls. The sound of steel on stone.
They were here.
“We need to go,” Silas said, grabbing my arm.
I yanked free. “No.”
“Athena—”
“I said *no*.”
I stepped forward, my hands raised, fire pulsing at my fingertips. The bond flared—hotter, sharper. Not just desire. Not just need. *Power.*
And then—
They came.
Three of them—Malrik’s Dregs, turned humans, their eyes black, their fangs bared, their movements too fast, too wild. The first lunged at Silas, slamming him into the wall. The second went for the guards, disarming one with a brutal twist, snapping his neck with a sickening crack. The third—tall, scarred, his mouth twisted in a sneer—charged at me.
I didn’t flinch.
I raised my hand.
Fire erupted—not a spark. Not a flicker. A *wave*. A roaring, golden-white inferno that tore through the air, slamming into the vampire like a battering ram. He screamed—high, guttural—as the flames consumed him, his skin blackening, his clothes burning, his body collapsing into ash before he even hit the ground.
Silas stared at me, his silver eyes wide.
The second Dreg turned, snarling, his fangs bared. I didn’t wait. I stepped forward, my hand out, fire surging through me, hotter, faster, *alive*. Another wave—this one aimed low, sweeping across the floor, engulfing his legs. He screamed, falling, rolling, but the fire clung, devouring, until there was nothing left but smoke and bone.
The first Dreg turned from Silas, his eyes burning with fury. He lunged—not at me, but at the logs, reaching for the open ledger, for Cassia’s name.
I didn’t let him.
I grabbed his wrist—bare skin to bare skin—and *pushed*.
Fire didn’t just burn.
It *remembered*.
And in that touch, in that instant, I saw it—his memories. Not his thoughts. Not his words. But *images*. Malrik’s voice, smooth as poison: *“Find the proof. Destroy it. Kill the sister.”* A hand pressing a dagger into his palm—Cassia’s dagger, the one Lirien had planted. A locket, small, silver, opening to reveal a face—*my* face.
And then—
Fire.
Not from me.
From *him*.
I released him, stepping back as he collapsed, his body convulsing, smoke rising from his skin. He didn’t burn to ash. Not like the others. But he wouldn’t wake.
Silas stepped forward, his voice low. “You just burned a vampire from the inside.”
“I know,” I said, my voice steady. My hand still burned. My chest still ached. But I didn’t care.
“No one’s ever done that,” he said. “Not even pureblood witches.”
“I’m not a witch,” I said. “I’m *more*.”
And then—
He came.
Kaelen.
He stood in the doorway, his coat flaring behind him, his red eyes burning with fury. His fangs were bared. His hands clenched into fists. He looked at the ashes. At the body. At the unconscious Dreg. Then at me.
His gaze dropped to my hand—still glowing faintly, smoke curling from my fingertips. His nostrils flared. His jaw clenched.
“You used magic,” he said, voice low, rough.
“They were going to kill me,” I said.
“You could’ve died.”
“I didn’t.”
He stepped forward, boots silent on the stone. “You broke the seal. You opened the logs. You fought Malrik’s men. You *burned* them.”
“And?”
“And you’re *magnificent*.”
I stilled.
He reached out—slow, deliberate—and took my hand. His fingers were cool, steady. His touch sent a jolt through me—not desire. Not fear. *Recognition.*
“You’re not just human,” he said, voice raw. “You’re *mine*.”
My breath caught.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say that. Not after everything.”
“I have to,” he said. “Because you need to know. You need to see yourself the way I see you. Fierce. Brilliant. *Powerful.* You didn’t come here to destroy me. You came here to find the truth. And you did. And now you’re not just my wife. You’re my equal.”
“I don’t want your praise,” I said, pulling my hand free. “I want the truth.”
“You have it.”
“Do I?” I stepped closer. “Then tell me why Malrik’s men had a locket with *my* face in it. Why they were sent to kill me. Why they thought I was a threat.”
He stilled.
And then—
“Because you are,” he said. “Not to me. To *him*. Malrik knows about the bond. He knows it’s stronger than he thought. He knows that if he can’t break us apart, he’ll have to destroy you. Because as long as you live, I’ll never surrender. And as long as I live, he’ll never have the Council.”
“So he sent assassins.”
“And failed.”
“Because of *me*.”
He looked at me—really looked at me. “Yes. Because of you.”
The bond flared—hot, deep, a wave of emotion that wasn’t mine. Pride. Awe. *Need.*
And then—
“We need to move,” Silas said. “More will come.”
Kaelen nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off me. “You’re not going back to the chambers. Not tonight. You’re staying in the inner sanctum. He won’t find you there.”
“I’m not hiding,” I said.
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re regrouping. Planning. And if he comes for you again—”
“I’ll burn him too.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Good.”
He turned, nodding to Silas. “Secure the archives. Destroy the bodies. And find out who else Malrik has on the inside.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Kaelen stepped toward me, offering his hand. Not a command. Not a demand. An invitation.
I hesitated.
And then—
I took it.
His fingers closed around mine—warm, strong, *certain*. The bond flared, a pulse between us, deep and resonant. Not magic. Not fate.
Something real.
We walked through the corridors, past guards who bowed but didn’t speak. The keep felt different now—lighter, sharper. As if the walls themselves had changed.
And when we reached the inner sanctum—the chamber beneath the throne room, warded, sealed, hidden—he didn’t let go.
He pulled me close, his free hand cupping my face, his red eyes burning into mine.
“You’re not just my fated mate,” he said, voice low. “You’re my queen.”
And then he kissed me.
Not fire. Not teeth. Not desperation.
But *truth*.
Slow. Deep. Devouring.
And for the first time—
I didn’t fight it.
I let him in.
And the world burned.