The keep was quiet in the hours before dawn—too quiet. Not peaceful. Not still. But the kind of silence that comes after violence, after revelation, after the world shifts beneath your feet and no one knows how to breathe in the new air. The torches in the corridors burned low, their flames flickering like dying breaths. The guards stood at their posts, rigid, watchful, their eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting another attack. The scent of blood still clung to the stones—faint, metallic, a ghost of the rogue wolf’s broken body dragged from the Grand Square.
And in the inner sanctum, beneath the throne room, behind layers of blood sigils and ancient wards, *she* slept.
Athena.
I stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, watching her. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, casting long, trembling shadows across the bed. She lay on her side, one arm curled beneath her pillow, the other resting on the empty space beside her—*my* space. The red silk gown was gone, replaced by a simple black nightgown, the fabric soft against her skin. Her dark hair spilled over the pillow like ink. Her breathing was slow, even. At peace.
And the mark on her throat—my bite—pulsed faintly beneath the collar, silver and red, a sigil of our bond. Healing fast. Too fast. Her magic was in it. *She* was in it.
I hadn’t slept.
Not since the Moon Festival. Not since I’d marked her in front of the entire city, since I’d told them all—*“This is my mate. My blood. My truth.”* Not since I’d felt her arch into me, moan my name, *trust* me enough to let me bite her.
And not since I’d told her—“Then I’ll let you go. But I’ll never stop loving you. And I’ll never stop waiting.”
I didn’t know if she believed me.
I didn’t know if *I* believed me.
Because the truth was—
I wouldn’t let her go.
Not now. Not ever.
Not after everything.
Not after seeing her burn through a blood seal. Not after watching her reduce Malrik’s assassins to ash. Not after feeling her hand in mine, her body against mine, her breath mingling with mine as we sat by the fire and spoke words I’d never thought I’d say.
She thought I was offering her a choice.
She was wrong.
There was no choice.
Not for me.
And not for her.
Because if she left—if she walked away from this keep, from this bond, from *me*—Malrik would find her. He’d break her. He’d use her. And I’d spend the rest of my existence hunting her down, dragging her back, chaining her to me if I had to.
But not tonight.
Tonight, she slept.
Tonight, she was safe.
And tonight, I would do what I should’ve done five years ago.
I turned from the doorway, closing it softly behind me. The corridor was dim, the air thick with the scent of old stone and dried blood. I moved silently, boots barely touching the floor, my senses sharp, my mind clear. The inner sanctum was secure. The wards were intact. But the rest of the keep? The archives? The council chamber?
Malrik had eyes everywhere.
And now that Athena had burned through his first wave of assassins, he’d send more. Not Dregs. Not cannon fodder. He’d send someone clever. Someone close. Someone I trusted.
I reached the war room—a circular chamber deep beneath the keep, its walls lined with maps, scrolls, and blood-sealed ledgers. The table in the center was carved from black obsidian, etched with sigils that pulsed faintly in the torchlight. Silas stood at the far end, his silver eyes scanning a report, his fangs retracted, his posture tense.
“You’re up early,” he said, not looking up.
“You’re up late,” I replied, stepping forward. “What do we have?”
He handed me the report—written in blood ink, sealed with my sigil. “The bodies are disposed of. The archives are secured. The logs are intact. But there’s something else.”
I scanned the page. Routine. Expected. Then—
“One of the guards,” Silas said, voice low. “From the eastern gate. He was seen speaking with a courier two nights ago. We didn’t think anything of it—couriers come and go. But after the attack, we pulled his records. His name is Dain. Human. Hired six months ago. No prior affiliations. But…”
“But?”
“His blood,” Silas said. “We ran a trace. Fae essence. Low levels. Masked. But it’s there.”
My jaw tightened. Fae essence. Forbidden. Dangerous. Used to enhance loyalty, to suppress free will, to bind a servant to their master. Malrik’s signature.
“Bring him in,” I said. “Quietly. No alarms. No guards. Just you and me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He left.
I stayed.
Stood by the table, fingers tracing the sigils, mind racing. Dain. A human guard. Hired six months ago—just after Athena arrived. Coincidence? Or design? Had Malrik known about the bond? Known that she’d awaken? Known that she’d burn?
And if he did—
How?
The bond was private. Sacred. Protected by ancient magic. Only the Council could force a blood-sharing ritual. Only Malrik had demanded it. And in that ritual—
I’d felt it.
Not just memories. Not just emotion.
Something else.
A presence. A whisper. A *leak*.
Like someone had been listening.
Like someone had been *feeding*.
I clenched my jaw.
Malrik wasn’t just watching.
He was *inside*.
And if he could listen to our bond, he could twist it. Break it. Use it.
And he’d use it to destroy her.
The door opened.
Silas entered, dragging Dain by the arm. The guard was young—no older than twenty-five—with close-cropped hair, a scar across his cheek, and eyes wide with fear. He stumbled, but Silas held him upright, shoving him to his knees before the table.
“You summoned me, my lord?” Dain said, voice shaking. “I’ve done nothing wrong—”
“Silence,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was low, calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that precedes violence. “You spoke with a courier two nights ago. Who was it?”
“I don’t know—just a messenger. Delivered a scroll to the eastern wing.”
“And what did you say to him?”
“Nothing. I just signed for it.”
“Then why does your blood carry fae essence?”
His breath caught. His eyes darted to Silas, then back to me. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I moved.
Fast.
One step. Then another. Until I was close—too close. Close enough to smell him—sweat, fear, and beneath it, the faint, cloying sweetness of fae magic. My fangs ached. My hands clenched. But I didn’t touch him.
Not yet.
“You’re lying,” I said, voice soft. “And I don’t tolerate lies. Not from my guards. Not from my men. Not from *anyone*.”
“I’m not lying—”
“Then let’s test it.”
I reached out, gripping his wrist. His pulse jumped beneath my fingers. I pressed my thumb to the inside of his forearm, just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. It welled—bright red, human—but threaded with gold. Fae essence. Glowing faintly in the torchlight.
“You see it?” I asked, holding his arm up. “You see the truth in your own blood?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at the gold thread, his breath coming fast.
“Who sent you?” I asked. “Malrik?”
“No—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not—”
I tightened my grip. Not enough to break skin. Not yet. Just enough to make him feel it. To make him *know*.
“You were planted,” I said. “Hired to watch. To listen. To report. And now you’ve failed. Because your men are dead. Because your master’s plans are unraveling. And because *she*—”
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper.
“—is still alive.”
His breath hitched. His eyes widened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “You know about the bond. You know about the fire. You know about *her*. And you’re going to tell me everything.”
“I can’t—”
“You *will*.”
I released his wrist, stepping back. “Silas.”
“My lord?”
“Bring the vial.”
He nodded, retrieving a small crystal vial from the shelf—a rare concoction, distilled from moonlight and bloodwine, designed to force truth from even the most guarded mind. One drop could shatter resistance. Two could break a man.
I uncorked it, holding it up. “This is truth serum. One drop, and you’ll tell me everything. Two, and you’ll scream it. I’d prefer the first. But I’ll take the second if I have to.”
Dain shook his head. “I won’t—”
“You don’t have a choice.”
I stepped forward, gripping his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He thrashed, but Silas held him steady. I tipped the vial—just one drop—onto his tongue.
He gasped.
And then—
Stillness.
His body went rigid. His eyes glazed. His breath slowed.
And then—
“Malrik,” he whispered. “He sent me. Six months ago. Said I’d be paid. Said I’d be protected.”
“What were your orders?”
“To watch. To listen. To report on the bond. On her magic. On… on the locket.”
My chest tightened. “The locket?”
“He wanted to know if you still had it. If you spoke to it. If you… loved her.”
“And what else?”
“To wait. To be ready. When the time came, to deliver a message.”
“What message?”
“That he knows,” Dain said, voice hollow. “He knows about the bond. He knows it’s stronger than he thought. He knows that if he can’t break you apart, he’ll have to destroy her. Because as long as she lives, you’ll never surrender. And as long as you live, he’ll never have the Council.”
My fangs ached. My hands clenched. But I kept my voice steady.
“And when was this message to be delivered?”
“Tonight,” Dain whispered. “After the Festival. When the keep was quiet. When she was asleep.”
I stilled.
He’d been waiting. Watching. Ready to deliver the message—*tonight*—when Athena was vulnerable. When I was distracted. When the bond was weakest.
And he’d failed.
Because she was awake.
Because I was here.
Because I’d already known.
I stepped back, releasing his jaw. “Silas.”
“My lord?”
“Lock him in the lower cells. No food. No water. No visitors. And seal the cell with blood sigils. I don’t want Malrik listening.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Silas dragged Dain away, the guard’s body limp, his mind shattered. I didn’t watch him go.
I turned to the table, fingers tracing the sigils, mind racing.
Malrik knew.
He knew about the bond.
He knew about the fire.
He knew about the locket.
And he knew that Athena was the key.
But he didn’t know one thing.
He didn’t know that I’d already lost.
That I wasn’t fighting to win.
I was fighting to *keep her*.
And I would burn the world before I let him take her.
I left the war room, moving through the corridors, my steps silent, my mind clear. The keep was still quiet. The torches still low. The guards still rigid.
And then—
A sound.
Not from the corridors.
Not from the cells.
From the inner sanctum.
A gasp.
A cry.
Her voice.
I moved.
Fast.
Blurring through the corridors, past the guards, past the wards, until I reached the door. It was sealed. Locked. But I didn’t stop. I slammed my palm against the sigil, whispering the release incantation. The wards flared crimson, then faded. I threw the door open.
And there she was.
Athena.
Standing in the center of the room, one hand pressed to her temple, the other clutching a dagger—Cassia’s dagger. Her breath came fast. Her chest heaved. Her eyes were wide, unfocused.
“Kaelen,” she gasped. “He was here.”
“Who?”
“Malrik. In my dreams. He… he showed me things. About Cassia. About the baby. About *you*.”
My chest tightened. “What did he show you?”
She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. I don’t know if I can trust what I see. What I feel. What *you* tell me.”
I stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “Then don’t trust it. Trust *this*.”
I reached for her—gently, carefully—taking her hand, pressing it to my chest, over my heart. It didn’t beat. Not like a human’s. But it *moved*. A slow, steady pulse, ancient, alive.
“Feel it,” I said. “This is real. *I’m* real. And I will *never* let him touch you again.”
She didn’t pull away.
Just stood there, her breath mingling with mine, her hand over my heart, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat.
And then—
She leaned into me.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
And I pulled her close.
Not roughly. Not possessively.
Gently.
My arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her against me, until her head rested on my shoulder, until her breath mingled with his, until the bond hummed between us like a second heartbeat.
We didn’t speak.
We didn’t move.
We just *were*.
And 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.
Even if it was her.