The Council chamber was a cathedral of bone and shadow.
Twelve thrones carved from black marble rose in a semicircle beneath a vaulted ceiling ribbed with glowing veins of fae crystal. The air hummed with power—old, brittle, and sharp as a scalpel. I stood at the center of the dais, flanked by Kaelen, his presence a cold flame at my side. My heart hadn’t slowed since the sirens. It pounded like a war drum, a frantic rhythm beneath the weight of twelve pairs of eyes—some golden, some silver, some red as fresh blood.
They were judging me. Already.
“The bond has ignited,” intoned a voice like cracked stone. The speaker was a vampire elder, ancient and gaunt, seated at the center. Lord Malrik. His skin was stretched too tight over his skull, his eyes sunken pits of obsidian. He wore a ring etched with serpents—a Blood Tribunal sigil. My stomach twisted. He had presided over Cassia’s trial. He had laughed when they lit the pyre.
And now he was looking at me like I was a problem to be dissected.
“A human,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “And a vampire. An impossible pairing. A violation of natural order.”
“The bond doesn’t care for order,” Kaelen said, voice calm, controlled. But I felt the tension in his arm where it pressed against mine. “It doesn’t ask permission. It *claims*.”
“Then it must be severed,” snapped a werewolf Alpha, her silver hair braided with iron beads. Riven. I recognized her from the dossiers Maeve had given me. Ambitious. Ruthless. She wanted Kaelen’s seat on the Council. And now she saw weakness—me. A human, bound to a warlord. A liability.
“Severing a fated bond is suicide,” said a Fae woman, her voice like wind through glass. Maeve had warned me about her—Lady Elara of the Twilight Court. Her lips were stained violet, her eyes too large, too knowing. “The backlash would kill them both. And destabilize the Eastern Coven. Is that what you want, Alpha Riven? War on your doorstep?”
Riven’s lip curled, but she said nothing.
Malrik steepled his fingers. “Then we must contain it. Control it. A union.”
My breath caught.
“A political marriage,” he continued. “One year. Contractual. Binding by blood and vow. To prevent chaos. To maintain the Veil.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, voice sharp. “I’m not some pawn to be traded in your games.”
“You are *exactly* that,” Malrik replied, cold. “You entered Blackthorne Keep without authorization. You witnessed a sacred ritual. And now you are bound to one of the most powerful vampires in Europe. Your existence is a threat. This marriage is the only thing standing between peace and war.”
I turned to Kaelen. “You knew this would happen.”
He didn’t look at me. “I suspected.”
“And you didn’t *warn* me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
Yes. No. Maybe. The bond thrummed between us, a live wire beneath my skin. I could feel his pulse, not in his wrist, but in the air around us, in the space between our breaths. It was maddening. Unnatural.
“The ritual begins now,” Malrik said. “No delays. No objections.”
A hush fell. Two vampire attendants stepped forward, bearing a silver platter. On it lay a dagger—obsidian hilt, blade forged from moonsteel. And two crystal goblets, filled with a dark, shimmering liquid.
Blood.
Kaelen’s blood.
My stomach lurched.
“The contract is sealed with a blood kiss,” Elara said, almost gently. “Mouth to mouth. Shared essence. The bond will deepen. You will feel each other’s thoughts, desires, fears. It cannot be faked. It cannot be refused.”
“And if we refuse?” I asked.
“Then you will be executed,” Malrik said. “For treason. For endangering the Veil.”
Kaelen finally looked at me. His red eyes were unreadable, but his voice was low, urgent. “Do it, Athena. Survive. We’ll fight this later.”
I wanted to slap him. To scream. To tear the bond from my body with my bare hands.
But I didn’t.
I nodded.
The attendants stepped back. The dagger was placed between us. Kaelen reached for it first. With a swift, practiced motion, he dragged the blade across his palm. Dark blood welled, thick and glossy. He held his hand over one goblet, letting the drops fall like rain.
Then he turned to me.
“Your turn,” he said.
I hesitated. My hands were shaking. Not from fear—from rage. From the sheer, *injustice* of it all. I had come here to expose him, to destroy him. And now I was being forced to *kiss* him? To *drink* his blood? To let him inside my mind?
But I took the dagger.
The blade bit into my skin. A thin line of red bloomed across my palm. I held it over the second goblet. My blood was bright, human, alive. It looked fragile next to his.
Then the attendants lifted the goblets. They didn’t hand them to us. They brought them to our lips.
“Drink,” Malrik commanded.
Kaelen drank first. His lips wrapped around the rim, his throat moving as he swallowed. His eyes never left mine. Then it was my turn.
The blood hit my tongue like fire and iron.
It was warm. Thick. It carried a current—something electric, something *alive*. I gagged, but forced myself to swallow. Once. Twice. The liquid slid down my throat, 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 chamber blurred. The Council members faded into shadows.
All I could see was *him*.
His scent flooded my senses—dark earth, frost, and something sweet, like 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.”
Malrik rose. “Now—the kiss. Seal the contract.”
Kaelen stepped closer. His hand found my waist, pulling me against him. I stiffened. He was hard, unyielding, his body radiating cold heat. His other hand cupped my jaw, 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 love,” he said, voice low, rough. “It’s about survival. But don’t think for one second that I won’t take what I want from you.”
And then he kissed me.
His lips were cold at first—like marble, like death. But then they warmed, pressing against mine with a force that stole my breath. I tried to pull back, but his hand on my jaw held me in place. His other arm locked around my waist, caging me.
And then—his fangs.
He bit my lower lip. Just enough to pierce. A sharp sting, then warmth as my blood filled his mouth. I gasped, but he used the opening, his tongue sliding against mine, tasting, claiming.
And the *sensation*—
It wasn’t just physical. It was *psychic*.
I saw flashes—images, emotions, memories that weren’t mine.
A cold room. A woman with dark hair, her face streaked with tears. Cassia. She was pleading with him. *“You have to protect her. Promise me.”*
Kaelen’s voice, rough with grief. *“I promise.”*
Then—fire. Screams. The scent of burning flesh.
I tore my mouth from his, gasping, staggering back. My lip throbbed. Blood smeared my chin.
“What was that?” I demanded, voice shaking. “What did I just see?”
Kaelen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still burning. “The bond. It shares more than desire. It shares *truth*.”
“You knew her,” I whispered. “You *knew* her.”
“I did,” he said. “And I failed her.”
“You let her die.”
“I tried to save her.”
“Then why—”
“Enough!” Malrik slammed his fist on the armrest. “The contract is sealed. The marriage is binding. One year. One bed. One bite. Or the bond turns toxic. Fever. Madness. Death.”
I turned to him. “You’re enjoying this.”
He smiled, thin and cruel. “I enjoy order. And you, Athena, are chaos.”
Kaelen stepped forward, placing himself between us. “She is under my protection now. Touch her, and you answer to me.”
Malrik’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
“It’s done,” Elara said, rising. “Let the union be recorded. May the Veil hold.”
The other Council members murmured assent. The thrones emptied. The attendants collected the goblets. The chamber began to clear.
But Kaelen didn’t move. He turned to me, his expression unreadable.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
He grabbed my wrist—gently, but firmly—and pulled me toward the exit. I stumbled after him, my mind reeling. The bond hummed beneath my skin, a constant, aching presence. I could still taste his blood. Still feel the echo of his tongue in my mouth.
And the memory—Cassia, begging him to protect me.
Was it real? Or a trick?
We walked in silence 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.
Finally, we reached his chambers.
Massive doors of black oak, carved with wolves and serpents. He pushed them open, stepping aside to let me enter.
The room was vast—high ceilings, stone walls lined with books, a hearth with a fire already burning. A four-poster bed dominated the center, draped in black silk. Our bed.
Our *contract* bed.
I turned to him, fury rising. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” he said. “I didn’t tell you everything.”
“You knew Cassia.”
“I did.”
“And you let them kill her.”
“I couldn’t stop it.”
“Why not?”
He looked away. “Because if I had, they would have come for you next.”
I froze. “What?”
“Malrik wanted her dead to get to *you*,” he said, voice low. “She was bait. And I played along to keep you safe.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No,” he said. “But it’s the truth.”
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 protected her*.
And now he was protecting me.
Even if it meant being bound to me. Even if it meant playing this sick game.
I took a shaky breath. “One year,” I said. “One bed. One bite. Or we die.”
He nodded. “And until then, you’re mine.”
“I’m not *yours*,” I snapped.
He stepped closer, his voice a whisper. “You already are. The bond sees it. Your body sees it. And I—”
He paused. For the first time, something cracked in his voice. Something raw.
“I feel it too.”
And then he turned, walking to the other side of the room. “Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I didn’t move. My heart was racing. My skin was too sensitive. The bond pulsed between us, a living thing.
I walked to the bed. Sat on the edge. The silk was cold beneath my palms.
He was already lying down, back to me, his breathing slow, controlled.
I hesitated. Then I lay down too, as far from him as the bed allowed.
The fire crackled. The bond hummed.
And in the silence, I whispered the words I hadn’t meant to say.
“I came to kill you.”
He didn’t answer.
But I felt it—his hand, reaching back, fingers brushing mine in the dark.
And then, softly, his voice.
“One year. One bed. One bite. Or we both die.”
I closed my eyes.
The mission wasn’t over.
But everything had changed.