The garden air was still sharp with dawn when I left him.
Not running. Not fleeing. Just walking—slow, deliberate, each step a refusal to let the tremble in my legs betray me. The black dress clung to my skin, still warm from his touch, from the kiss that had started soft and ended with fire in my veins. My fingers brushed the mark on my throat—his bite, silver-red and pulsing, no longer just a brand but a living thing, threaded with my magic, humming like a second heartbeat.
I didn’t hate him.
That was the truth I couldn’t outrun.
Not after last night. Not after the dream, after the spy, after he’d pulled me into his arms like I belonged there. Not after he’d said, *“Then I’ll let you go. But I’ll never stop loving you. And I’ll never stop waiting.”*
Lies. Or truth. I didn’t know anymore.
But I knew one thing.
I couldn’t stay in that keep. Not with Malrik’s voice still whispering in my mind, not with the locket burning a hole in my chest, not with the fire in my blood screaming for answers.
I needed Maeve.
My mentor. My anchor. The only person who’d known me before the fire, before the mission, before Kaelen had torn my world open with a single bite.
She was in the northern woods, beyond the Veil’s edge, in a cottage woven from living willow and shadow. A place hidden, protected, where the Council’s spies couldn’t reach. Where witches went to die—or to remember.
I didn’t tell Kaelen I was leaving.
I didn’t ask for an escort.
I just walked.
Through the keep’s eastern gate, past the guards who bowed but didn’t speak, past the scorched stones where Malrik’s assassins had turned to ash. The city of Blackthorne was waking—vendors shouting, carriages rolling, the scent of bloodwine and roasted meat thick in the air. But I moved through it like a ghost, my boots silent on the cobbled streets, my hood pulled low, my hand clenched around Cassia’s dagger at my hip.
The Veil’s edge was a thin place—a shimmer in the air, like heat rising from stone. I stepped through, and the world shifted. The city’s noise faded. The scent of blood and steel vanished. In its place—pine, frost, and the deep, ancient breath of the forest.
I walked for hours.
No carriage. No magic. Just my legs, my breath, the rhythm of my pulse. The northern woods were old—older than the Council, older than the bloodlines. Trees with bark like cracked obsidian, roots that pulsed with buried sigils, leaves that whispered in a language I almost understood. I didn’t speak it. Not yet. But I felt it. In my bones. In my blood.
And then—
I saw it.
The cottage.
Not built. *Grown*. Willow branches twisted into walls, their leaves silver-white, their roots deep in the earth. A single window glowed faintly, lit by candlelight. The door was unmarked, but I knew it would open for me.
It did.
Maeve stood in the threshold, her silver hair braided down her back, her dark eyes sharp, unreadable. She wore a simple gray robe, the fabric rough, the sleeves stained with ash and blood. She didn’t smile. Didn’t embrace me.
“You’re late,” she said.
I stepped inside.
The cottage was small—just one room, with a hearth, a low table, and a bed made of woven vines. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of dried herbs, vials of blood, bundles of feathers and bone. The air was thick with the scent of sage and something darker—death, or memory.
“I couldn’t come sooner,” I said, pulling off my hood. “The keep—”
“Is a cage,” she finished, closing the door. “And you’re still wearing his mark.”
My fingers went to my throat. “It’s not just his. It’s mine too.”
She turned, her eyes narrowing. “You let him bite you.”
“I *let* him?” I snapped. “You think I had a choice? The bond—”
“Is not a prison,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s a mirror. It shows you what you already are. And you—”
She reached out, her fingers brushing the mark. I flinched, but she didn’t pull back. Her touch was cool, steady. Her magic hummed beneath her skin, ancient, controlled.
“You didn’t just accept it,” she said. “You *wanted* it.”
My breath caught.
“I came here for answers,” I said, voice tight. “Not a lecture.”
“Then ask,” she said, stepping back. “But be careful what you wish for. Truth has a way of burning.”
I clenched my jaw. “Did Kaelen kill her?”
She didn’t answer. Just walked to the hearth, stirring the embers with a iron rod. Sparks rose, curling like dying stars.
“You already know the answer,” she said.
“Then tell me why,” I said, stepping forward. “Why did he let her die? Why did he sign the decree? Why did he let the world believe he was the monster?”
She turned, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “Because he wasn’t protecting the Council. He was protecting *you*.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
She exhaled, slow, controlled. Then she reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out a small, silver locket—the same one Kaelen wore. My breath caught. I stepped closer, my hand trembling as I reached for it.
She didn’t give it to me.
Just opened it.
Inside—two faces.
Cassia’s. And mine.
But not as children. Not as sisters.
As infants.
Side by side. Wrapped in the same blanket. Our tiny hands clasped together.
My stomach dropped.
“What is this?” I whispered.
“The truth,” she said. “The one I’ve kept from you for five years.”
“What truth?”
She closed the locket, holding it in her palm. “Cassia wasn’t just your sister. She was your twin. And you—”
She paused, her voice dropping. “You were born of two worlds.”
My chest tightened. “What are you talking about?”
“Your mother,” she said. “She wasn’t just a witch. She was a half-Fae. And your father—”
“Was human,” I said. “I know that.”
“No,” she said. “He was *not* human.”
I stilled. “What?”
“Your father was Malrik,” she said, voice low, raw. “Lord Malrik of the Blood Tribunal. Ancient bloodline. One of the most powerful vampires in existence.”
The room tilted.
My breath came fast. My hands clenched. “That’s not possible. Cassia—”
“Was his daughter too,” Maeve said. “But not by the same mother. He took your mother—raped her. She died in childbirth. But she hid you. Gave you to me. Told me to keep you safe. To never let him find you.”
My knees buckled.
I didn’t fall. Just sank to the floor, my back against the wall, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. The fire in my chest—my magic—pulsed, hot and wild. I pressed my hands to the floor, grounding myself, but the truth was already burning through me.
Malrik. My *father*.
Cassia. Not just my sister. My twin. His daughter.
And Kaelen—
“He knew,” I whispered. “He knew all along.”
“Yes,” Maeve said. “I told him the night before Cassia was executed. She begged him to protect you. To keep you hidden. And he promised. But to do that, he had to let the world believe he was the one who killed her. Because if Malrik thought Kaelen knew the truth—if he thought Kaelen knew *you* were his daughter—he would have come for you. He would have taken you. Broken you. Used you.”
“And Cassia?” I asked, voice breaking. “Did she know?”
“Yes,” Maeve said. “She knew who her father was. Knew what he was. And when she found out she was pregnant—”
My breath caught. “Pregnant?”
“Yes,” Maeve said. “She didn’t know who the father was. But she knew one thing—if Malrik found out, he’d kill her. And if he didn’t, he’d claim the child. So she went to Kaelen. Told him everything. Begged him to protect you. To protect the baby. And he promised.”
“But the baby—”
“Died,” Maeve said. “In the fire. With her.”
Tears spilled over. Not from sadness. From rage. From the sheer, *injustice* of it all.
“He let her die,” I said, voice raw. “He let them burn her. And he did nothing.”
“He did *everything*,” Maeve snapped. “He protected you. He kept you alive. He carried that guilt so you wouldn’t have to. And now—now you stand here, judging him, hating him, when he’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”
“And what about me?” I whispered. “What about *me*? I’m his *daughter*. Malrik’s *daughter*. That makes me—”
“Nothing he can control,” Maeve said. “Because you’re not just his blood. You’re your mother’s. You’re *mine*. And you’re Kaelen’s. The bond didn’t just choose you at random. It chose you because you’re strong. Because you’re fire. Because you’re the only one who can destroy him.”
“And if I do?” I asked. “If I kill him? What then?”
“Then you’ll be free,” she said. “But you’ll also be alone. And you’ll carry that blood forever. Not as a curse. As a weapon.”
I didn’t answer.
Just sat there, my back against the wall, my hands clenched, the fire in my chest pulsing like a storm.
And then—
“He never told me,” I said, voice breaking. “He let me hate him. Let me call him a monster. Let me try to kill him. And he never said a word.”
“Because he promised,” Maeve said. “And Kaelen Duskbane may be many things—tyrant, warlord, vampire—but he is not a liar. He kept his vow. He protected you. Even if it cost him his name. His honor. His soul.”
Tears burned my eyes. Not from sadness. From rage. From the sheer, *injustice* of it all.
“And now?” I whispered. “What do I do now?”
She stepped forward, kneeling beside me. Her hand covered mine, warm, steady.
“You stop running,” she said. “You stop hiding. You stop pretending you don’t love him. And you face him. Not as a spy. Not as a killer. But as *you*. As Athena. As his mate. As Malrik’s daughter. And as the woman who will burn him to ash.”
My breath caught.
“And if I can’t?”
“Then you’ll die,” she said, voice calm. “But not before you’ve made him suffer. Not before you’ve made him *see* you. Not before you’ve made him love you so deeply that losing you will destroy him.”
I stilled.
And then—
I laughed.
Not joy. Not relief.
Bitter. Sharp. A sound that tore from my chest like a blade.
“You think I don’t already?” I whispered. “You think I don’t already love him? You think I don’t already hate him? You think I don’t already want to burn the world down just to feel something real?”
She didn’t flinch. Just looked at me—really looked at me.
“Then stop fighting it,” she said. “Stop pretending you’re not what you are. You’re not just a witch. Not just a human. Not just a sister. You’re a storm. A fire. A queen. And if you don’t claim that power, someone else will.”
The fire in my chest roared.
Not magic. Not bond.
Truth.
And then—
I stood.
Not slowly. Not carefully.
Fast. Fierce. My body thrumming with power, with memory, with the weight of everything I’d been running from.
“I need to go back,” I said.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “Because if I don’t, he’ll die. And if he dies, I’ll burn with him.”
She didn’t argue. Just nodded, stepping back.
“Then go,” she said. “But don’t go as the woman who came here to kill him. Go as the woman who’s ready to save him.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned, walking to the door.
And then—
“Athena,” she said.
I paused.
“If you face him,” she said, “don’t let him see you cry. Don’t let him see you break. Let him see the fire. Let him see the truth. Let him see *you*.”
I didn’t look back.
Just stepped through the door, into the forest, into the cold, sharp air.
And I ran.
Not from him.
Toward him.
Because the fire in my chest hadn’t died.
It had just found its fuel.
And I wouldn’t stop until it burned everything down.
Even if it was me.
Even if it was him.
Even if it was the truth.