The war room still smelled of ash and blood.
Not just from the duel. Not just from Riven’s charred remains. But from the deeper stain—the one no cleaning spell could erase. The one carved into the obsidian table, into the sigils on the walls, into the very air. It was the scent of truth. Of revelation. Of a secret too long buried, now torn open and bleeding.
I sat in the high-backed chair, my fingers steepled, my coat still torn from the fight. The wound in my side had closed—sealed by her fire, her light, her *love*—but the ache remained. Not in the flesh. In the soul.
She’d healed me.
Not with magic.
With *trust*.
And that terrified me more than any blade.
Because trust was a weapon I didn’t know how to wield. I’d spent centuries building walls, forging armor, turning my heart to stone. I’d ruled with blood and shadow, with silence and steel. I’d let her hate me because it was safer than letting her see the truth. Safer than letting her know that every decision, every lie, every moment of cold distance—had been to keep her alive.
And now?
Now she knew.
Malrik was her father. Cassia had been his daughter. And I had carried that secret like a blade against my ribs, letting her call me monster, letting her try to kill me, because the moment I spoke it—she’d be in danger.
And yet—
She’d still come for me.
She’d run through the forest like a storm, her magic roaring, her eyes blazing, and she’d burned Malrik to ash without hesitation. Not for vengeance. Not for justice.
For *me*.
I closed my eyes, pressing my thumb to the bridge of my nose. The weight of it all pressed down—centuries of silence, decades of war, years of watching her from afar, knowing she was coming, knowing she would hate me, knowing I would let her.
And now she loved me.
And I didn’t know how to be worthy of it.
The door opened.
I didn’t look up.
I didn’t need to.
I felt her before I saw her—the shift in the bond, the warmth in the air, the quiet rhythm of her breath. She stepped inside, boots silent on the stone, the hem of her black dress still torn, her hair loose, her face streaked with soot and something else—something softer. Tired. Raw. *Human*.
“You’re not in bed,” she said, voice low.
“Neither are you,” I replied, opening my eyes.
She didn’t answer. Just walked to the table, her fingers brushing the edge, tracing the crack where Riven’s body had struck the stone. Her breath came slow, steady. But I could feel it—the tension beneath her skin, the storm behind her eyes.
“You should be resting,” I said. “You used a lot of magic tonight.”
“So did you,” she said, turning to me. “You were dying.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
I didn’t argue. Just leaned back in the chair, watching her. The firelight caught the silver in her hair, the sharp line of her jaw, the pulse at her throat—my mark, still faintly glowing. It had changed since the first time I’d bitten her. Not just stronger. *Brighter*. Like it had been forged in fire.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, voice quiet. “All this time. Why did you let me hate you?”
I stilled.
Not because the question surprised me.
Because I’d been waiting for it. Dreading it. Needing it.
“Because I promised Cassia,” I said, voice low. “The night before she was executed, she came to me. She was afraid. Not for herself. For *you*. She knew Malrik would come for you once she was gone. She knew he’d claim you. Use you. Break you.”
Athena’s breath caught.
“She begged me,” I continued, “to protect you. To keep you hidden. To let the world believe I was the monster who killed her—so Malrik would never suspect I knew the truth. And I agreed.”
“So you let me believe you were guilty,” she said, voice breaking. “You let me spend five years hating you. Planning to kill you. *Trying* to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“And you never thought to tell me? Even when we were bound? Even when you bit me in front of the entire city?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the moment I told you,” I said, standing, “Malrik would know. The bond is sacred, but it’s not invulnerable. Blood-sharing rituals can be monitored. Emotions can be traced. And Malrik had spies everywhere. If I’d spoken the truth—even in private—he would’ve felt it. He would’ve come for you.”
She stared at me, her dark eyes searching mine. Not with anger. Not with accusation.
With *pain*.
“And Cassia’s baby?” she asked. “Did you know about that too?”
My chest tightened.
“Yes,” I said. “She didn’t know who the father was. A human, she thought. But she was afraid. If Malrik found out she was carrying a child—especially a half-human one—he’d kill it. Claim it. Use it as leverage. So she came to me. Told me everything. And I promised to protect you both.”
“And the baby—”
“Died in the fire,” I said, voice rough. “With her.”
Tears spilled over. Not fast. Not loud. Just a single, silent track down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. Just let it fall.
“You carried that,” she whispered. “All this time. You carried her grief. Her fear. Her *death*. And you never said a word.”
“Someone had to,” I said. “And she trusted me to do it.”
“And what about *me*?” she asked, stepping closer. “Did you ever think about what *I* needed? What *I* deserved? I lost my sister. My twin. And you let me believe the man I was supposed to love—the man I was *bonded* to—was the one who killed her.”
“I know,” I said, my voice breaking. “And I would’ve taken every lash of your hatred, every knife in the dark, every moment of your scorn, a thousand times over if it meant you lived. Because Athena—”
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us.
“—you were never just my fated mate. You were her last request. Her final act of love. And I would’ve died for her. I *will* die for you.”
She didn’t move.
Just stood there, her breath mingling with mine, her eyes locked on mine, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat.
And then—
She reached up.
Not to strike me.
Not to push me away.
To touch my face.
Her fingers were cool, steady. Her thumb brushed the scar above my brow—the one from a battle centuries ago, the one she’d traced a hundred times but never asked about.
“You didn’t just protect me,” she said, voice quiet. “You protected *her*. Even after she was gone. You kept her memory alive. You wore her locket. You carried her secret. You let me hate you so I wouldn’t have to carry the weight.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because the truth was worse than she knew.
“There’s more,” I said, voice low.
She stilled.
“What?”
I exhaled, slow, controlled. Then I reached into the inner pocket of my coat and pulled out the locket—the one I’d worn every night since Cassia died. The silver chain was thin, old. The locket itself small, antique. I opened it.
Inside—two faces.
Cassia’s. And mine.
Side by side. Not as enemies. Not as strangers.
As friends.
“She gave this to me,” I said, voice rough. “The night she died. She said… *‘If you ever have to choose between me and her, choose her. But if you can love her, love her for both of us.’*”
Athena’s breath came fast.
“And did you?” she whispered. “Did you love her?”
“Not like that,” I said. “Never like that. But I respected her. I admired her. I *protected* her. And when she died, I made a vow—to keep you safe, no matter the cost. Even if it meant losing you forever.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stared at the locket. At her sister’s face. At the promise I’d made.
And then—
She did something I didn’t expect.
She laughed.
Not cruel. Not bitter.
Soft. Shattered. A sound that tore from her chest like a blade.
“You’re impossible,” she said, voice breaking. “You let me hate you. You let me try to kill you. You carried this—*this*—alone. And now you stand here, telling me you did it for *love*?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because it was.”
“And what about *us*?” she asked. “What about what we are? Was that just part of the plan too? The bond? The marriage? The way you look at me when I wear red?”
“No,” I said, stepping closer. “The bond was fate. The marriage was politics. But *this*—”
I took her hand, pressing it to my chest, over my heart.
“—this is *me*. This is *us*. This is not a lie. This is not a duty. This is *want*. This is *need*. This is *love*.”
Her breath caught.
“And if I hadn’t come back?” she asked. “If I’d stayed with Maeve? If I’d walked away?”
“Then I would’ve let you go,” I said. “But I would’ve never stopped loving you. And I would’ve never stopped waiting.”
She stared at me.
Then—
She stepped into me.
Not slowly. Not carefully.
Fast. Fierce. Her arms locked around my neck, her body pressing to mine, her breath hot against my skin. The bond *screamed*—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel her thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she whispered, her lips brushing my jaw. “You don’t get to carry the weight alone. You don’t get to love me in silence. You don’t get to *protect* me from the truth.”
“I do,” I said, my hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. “Because I’m the only one who’s not afraid of what we are.”
“And what are we?” she challenged, lifting her chin.
“We’re alive,” I 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—
She kissed me.
Not fire. Not teeth. Not desperation.
But *truth*.
Slow. Deep. Devouring.
Her lips sealed over mine, not claiming, not conquering, but *answering*. And I answered back. My hands fisted in her dress, pulling her closer, until there was no space between us. The bond *screamed*—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel her thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
But this time—this time it wasn’t the fever. Not the bond. Not the magic.
It was *her*.
She broke the kiss, just enough to breathe, to look at me, to see the raw, unguarded emotion in my eyes.
“No fangs,” she whispered.
“No blood,” I said, brushing my thumb over her lower lip. “No magic. Just… this.”
And then she kissed me again.
Not slow this time. Not careful.
Fire.
Teeth and tongue and desperation. I groaned, my arms locking around her, pulling her closer, until there was no space between us. The bond *screamed*—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel her thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
Her hands slid down my back, under the curve of my ass, lifting me slightly, pressing me against the hard length of her. I gasped, my hips grinding down, seeking friction. She growled, her mouth trailing down my jaw, to the pulse point at my throat. I arched, offering myself.
“Kaelen—”
“Tell me to stop,” I said, my fangs grazing her skin. “Or I won’t.”
She didn’t answer.
She arched her neck, offering herself.
And gods help me, I wanted to take her.
I wanted to bite. To mark. To claim her in front of every root, every vine, every secret this cursed forest held.
But then—
I saw it.
In the reflection of the obsidian table—her face. Not just desire. Not just need.
Trust.
Not of the bond.
Not of fate.
Of *me*.
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,” I said. “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 war room.
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 keep was quiet.
The fire between us?
It wasn’t just beginning.
It was consuming us.
And I didn’t know if we’d survive it.
But this time—
I wouldn’t let go.
Not of her.
Not of us.
Not of the truth.
And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in blood and gold, I made a silent vow.
I would fight for her.
Not just with fangs and blood and fire.
But with every broken piece of my soul.
Because Athena wasn’t just my fated mate.
She was my redemption.
And I would not lose her.
Even if it killed me.
Even if she never loved me back.
Even if she never stopped hating me.
I would fight for her.
Because she was worth it.
And as I stood there, the courtyard silent, the ashes of Riven scattered by the wind, I realized—
For the first time in four hundred years—
I wasn’t afraid of love.
I was afraid of losing it.
And that—
That was the difference.