The keep had gone quiet again.
Not the kind of quiet that followed routine—no echoing footsteps in the war room, no clink of armor from the guard rotation, no murmured reports from the outer sentries. This was different. Heavy. Suspicious. Like the air before a storm, when the wind dies and the sky turns the color of old blood. I stood in the shadowed archway of the eastern corridor, my back against the cold stone, my fingers resting lightly on the hilt of my dagger. The scent of fire still clung to the air—Athena’s doing, no doubt—but beneath it, something darker. Something *wrong*.
Malrik was ash.
That was what they said. What *she* said. That she’d burned him in the hollow, that Kaelen had nearly died, that she’d healed him with her fire, her light, her *love*. And Kaelen—he believed her. I could see it in the way he moved now, the way his red eyes followed her, the way his hand found hers when he thought no one was looking. He wasn’t just her mate. He was *hers*. Bound not just by magic, but by something deeper. Something mortal.
And I was afraid.
Not for him.
For *her*.
Because Malrik may have been ash, but his shadow still stretched long. And I knew—better than anyone—what lingered in the dark.
I’d been with Kaelen for over two centuries. Not as a brother. Not as a friend. But as a weapon. A blade kept sharp, hidden, ready. I’d seen him destroy armies, crush rebellions, break men with a single glance. I’d watched him bury his pain beneath silence, his grief beneath power. And I’d never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at Athena.
It terrified me.
Because love made you vulnerable.
And vulnerability was a death sentence in this world.
I pushed off the wall, moving down the corridor with silent steps. The torches flickered as I passed, their light catching the silver in my hair, the scar along my jaw—remnants of battles long fought, wounds long healed. I didn’t need the light. Vampires didn’t. But I liked it. Liked the way it cast shadows, the way it revealed and concealed. Like truth. Like lies.
I reached the private chambers—Kaelen’s and hers—just as the door opened.
She stepped out.
Athena.
Her dark hair was loose, tangled from sleep—or something else. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips still slightly swollen. She wore Kaelen’s shirt, the black fabric hanging open, the hem brushing her thighs. His scent clung to her—dark earth, frost, bloodied roses. And beneath it, something new. Something *bright*. Her fire. Her magic. Her *power*.
She didn’t see me at first.
Just turned, closing the door behind her with a soft click, her fingers lingering on the handle. Her breath was steady, but I could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand trembled just slightly before she clenched it into a fist.
Then she looked up.
Her eyes—dark, sharp, alive—locked onto mine. No fear. No hesitation. Just *recognition*.
“Silas,” she said, voice low. “You’re up late.”
“So are you,” I replied.
She didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, boots silent on the stone. She stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could feel the heat of her, the pulse of the bond between her and Kaelen. It hummed in the air, not loud, not desperate. *Alive*.
“You’re watching him,” she said.
“I always do,” I said. “Someone has to.”
“And now you’re watching me.”
“I have been since the beginning.”
She didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head, studying me. Not like prey. Not like a threat. Like an ally.
“You don’t trust me,” she said.
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “Not at first. You came here to kill him. I saw it in your eyes. In your movements. In the way you carried that dagger at your hip like it was part of you.”
“And now?”
“Now I see something else.”
“What?”
“Fear,” I said. “Not of him. Of yourself. Of what you feel. Of what you’ve become.”
She stilled.
Then—
She laughed. Not cruel. Not bitter. But soft. Real. A sound that surprised even her.
“You’re observant,” she said. “Kaelen trusts you. That’s rare.”
“He trusts no one,” I said. “Not fully. Not anymore. But he listens. And he follows. And that’s enough.”
“And you?” she asked. “Do *you* follow?”
“I protect,” I said. “Him. The keep. The coven. Even you, if it comes to it.”
She studied me a moment longer. Then she reached into the folds of Kaelen’s shirt and pulled out a small vial—glass, sealed with wax, filled with a dark, swirling liquid.
“Take this,” she said, holding it out.
I didn’t move. “What is it?”
“Malrik’s blood,” she said. “From the hollow. I scraped it from the stones after I burned him. It’s tainted. Cursed. But it’s also a weapon. If anyone tries to resurrect him—if they try to use his essence to bind a shadow, to summon his will—I need you to have this. So you can destroy it.”
I stared at the vial. At the darkness inside. At the weight of what she was giving me.
“Why me?” I asked.
“Because you’re the only one who wouldn’t hesitate,” she said. “Kaelen would want to know the truth. Maeve would want to study it. But you? You’d crush it without a second thought. And that’s what I need.”
I took the vial.
The glass was cold. The liquid inside pulsed faintly, like a dying heartbeat.
“You’re not just protecting him,” I said, slipping it into my coat. “You’re protecting *us*.”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped back, turning toward the stairs.
“Get some rest, Silas,” she said over her shoulder. “Tomorrow, we fight.”
And then she was gone.
I stood there a moment longer, the vial heavy in my pocket, the silence pressing in. Then I turned, moving toward the war room. I needed to check the perimeter. Needed to ensure the wards were intact. Needed to make sure no one had slipped through while we were distracted by fire and blood and love.
But as I passed the east tower—the one Lirien had once occupied—something caught my eye.
A flicker.
Not from a torch.
Not from the moon.
From *inside*.
I stopped.
Then I moved.
Fast. Silent. My fangs half-extended, my senses sharp. The door was ajar—just slightly, like someone had left in a hurry. Or someone had entered without permission.
I pushed it open.
The room was empty. Dust-covered. Abandoned. Lirien had fled weeks ago, after her lies were exposed, after Kaelen had stripped her of her title, her ring, her place at his side. But the air—
It was wrong.
Too still. Too cold. And beneath it—the faintest trace of *scent*. Not blood. Not magic.
Fear.
I stepped inside, my boots silent on the stone. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled. A goblet sat on the table, half-full of bloodwine, now stale. And on the pillow—
A single hair.
Long. Silver-blonde. Lirien’s.
I reached for it.
And then—
I felt it.
A pulse. Faint. But there.
Not from the hair.
From the *room*.
I turned, scanning the walls, the ceiling, the shadows. And then I saw it—a sigil, etched into the stone above the hearth. Small. Hidden. But unmistakable.
A *binding*.
Not just a ward. Not just a trap.
A *summons*.
And it was active.
I moved fast, pressing my palm to the sigil, trying to disrupt it, to break the connection. But it held. Strong. Ancient. And then—
A whisper.
Not from the room.
From the *vial*.
In my pocket.
It *pulsed*—hot, sudden, like a heartbeat. I pulled it out, staring at the dark liquid inside. It swirled faster now, churning, rising like it was trying to *escape*.
And then—
The sigil flared.
White-hot. Blinding.
I threw myself back, rolling across the floor as the energy exploded outward, slamming into the walls, cracking the stone, shattering the goblet. The hair on the pillow caught fire, burning to ash in seconds.
And in the center of it all—
She appeared.
Lirien.
Not in flesh. Not in blood.
But in *shadow*.
A wisp of darkness, coalescing into form—her face, her silver hair, her cruel smile. Her red eyes burned with malice, with hunger, with something deeper.
“Hello, Silas,” she said, voice a whisper, a hiss. “Did you miss me?”
I didn’t answer. Just rose to my feet, dagger in hand, fangs bared.
“You can’t kill me,” she said, laughing. “Not like this. I’m not *here*. Not really. Just a memory. A echo. A *promise*.”
“Then you’re already dead,” I said. “And your promise dies with you.”
“Oh, but it doesn’t,” she said, drifting forward. “Malrik’s blood called to me. His essence. His *will*. And I answered. Because I made a vow too. A vow to destroy her. To destroy *them*. And I won’t stop. Not until they’re both ash.”
I tightened my grip on the dagger. “You’re a ghost. A remnant. Nothing more.”
“Am I?” she asked, drifting closer. “Then why does the vial burn in your hand? Why does the bond tremble in the air? Why does *he* still dream of me?”
My blood ran cold.
“You’ve been in his mind,” I said.
“Not his,” she said, smiling. “*Hers*. I’ve been whispering. In her dreams. In her fears. In her *doubt*. And soon—soon she’ll believe me. She’ll think he still wants me. That he still *loves* me. And when she turns from him—”
She leaned in, her shadow-face inches from mine.
“—I’ll be waiting.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I threw the vial.
It shattered against the sigil, the dark liquid splashing across the stone. The moment it touched, the shadow *screamed*—a high, guttural sound, not of pain, but of *rage*. The sigil cracked. The shadow flickered. And then—
It was gone.
Just silence.
Just dust.
Just the echo of her voice in the air.
And then—
I felt it.
A warmth. A pressure. A *burn*.
Not from the vial.
From *inside*.
I looked down.
My hand—where I’d held the vial—was blistering. Blackening. The skin peeling back, revealing muscle, bone, something *cursed*. I dropped to my knees, gritting my teeth, trying to control the pain, the spread.
But it was too fast.
Too strong.
And then—
I passed out.
Darkness.
And in the dark—
Her voice.
“You’re not done,” she whispered. “Not yet. Not ever.”
I woke to fire.
Not pain. Not heat.
*Light*.
Golden. Warm. Alive.
It poured over me, seeping into my skin, knitting muscle, sealing flesh, purging the curse. I could feel it—the way my body responded, the way my breath deepened, the way my heart—slow, ancient, alive—pulsed beneath the fire.
And then—
I opened my eyes.
Athena stood over me, her hands pressed to my chest, her face streaked with sweat, her eyes blazing. Kaelen was beside her, his coat torn, his fangs bared, his red eyes burning with fury.
“You’re alive,” Athena said, voice rough.
I didn’t answer. Just sat up slowly, my body aching, but whole. The curse was gone. The shadow was broken.
“You burned it,” I said.
“You brought it back,” she said. “And I finished it.”
Kaelen stepped forward, his hand gripping my shoulder. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” I said.
“You *idiot*,” he snapped. “You could’ve died.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “Because she did.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into a rough embrace—one I didn’t expect, didn’t deserve, but *needed*.
And then—
Athena stepped back, her arms crossed, her eyes dark.
“It’s not over,” she said. “Lirien’s not gone. She’s still out there. In the shadows. In the dreams. And she’ll come for us again.”
“Then we’ll be ready,” Kaelen said.
“No,” she said. “We’ll *end* it. Tonight. Before she can hurt anyone else. Before she can make me doubt you. Before she can destroy what we’ve built.”
Kaelen looked at her. Then at me.
And I saw it—*fear*. Not of the shadow. Not of the curse.
Of *losing her*.
“Then we end it,” I said, standing. “Together.”
She nodded.
And in that moment, I knew—
We weren’t just allies.
We were a family.
And no ghost. No shadow. No lie.
Could break us.
Not while we still breathed.
Not while we still fought.
Not while we still loved.