The first time I saw her in red, I knew I was already lost.
Not because of the color—though the deep, blood-wine silk clung to her curves like a second skin, the neckline plunging just enough to tease the swell of her breasts, the slit up the thigh revealing a flash of pale leg with every step. Not because of the way the fabric caught the torchlight, glowing like embers, or how her dark hair was swept up in a knot that left her neck bare—*so bare*—inviting fangs and fingers alike.
No.
I was lost because of the defiance in her eyes.
Athena stood at the end of the Grand Hall, back straight, chin high, as the vampire courtiers whispered behind their hands and the werewolf envoys watched with open suspicion. She wasn’t supposed to wear red. Tradition demanded white for human brides—virginal, submissive, *innocent*. But she had chosen red. A challenge. A declaration. A provocation.
And gods help me, I wanted to reward her for it.
I adjusted the cuffs of my black coat, the silver embroidery catching the light. My fangs ached—partly from the bond, partly from the sight of her. The bond had been silent since the Council chamber, a low hum beneath my skin, but now it surged, a pulse of heat between my ribs. I could smell her from here—fire and iron, sweat and something sweet, like crushed juniper berries. Her scent had changed since the blood kiss. Sharper. Wilder. *Awake*.
She was supposed to be afraid. She was supposed to be broken. Bound against her will, forced into marriage with the monster who killed her sister. And yet—she looked like a queen.
“She’s going to start a war,” Silas murmured at my side, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Athena. My lieutenant had always been perceptive. Loyal. The only one in this cursed court who didn’t flinch when I walked into a room.
“She already has,” I said, voice low. “The bond was the first battle. This is the coronation.”
He glanced at me. “You’re not denying it anymore.”
“Denying what?”
“That you want her.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He knew. Hell, the entire court knew. The way I watched her. The way my body moved toward hers, even now, as I walked down the hall to meet her. The way my hand twitched at my side, aching to reach for her.
She didn’t look at me as I approached. She kept her gaze forward, fixed on the altar at the end of the hall—black stone, carved with runes of binding and blood. A ceremonial dagger rested atop it, its blade etched with the sigil of the Eastern Coven. This wasn’t just a wedding. It was a claiming. A public assertion of power.
And she was the prize.
“You’re late,” she said, voice cool, when I stopped beside her.
“I was ensuring the wards were reinforced,” I replied. “In case someone tries to assassinate my bride before the vows are spoken.”
She turned her head then, just slightly, her dark eyes flicking to mine. “You think I’d run?”
“I think you’d try.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “You’re right.”
I almost laughed. Almost. But the moment was too sharp, too charged. The court was watching. The werewolves. The Fae emissaries. Malrik’s spies, no doubt hidden among the shadows. And above us, on the second-floor balcony, *she* stood.
Lirien.
My breath stilled.
She wore *my* shirt.
White silk, unbuttoned to the waist, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her pale skin gleamed in the torchlight, her silver hair spilling over one shoulder. And around her neck—my ring. The Duskbane signet, forged from moonsteel and set with a single black diamond. I had given it to her centuries ago, in a moment of weakness. A mistake I had corrected the moment I realized she would use it to destroy me.
And now she wore it like a trophy.
She leaned against the railing, one hand resting on her hip, the other lifting a goblet of bloodwine to her lips. She didn’t speak. Didn’t sneer. Just smiled—slow, knowing, *triumphant*—as she locked eyes with Athena.
Athena stiffened.
I felt it—the shift in her scent, the sudden spike of heat. Jealousy. Sharp. Primal. *Mine*.
“Ignore her,” I said, stepping closer, my shoulder brushing hers. “She’s nothing.”
“She’s wearing your ring,” Athena said, voice low, dangerous.
“And I’ll rip it from her throat before the night is over.”
She glanced at me, startled. “You’d kill her for that?”
“No,” I said. “I’d kill her for what she’s about to do next.”
As if on cue, Lirien pushed off the railing and stepped forward, her bare feet silent on the stone. She didn’t descend the stairs. She didn’t need to. Her voice carried, clear and sweet, like poisoned honey.
“Congratulations, Kaelen,” she called. “I always knew you’d settle for *less*.”
A ripple went through the crowd. Gasps. Murmurs. A werewolf bared his teeth.
Athena didn’t flinch. But her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
“She’s testing you,” I murmured. “Don’t give her the reaction she wants.”
“And if I do?”
“Then she wins.”
Lirien took another step forward. “Tell me, Athena—does he still moan your sister’s name in his sleep?”
The hall went dead silent.
My vision went red.
Before I could move, Athena stepped forward—out of my reach, into the open space before the altar. She turned, slowly, and looked up at Lirien.
“No,” she said, voice calm, cutting through the silence like a blade. “But he moans *mine*.”
The crowd *roared*.
Some laughed. Some gasped. A Fae noble clapped, delighted. Riven, the werewolf Alpha, barked a laugh and raised her goblet.
Lirien’s smile faltered.
And Athena—Athena stood there, proud, unshaken, her chest rising and falling with controlled breath. She hadn’t looked at me. She hadn’t needed to. She had just declared war.
And I wanted to kiss her.
I stepped up beside her, close enough that our arms brushed. “Careful,” I murmured. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I *am* fire,” she whispered back.
I almost smiled.
But the ceremony had begun.
The High Priestess of the Blood Rite emerged from the shadows, her robes black, her eyes blind-white with power. She carried a silver chalice, filled with a mixture of our blood from yesterday’s ritual. The bond flared as she passed, a jolt of heat through my veins. She raised the chalice high.
“By the ancient laws of blood and bond,” she intoned, “we gather to witness the union of Kaelen Duskbane, Lord of the Eastern Coven, and Athena, daughter of fire and vengeance.”
Athena tensed at the title.
“They are bound by fate,” the priestess continued. “Bound by council decree. Bound by the Veil itself. Let their union be sealed in truth, in blood, in eternal claim.”
She stepped forward, dipping two fingers into the chalice. Then she turned to me, pressing her bloodied fingers to my chest, just over my heart. The mark burned—hot, deep, a sigil of binding. I hissed, but didn’t move.
Then she turned to Athena.
Athena didn’t flinch as the priestess pressed the blood to her skin. But I saw it—the sharp inhale, the flicker of pain in her eyes. The sigil flared, glowing crimson for a moment before sinking beneath her flesh.
“The mark is set,” the priestess said. “Now, the vow.”
She handed me the ceremonial dagger. I took it, the weight familiar in my hand. Then I turned to Athena.
“Take my hand,” I said.
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she held out her right hand. I grasped it, my fingers wrapping around hers. Her skin was warm. Alive. Her pulse jumped beneath my touch.
With the dagger, I made a shallow cut across the center of her palm. She didn’t flinch. Just watched me, her eyes dark, unreadable.
Then I did the same to my own.
Our blood welled, mingling as I pressed our palms together. The bond *screamed*.
Heat. Pressure. A pulse between my legs, sudden and deep. I could feel her—her fear, her anger, her *wanting*. It flooded me, not as a whisper, but as a roar. Her body was betraying her. Just like mine.
“Kaelen Duskbane,” the priestess said, “do you vow to protect, to claim, to honor this woman as your mate for one year, bound by blood and bond, until death or dissolution?”
I looked into Athena’s eyes. “I do.”
“Athena,” she said, “do you vow to submit, to serve, to obey this man as your lord and mate for one year, bound by blood and bond, until death or dissolution?”
Athena’s jaw tightened. The court held its breath.
And then—
“I do,” she said.
But she didn’t look at the priestess.
She looked at *me*.
And in that moment, I knew—she wasn’t submitting.
She was *challenging*.
The priestess raised her hands. “Then let it be sealed.”
She took the chalice and poured a single drop of blood onto our joined palms. The sigil flared again, brighter this time, searing into our skin. The bond *snapped* into place—deeper, stronger, *inescapable*.
And then she said the words that would echo in my nightmares.
“You are now one in blood. One in bond. One in *fate*.”
The crowd erupted—cheers, hisses, applause. The werewolves howled. The Fae clapped with delicate precision. Malrik watched from the shadows, his face unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were *pleased*.
And Lirien?
She was gone.
I turned to Athena. “We should leave.”
“Not yet,” she said, pulling her hand from mine. “I want to see her.”
“Lirien?” I asked. “Don’t. She’s not worth your rage.”
“She’s not worth yours either,” Athena said, “but you’re still obsessed with her.”
I stilled. “I’m not—”
“You *are*,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low. “You think I don’t see it? The way you watch the door. The way your jaw clenches when her name is spoken. You’re afraid of her. And that makes me wonder—what did she *really* have from you?”
I grabbed her wrist, pulling her close. “She had *nothing*.”
“Then why does she have your ring?”
“Because I was a fool.”
“And now?”
“Now I have *you*.”
Her breath hitched.
And then—laughter.
Soft. Mocking. From the balcony.
We both looked up.
Lirien stood there, still in my shirt, but now she held something in her hand—a locket. Silver. Antique. And she was *smiling*.
“You want the truth, Athena?” she called. “Ask him about *this*.”
She snapped the locket open.
And inside—
A face.
Dark hair. High cheekbones. A familiar, haunting smile.
Cassia.
My blood turned to ice.
Athena went still. Her breath stopped. Her eyes locked onto the locket, wide with shock, with *recognition*.
“He kept her close,” Lirien whispered, loud enough for all to hear. “Every night. Every battle. He’d whisper to it. *‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’*”
The hall was silent.
Athena turned to me, slowly. “Is that true?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Did you *love* her?”
“No,” I said, voice raw. “I *protected* her.”
“Then why—”
“Because she asked me to!” I snapped. “Because she knew she was going to die, and she made me promise to keep *you* safe!”
The words hung in the air.
Athena stared at me. The locket. Me. The bond flared—pain, heat, *truth*.
And then she turned and walked away.
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.
And above us, Lirien smiled.
She had just lit the match.
Now she waited for the fire.