The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. Embers cracked like distant gunfire. Outside, the wind howled through the spires of Blackthorne Keep, a mournful sound that seeped through the thick glass of the arched windows. The storm had passed, but the air still carried the scent of rain and damp earth—clean, almost innocent, in cruel contrast to the filth of the day.
I sat on the edge of the bed, still in the red silk gown from the ceremony, my fingers gripping the silken sheets so tightly my knuckles had gone white. The weight of the vow pressed down on me like a stone. One year. One bed. One bite. Or we both die.
And now I was here. In his bed. In his chambers. Bound to a man I was supposed to hate.
But the worst part?
I didn’t hate him.
Not entirely.
Not after what he’d said—about Cassia. About protecting her. About me. The memory of his voice, raw and broken, echoed in my skull: “Because she knew she was going to die, and she made me promise to keep you safe.”
Lies. It had to be a lie.
But the bond didn’t lie.
When he’d spoken those words, the bond had pulsed—a deep, resonant thrum beneath my skin, like a bowstring drawn taut. It had felt like truth. Not just emotion. Not manipulation. Truth.
I hated that most of all.
The door opened behind me, and I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to. I felt him before I saw him—the cold pressure of his presence, the way the air shifted, thickened. Kaelen moved like shadow given form, silent, deliberate. He didn’t speak as he entered. Didn’t approach. Just stood there, just inside the threshold, as if giving me space to breathe, to decide.
Or maybe he was waiting for me to run.
I wouldn’t. Not now. Not after everything.
“You should change,” he said finally, voice low, almost gentle. “The silk will crease.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. He’d removed his coat, folded it neatly over a chair. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins like dark rivers beneath pale skin. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d run a hand through it. His eyes—those molten red eyes—watched me, unreadable.
“I don’t care about the dress,” I said.
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because it was expensive. And because it looks better on you than anything else in this castle.”
I turned fully then, frowning. “Are you flirting with me?”
“No,” he said. “I’m stating a fact.”
And damn him, he wasn’t wrong. The red silk did look good on me. It made my skin glow, my eyes darker, my lips fuller. It made me look dangerous. Powerful. Like a woman who didn’t need saving.
But I wasn’t that woman. Not yet.
Kaelen crossed the room, movements fluid, predatory. He stopped a few feet from the bed, close enough that I could smell him—dark earth, frost, bloodied roses. His scent had deepened since the blood kiss, richer, more intoxicating. It curled around me, pulling me in.
The bond flared.
A pulse between my thighs. A tightening in my chest. My breath hitched.
He noticed. Of course he did. His nostrils flared slightly, his gaze dropping to my lips, then lower, to where my pulse beat in my throat.
“You feel it,” he said. Not a question.
“I feel a lot of things,” I snapped. “Most of them involve wanting to stab you.”
He almost smiled. Almost. “And yet, you haven’t.”
“Give me time.”
He stepped closer. “The bond is stronger tonight. The vow sealed it. It won’t let us rest. Not easily.”
“Great. So we’re both going to suffer.”
“Not necessarily.”
My eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting,” he said, voice dropping, “that we don’t have to fight it. Not completely. The bond wants connection. Touch. Heat. It doesn’t have to mean surrender.”
“You want me to comfort you?” I said, incredulous. “After everything?”
“No. I want you to be comfortable. I want us to survive the night without tearing each other apart.”
He reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a nightgown—black silk, simple, elegant. He held it out to me.
“Change. Get in bed. We don’t have to touch. But we do have to sleep. The bond will punish us if we don’t.”
I took the gown, fingers brushing his. A spark—small, electric—jumped between us. I pulled back as if burned.
He didn’t react. Just turned and walked to the other side of the room, giving me privacy.
I undressed quickly, stripping off the red silk, stepping out of my heels. The nightgown slipped over my head, cool against my skin. It fell to mid-thigh, the fabric soft, clinging in all the wrong places. I didn’t bother with undergarments. What was the point? He’d already seen me. Felt me. Tasted me.
I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my waist. The sheets were cold. Expensive. Probably woven from spider-silk or some other supernatural nonsense. I lay on my side, facing away from him, back stiff, muscles coiled.
After a moment, I heard him moving. The rustle of fabric. The soft creak of the mattress as he got in. He didn’t turn off the fire. Didn’t speak.
We lay there. Back to back. Inches apart. The bond hummed between us, a constant, aching presence.
And then—
He shifted.
Just slightly. A slow roll onto his side, until his back pressed against mine. Warmth radiated from him—unnatural, since vampires were supposed to be cold. But he wasn’t. Not to me. He was a furnace, a slow burn against my spine.
I froze.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I’m not going to touch you.”
“You are touching me.”
“Back-to-back contact is minimal. It helps stabilize the bond. Reduces the fever.”
“And if I don’t want to be stabilized?”
“Then you’ll spend the night burning,” he said. “And so will I.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. But I didn’t pull away either.
The silence stretched. The fire snapped. The wind howled.
And slowly, against my will, my body began to relax. The tension in my shoulders eased. My breathing slowed. His warmth seeped into me, soothing, almost comforting.
Almost.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Neither are you,” he replied.
“I thought you’d be cruel. Arrogant. A monster.”
“And I am.”
“But you’re not just that.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “No. I’m not.”
“Why did you protect her?” I asked. “Cassia.”
“Because she asked me to.”
“That’s not enough.”
“She was innocent,” he said. “She came to me months before the trial. Said she’d uncovered something—something about Malrik. About the Blood Tribunal. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was dangerous. She begged me to help her. I tried. But Malrik was too powerful. And then—she was framed. Accused of treason. And the Council moved fast.”
“And you just let it happen?”
“I couldn’t stop it without revealing that I’d been helping her. And if I did that, Malrik would have come for you. He knew about our bond. He knew it would destroy me if you died. So I let her burn. To keep you alive.”
My breath caught.
It made a terrible kind of sense. Cold. Calculated. Ruthless. But not evil.
“You’re saying you sacrificed her… to save me?”
“Yes.”
“And 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 loved her like a sister.
And now he was bound to me.
Forced. Trapped. Just like me.
“Do you regret it?” I asked.
“Every day,” he said, voice raw. “I see her face every time I close my eyes. I hear her voice. I failed her. But I won’t fail you.”
The bond flared—hot, deep, a wave of emotion that wasn’t mine. Grief. Guilt. Need.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to see the back of his neck, the line of his jaw, the way his hair curled at the nape. He was so still. So controlled.
But I could feel it—the tremor in his muscles, the way his breath hitched, just once.
He was afraid.
Not of me.
Of losing me.
And that—that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if he was afraid… then maybe I mattered.
And if I mattered, I was already lost.
I closed my eyes, trying to quiet my mind. But the bond wouldn’t let me. It pulsed, insistent, a low thrum of heat and pressure. My skin was too sensitive. My body too aware of his.
And then—
He moved.
Not much. Just a slight shift. His arm—his left arm—draped over my waist, heavy, warm, possessive.
I stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“Stabilizing the bond,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “It’s worse when we’re apart.”
“You said you wouldn’t touch me.”
“This isn’t touching. This is survival.”
I wanted to argue. To shove his arm off. To remind him that I wasn’t his.
But I didn’t.
Because the truth was—his touch didn’t feel like possession.
It felt like protection.
And worse—my body liked it.
Heat pooled low in my belly. My breath came slower, deeper. My muscles relaxed, melting into him.
And then—
I whispered the words I hadn’t meant to say.
“I came to kill you.”
Silence.
I thought he hadn’t heard. Thought he’d already fallen asleep.
But then—
His grip tightened.
Just slightly. Just enough.
And in the dark, his voice, low, rough, filled with something I couldn’t name—
“I know.”
My breath caught.
He knew?
How long had he known?
Since the beginning? Since the ritual? Since the blood kiss?
And yet—he hadn’t stopped me. Hadn’t exposed me. Hadn’t handed me over to Malrik.
He’d protected me.
Even when I’d come to destroy him.
Tears pricked my eyes. Not from sadness. From rage. From confusion. From the sheer, injustice of it all.
I had spent five years planning this. Five years gathering evidence, honing my skills, sharpening my hatred.
And now—now I wasn’t sure what I was fighting for.
Not vengeance.
Not justice.
Maybe just… truth.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to press my forehead against the back of his shoulder. Just enough to feel the steady beat of his pulse—slow, strong, alive.
And in the silence, I made a decision.
I wouldn’t kill him.
Not yet.
Not until I knew everything.
Not until I knew if he was the monster I’d painted him to be…
Or the man who had tried to save us both.
The fire crackled.
The bond hummed.
And for the first time since Cassia died…
I let myself sleep.
Still in his arms.
Still bound to him.
Still unsure if I was his prisoner…
Or his salvation.