The silence after the storm was heavier than the thunder.
It didn’t settle like peace. It pressed down—thick, expectant, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the next explosion. I stood at the cliff’s edge, the wind now still, the sea below churning in dark, restless waves. My blood had dried on my palm, a map of cuts and regrets, the locket still clutched in my fist like a weapon I no longer knew how to wield.
Kaelen hadn’t moved.
Not closer. Not away. Just stood there, ten feet from me, his coat open, his red eyes burning in the dim light. He didn’t speak. Didn’t reach for me. Just watched—like he was waiting for me to break. Or to heal. Or to finally stop running.
And gods help me, I was tired of running.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” I said, voice low.
He tilted his head, just slightly. “I know.”
“Then why do it?” I asked. “Why wear the locket? Why let me hate you? Why carry all of this—this guilt, this pain—as if it’s yours to bear alone?”
“Because it is,” he said. “I was the one who failed her. I was the one who couldn’t stop Malrik. I was the one who let you believe I was the monster.”
“And what about *me*?” I snapped, turning to face him fully. “What about *my* pain? My grief? Did you ever think that maybe I deserved the truth? That maybe I could’ve handled it? That maybe I didn’t need to be *protected* from it?”
His jaw tightened. “I didn’t protect you from the truth. I protected you from *him*. Malrik was watching. He had spies everywhere. If he’d known I cared about Cassia—if he’d known I’d tried to save her—he would’ve killed you the moment you stepped into Blackthorne. So I let you hate me. I let you call me a murderer. I let you plot my death. Because as long as you hated me, you were safe.”
I stared at him.
Not in anger. Not in doubt.
In *recognition*.
Because he was right.
Not just about Malrik. Not just about the danger.
But about *me*.
I *had* been safer hating him.
Because hatred was simple. It was clean. It gave me purpose. It gave me fire.
Love?
Love was chaos.
Love was vulnerability.
Love was standing on a cliff in the middle of the night, heart pounding, knowing that the man in front of you—this cold, ruthless vampire warlord—had carried your sister’s secret like a blade, had worn her locket every night as penance, had let you destroy him piece by piece… all to keep you alive.
And gods help me, I loved him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because he was *here*. Still. After everything. Still watching me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“You should’ve told me,” I whispered.
“And if I had?” he asked. “Would you have believed me? Would you have trusted me? Or would you have walked away, thinking I was lying? That I was manipulating you?”
I didn’t answer.
Because we both knew the truth.
I *would* have walked away.
I *would* have thought it was a lie.
Because I’d wanted him to be the monster. I’d needed him to be. Because if he wasn’t, then my vengeance meant nothing. My mission meant nothing. And I’d have nothing left.
But now—
Now I had *him*.
And I didn’t know what to do with that.
The wind shifted—just slightly—curling around us like a living thing. The bond hummed between us, not with fever, not with magic, but with something deeper. Something *real*.
“I don’t want to hate you anymore,” I said, voice breaking.
He didn’t move. Just watched me. Waited.
“I don’t want to fight you,” I said. “I don’t want to suspect you. I don’t want to wonder if you’re lying. I don’t want to live in this constant war between what I feel and what I *think* I should feel.”
“Then don’t,” he said, stepping forward. “Stop fighting it. Stop fighting *me*. Stop fighting *us*.”
“And what if I get hurt?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if you break me?”
“Then I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying to put you back together,” he said. “But I won’t lie to you. I won’t hide from you. And I won’t let you walk away again.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I said, lifting my chin.
“I do,” he said, closing the distance between us. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not this time. Not ever.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not fire. Not teeth. Not desperation.
But *truth*.
Slow. Deep. Devouring.
His lips sealed over mine, not claiming, not conquering, but *answering*. And I answered back. My hands fisted in his coat, pulling him closer, until there was no space between us. The bond *screamed*—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel his 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 *me*.
I broke the kiss, just enough to breathe, to look at him, to see the raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes.
“No fangs,” I whispered.
He smiled—just slightly, just enough. “No blood. No magic. Just… this.”
And then he kissed me again.
Not slow this time. Not careful.
Fire.
Teeth and tongue and desperation. He groaned, his arms locking around me, pulling me closer, until there was no space between us. The bond *screamed*—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel his thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
His hands slid down my back, under the curve of my ass, lifting me slightly, pressing me against the hard length of him. I gasped, my hips grinding down, seeking friction. He growled, his mouth trailing down my jaw, to the pulse point at my throat. I arched, offering myself.
“Kaelen—”
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his fangs grazing my skin. “Or I won’t.”
I didn’t answer.
I arched my neck, offering myself.
And gods help me, I wanted him to take me.
I wanted him to bite. To mark. To claim me in front of every root, every vine, every secret this cursed world held.
But then—
He saw it.
In the reflection of the obsidian table—my face. Not just desire. Not just need.
Trust.
Not of the bond.
Not of fate.
Of *him*.
And that—
That was the line.
He pulled back.
Not far. Just enough to break the contact. His hand still in my hair. His body still pressed to mine. His breath ragged.
“No,” he said, voice raw. “Not like this.”
I blinked, dazed. “What?”
“I won’t take you like this,” he 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.”
My eyes darkened. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” he 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.”
I stared at him. Then—anger. Hot, fierce, beautiful.
“You’re a coward,” I 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,” he said, cutting me 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.”
I shoved him—hard. He let me. Stepped back, giving me space. My chest heaved. My eyes burned.
“You hate me,” I said.
“You don’t,” he said. “You hate that you want me.”
I didn’t answer. Just turned, snatching up the satchel, my movements sharp, furious.
And then—
I froze.
My breath stopped.
My eyes locked onto something at his neck.
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.
He’d worn it every night since she died. Hidden beneath his shirt. A secret. A penance. A promise.
And now it was exposed.
I reached out—slow, trembling—and snapped it open.
And there she was.
Cassia.
Smiling. Alive. Gone.
My breath came in short, desperate gasps. My fingers tightened around the locket. My eyes filled with tears—but not of grief.
Of rage.
“You kept this,” I 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.”
I stared at him. The bond flared—pain, heat, truth.
And then—
I slapped him.
Not hard. Not cruel. But sharp. A crack in the silence. His head snapped to the side. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“Did you love her?” I asked, voice breaking. “Did you love her?”
“No,” he said, turning back to me. “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.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stared at the locket. At her face. At the promise he’d made.
And then—
I stood.
Not running. Not screaming. Just standing. Slow. Deliberate. My eyes dark, unreadable.
“I need air,” I said.
And I walked out of the war room.
He didn’t stop me.
He couldn’t.
Because for the first time in four hundred years—
He was afraid.
Afraid I might believe him.
Afraid I might not.
Afraid that if I did, he’d lose me 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 him.
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 him.
Not just with fangs and blood and fire.
But with every broken piece of my soul.
Because Kaelen wasn’t just my fated mate.
He was my redemption.
And I would not lose him.
Even if it killed me.
Even if he never loved me back.
Even if he never stopped hating me.
I would fight for him.
Because he 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.
Fanged Contract: Athena’s Vow
The first time Athena sees Kaelen Duskbane, he’s standing over a blood-smeared altar, his fangs bared in a ritual she wasn’t meant to witness. She hides in the shadows of Blackthorne Keep, heart pounding, not just from fear—but from the *pull*, the raw, electric snap of a fated bond that shouldn’t exist. She came to **burn him**, not *bond* with him.
But the ancient magic doesn’t care about revenge. It *claims*.
Now, to stop a war between vampire houses and fae courts, the Supernatural Council forces them into a **one-year political marriage**—a fanged contract sealed with blood and a public kiss that leaves her trembling, her body betraying her with heat and need. Kaelen, cold and merciless, sees her as a pawn. But the way his fingers linger on her wrist, the way his gaze burns when she wears red silk, tells a different story.
Athena is no fool. She knows the game. She’ll play the devoted wife while she digs for proof of his guilt. But every touch, every shared breath, every night spent in the same bed without crossing the line—erodes her resolve. And when the seductive vampire mistress **Lirien** appears, flaunting Kaelen’s bite mark and whispering that he once begged her to stay, Athena’s jealousy ignites like wildfire.
By Chapter 9, a mission gone wrong strands them in a cursed forest, where bond fever forces them to the edge of surrender—until Athena sees a locket with her sister’s face around his neck. **Is he the killer… or was he protecting her?**
The truth will destroy everything. And desire may be the only thing that can save them.