The dawn burned across the horizon, molten gold bleeding into the sky, setting the clouds aflame. Below us, Blackthorne Keep stretched like a sleeping beast—stone and shadow, ancient and unyielding. The Obsidian Spire stood silent now, its pulse stilled, the runes dimmed but still warm beneath my bare feet. The air hummed with aftermath, thick with the scent of ozone and blood, of magic spent and vows fulfilled.
I was marked.
The bite on my neck throbbed—not with pain, but with presence. A sigil of fire and shadow etched into my skin, pulsing in time with the bond. I could feel it—Kaelen’s heartbeat in my chest, his breath in my lungs, his thoughts brushing against mine like a whisper just out of reach. Not forced. Not manipulated. Chosen.
And for the first time in five years, I wasn’t afraid.
Kaelen stood beside me, his coat flaring in the wind, his hand still resting at the small of my back. He hadn’t let go since he pulled me into his arms after the claiming. His touch was steady, possessive, but not suffocating. Not anymore. There was a difference now—something in the way his fingers pressed just slightly into my skin, like he was anchoring himself to me as much as I was to him.
“It’s sealed,” he said, voice low. “The Veil is whole again. Stronger than before.”
I nodded, my gaze still on the horizon. “And Malrik?”
“He’ll know.”
“By now?”
“By now.”
I turned to him. “Then he’ll come.”
“He’ll come,” Kaelen confirmed. “Not with subtlety. Not with lies. He’ll come with fire and fang. He’ll come to break what we’ve built. To break you.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “Let him.”
He studied me—those red eyes peeling back every layer, searching for the fear I wasn’t showing. And when he found none, his jaw tightened. “You’re not the same woman who walked into this keep.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
“You came here to kill me.”
“And now?”
He stepped closer, his hand sliding up my spine, his thumb brushing the fresh mark on my neck. “Now you’d die for me.”
“Not just for you,” I corrected. “For her. For the truth. For the world she died trying to save.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Then we’ll make sure her death wasn’t in vain.”
I closed my eyes, breathing him in—dark earth, frost, bloodied roses. The scent of him had changed. Not just the vampire, not just the warlord. Now it was us. The bond had rewoven him into me, and me into him, until there was no separating what was mine from what was his.
And I didn’t want to.
“We should descend,” he said after a long moment. “The keep will be stirring. Silas will have felt the ritual. The others will know something happened.”
I nodded, stepping back. “And Lirien?”
“Ash,” he said. “Burned in the Council Chamber. Her shadow is gone. But her influence lingers. Her whispers. Her lies.”
“They’re still in my head,” I admitted. “Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I hear her—‘He’ll never love you like he loved her.’”
Kaelen’s hand found mine, fingers lacing with mine. “Then let me remind you.”
He didn’t kiss me. Not yet. Just held my hand, his thumb brushing over the cut from the locket, the dried blood still smudged between our skin. A wound. A sacrifice. A beginning.
“I didn’t love her,” he said, voice low. “I protected her. I honored her. But I never loved her. Not like this. Not like you.”
“And if I hadn’t believed you?” I asked. “If I’d walked away after the crypt? After the letter?”
“I would’ve followed you,” he said. “Across kingdoms. Across centuries. I would’ve burned every bridge, broken every law, shattered every oath—just to make you see me. To make you choose me.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I whispered.
“I do,” he said. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not this time. Not ever.”
And gods help me, I believed him.
We descended the spire in silence, the stone cold beneath my feet, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat. The keep was quiet—too quiet. No guards. No servants. No whispers from the halls. Just the echo of our footsteps, the rustle of our clothes, the weight of what we’d done.
When we reached the base, Silas was waiting.
He stood at the foot of the spire, his coat open, his dark eyes burning with something I couldn’t name—relief? Fear? Awe? He didn’t speak. Didn’t bow. Just looked at Kaelen. Then at me. Then at the mark on my neck.
And he nodded.
One sharp dip of his chin. A soldier’s salute. A brother’s acknowledgment.
“It’s done,” Kaelen said.
“I felt it,” Silas replied. “The Veil. It’s stronger. The magic—” He paused, glancing at me. “It’s different now.”
“Because it’s true,” I said.
Silas didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “Then he’s coming.”
“He’s already on the move,” Kaelen said. “I can feel it. The Blood Tribunal is mobilizing. Malrik’s calling in his debts. He’ll strike before the moon rises.”
“Where?” I asked.
“The Western Gate,” Silas said. “It’s the weakest point in the wards. If he breaches it, he can flood the keep with Dregs and Nobles. Take the throne before we can regroup.”
Kaelen turned to me. “You’re not fighting.”
I laughed—short, sharp, disbelieving. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” he said. “You’re not just my wife. You’re the anchor of the Veil. If you die—”
“Then the Veil falls,” I finished. “And everything burns.”
“Exactly.”
I stepped forward, pressing a hand to his chest. “And if you die?”
He didn’t answer.
“If you die,” I said, voice breaking, “I burn with you. Not just my body. My soul. My magic. Everything I am. The bond won’t let me survive it. And Malrik knows that. That’s why he’ll come for you first. To break me by breaking you.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “Then I won’t die.”
“And I won’t hide,” I said. “I’m not some fragile thing to be locked away. I’m not your secret. I’m not your pawn. I’m your queen. And I fight beside you. Or I don’t fight at all.”
Silas didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.
Kaelen stared at me—those red eyes burning, searching, testing. And when he saw that I wouldn’t back down, that I wouldn’t be caged, he exhaled.
“Then you fight,” he said. “But you stay behind me. You don’t engage unless I fall. You don’t take a single step forward unless I give the order.”
“I’m not your soldier,” I said.
“You’re my mate,” he said. “And if you die, I die. So you’ll do as I say. Or I’ll lock you in the crypt myself.”
I glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “I’ve spent centuries ruling with blood and fear. You think I won’t use it on you if it keeps you alive?”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped back, my chest heaving, my magic simmering beneath my skin.
Silas cleared his throat. “The Western Gate. We have an hour, maybe less. The inner guard is assembling. The outer wards are holding—for now.”
Kaelen turned to him. “Prepare the inner circle. Nobles only. No Dregs. And get Maeve. If Malrik brings shadow magic, we’ll need a witch to counter it.”
“She’s already on her way,” Silas said. “Sensed the ritual. Knew it was coming.”
“Good.” Kaelen looked at me. “We move in ten. You’ll wear armor. Not that”—he gestured at my simple shirt and trousers—“not while I’m breathing.”
“I don’t need armor,” I said.
“You do,” he said. “Because I said so.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to throw fire at him, to prove I wasn’t some delicate thing to be protected. But then I saw it—the fear in his eyes. Not for himself. For me. The warlord who’d faced armies alone, who’d torn through enemies without blinking, was afraid of losing me.
And that—
That was the difference.
“Fine,” I said. “Armor. But I’m not wearing a damn dress.”
He almost smiled. Almost. “You’ll wear what I give you.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re mine,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “So get used to it.”
He kissed me then—slow, deep, devouring. Not fire. Not teeth. But truth. 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.
He broke the kiss, just enough to breathe, to look at me, 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.