The forest was silent.
Not peaceful. Not still. But waiting. The storm had passed, the wind stilled, the rain reduced to a slow, steady drip through the canopy. The cursed wood had closed around us—roots like ribs, branches like claws—sealing us in this hollow beneath the great oak. A tomb. A sanctuary. A trap.
And between us—fire.
It started in the blood.
A slow burn beneath my skin, a pulse in my veins, a pressure behind my ribs. The bond had been humming since we entered the forest, a low, insistent thrum, but now it surged. Not just desire. Not just need. Claiming.
Bond fever.
Not the full, maddening heat of an unmated Alpha werewolf—but close. Too close. The magic didn’t care that we were vampire and human. It didn’t care that our union was forced, political, poisoned by vengeance. It only knew one thing: we were fated. And it demanded completion.
I clenched my jaw, fighting it. Fighting the urge to tear her clothes off, to press her into the moss, to sink my fangs into her throat and mark her as mine. The forest had amplified everything—our fear, our grief, our lies. And now it was amplifying the bond.
And Athena?
She was worse.
She sat across from me, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself. Her breath came too fast. Her pulse hammered in her throat. Her scent—fire and iron, sweat and something sweet, like crushed juniper berries—had deepened, sharpened. She was fighting it too. But her body was losing.
Her skin was flushed. Her lips swollen. Her dark eyes wide, unfocused. She kept touching her neck, her collarbone, as if trying to soothe the ache there—the ache I had put there.
And gods help me, I wanted to do it again.
“It’s getting worse,” she whispered, voice raw. “The bond. It’s—”
“I know,” I said, cutting her off. I didn’t need her to say it. I could feel it. The pull. The heat. The way my fangs ached, how my hands trembled with the need to touch her.
She looked at me, really looked at me. “Why did you stop in the library?”
The question hit like a blade.
“Because it wasn’t real,” I said. “The bond was forcing us. You didn’t choose me. You were angry. Grieving. I wouldn’t take you like that.”
“And now?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Is it real now?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was—I didn’t know.
The fever was stronger. The forest was pressing in. The relic in her satchel pulsed faintly, cold and rhythmic, like a second heartbeat. The magic here was ancient, primal. It didn’t care about our war, our lies, our pain. It only knew hunger.
And so did I.
I stood, unable to stay still. The hollow was small—barely six feet across—and I paced like a caged beast, my boots silent on the moss. My coat was heavy with rain, my shirt clinging to my chest. I shrugged it off, tossing it aside. My fangs ached. My vision sharpened. I could smell her—really smell her—beneath the sweat and fear. Wanting.
She saw it. Of course she did. Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated. She shifted, just slightly, her thighs pressing together.
“You’re not helping,” she said, voice tight.
“Neither are you,” I snapped. “You keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to touch you.”
She flinched. But she didn’t deny it.
And that was the line.
I moved.
One step. Then another. Silent. Predatory. Until I was close—too close. Close enough to feel the heat of her body, to see the pulse in her throat, to smell the faint sweat gathering at the base of her neck.
“Kaelen—”
“Don’t lie to me,” I said, voice low, rough. “Don’t say you don’t feel it.”
“I feel it,” she whispered. “But I don’t want it.”
“Your body says otherwise.”
“My body doesn’t get to decide.”
“It already has.”
I reached out—slow, deliberate—and pressed my palm flat against the moss beside her head, caging her in. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t fight. Just stared up at me, her chest rising and falling, her lips slightly parted.
“You want me to stop,” I said. “Say it. And I will.”
She didn’t speak.
Her silence was an invitation.
My free hand found her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. She inhaled sharply, but didn’t move. My thumb brushed the dip of her hip, slow, testing. Her breath hitched again.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmured, my lips close to her ear. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
She turned her head—just slightly—until her lips were a breath from mine.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered.
And then she kissed me.
It wasn’t fire. Not teeth and desperation. It was hunger. Slow. Deep. Devouring. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, her body arching into mine. I groaned, my control snapping. My arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly, pressing her against the moss. The satchel fell, the relic clattering against stone. I didn’t care.
Her mouth was warm, alive, needing. She bit my lower lip—just enough to sting—and I answered with a growl, my tongue sliding against hers, claiming, devouring. The bond screamed between us—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel her thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
My hand slid up her side, under the curve of her breast, then higher, until my fingers tangled in her hair. I tilted her head back, breaking the kiss, and trailed my lips down her jaw, to the pulse point at her throat. She gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
“Kaelen—”
“Tell me to stop,” I said again, my fangs grazing her skin. “Or I won’t.”
She didn’t answer.
She arched her neck, offering herself.
And gods help me, I wanted to take her.
I wanted to bite. To mark. To claim her in front of every root, every vine, every secret this cursed forest held.
But then—
I saw it.
In the reflection of a shard of broken glass caught in the moss—her face. Not just desire. Not just need.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of herself.
Of what she was becoming. Of what I was making her feel.
And that—
That was the line.
I pulled back.
Not far. Just enough to break the contact. My hand still in her hair. My body still pressed to hers. My breath ragged.
“No,” I said, voice raw. “Not like this.”
She blinked, dazed. “What?”
“I won’t take you like this. 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.”
Her eyes darkened. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” I 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.”
She stared at me. Then—anger. Hot, fierce, beautiful.
“You’re a coward,” she 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,” I said, cutting her 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.”
She shoved me—hard. I let her. Stepped back, giving her space. Her chest heaved. Her eyes burned.
“You hate me,” she said.
“You don’t,” I said. “You hate that you want me.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned, snatching up the satchel, her movements sharp, furious.
And then—
She froze.
Her breath stopped.
Her eyes locked onto something at my neck.
I followed her gaze.
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.
I’d worn it every night since she died. Hidden beneath my shirt. A secret. A penance. A promise.
And now it was exposed.
She reached out—slow, trembling—and snapped it open.
And there she was.
Cassia.
Smiling. Alive. Gone.
Athena’s breath came in short, desperate gasps. Her fingers tightened around the locket. Her eyes filled with tears—but not of grief.
Of rage.
“You kept this,” she 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 I’d want to see my sister’s face?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see it around my neck.”
She stared at me. The bond flared—pain, heat, truth.
And then—
She slapped me.
Not hard. Not cruel. But sharp. A crack in the silence. My head snapped to the side. I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“Did you love her?” she asked, voice breaking. “Did you love her?”
“No,” I said, turning back to her. “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.”
She didn’t answer.
She just stared at the locket. At her sister’s face. At the promise I’d made.
And then—
She stood.
Not running. Not screaming. Just standing. Slow. Deliberate. Her eyes dark, unreadable.
“I need air,” she said.
And she walked out of the hollow.
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.
The forest was silent.
The fire between us?
It wasn’t just beginning.
It was consuming us.
And I didn’t know if we’d survive it.