The forest air hit me like a slap.
Cold. Thick. Alive. It pressed against my skin, sharp with the scent of wet earth and rotting leaves, threaded through with something else—something sweet and cloying, like decay masked by perfume. The storm had passed, but the sky was still bruised, heavy with clouds that glowed faintly from within, as if lit by embers beneath the horizon. The trees loomed, their gnarled trunks rising like prison bars, their roots coiling across the ground like serpents waiting to strike.
I didn’t care.
I walked. Fast. Hard. My boots crunched over damp moss and broken twigs, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My hands were shaking. My chest was tight. The locket—*her* locket—was clenched in my fist, the metal biting into my palm, the chain tangled around my fingers. Cassia’s face was burned into my vision: that soft smile, the tilt of her head, the way her dark hair framed her face. She looked so *alive*. So *close*.
And it was around his neck.
How long? How many nights had he worn it? How many times had he whispered to it, like Lirien said? How many times had he mourned her while I burned in silence, while I clawed through the ashes of our life, while I swore I’d make him pay?
And now—now he said he hadn’t loved her.
He said he’d *protected* her.
That he’d kept the locket because she’d asked him to.
That he’d promised to keep me safe.
Lies. All of it. It had to be.
But the bond didn’t lie.
When he’d said those words—when he’d looked at me with those red, burning eyes and said, *“I protected her. I promised her I’d keep you safe”*—the bond had pulsed. Not with desire. Not with heat. With truth. A deep, resonant thrum beneath my skin, like a bowstring drawn taut. It had felt real. Not manipulated. Not faked.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Because if he wasn’t lying—
If he really had tried to save her—
If he really had carried that promise for five years—
Then everything I’d built—the mission, the hatred, the fire in my chest—was built on sand.
And I didn’t know who I was without it.
I stopped, gripping a tree trunk to steady myself. My breath came too fast. My vision blurred. The locket felt like fire in my hand. I wanted to throw it. To crush it. To scream until my voice gave out.
But I didn’t.
I just stood there, my forehead pressed to the bark, my fingers digging into the rough surface. The forest was silent. No birds. No wind. Just the slow, steady drip of water from the canopy. Listening. Waiting.
And then—
A whisper.
Not words. Not sound. Just a presence. A pressure in the air, like the moment before lightning strikes. The bond flared—hot, sharp, a pulse between my thighs, sudden and deep. My nipples tightened. My breath hitched.
He was coming.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Just stayed there, my back to the tree, my eyes closed, my body thrumming with the aftermath of what had almost happened in the hollow.
His footsteps were silent, but I felt him—cold fire, dark earth, bloodied roses. His scent curled around me, pulling me in. The bond screamed between us, a live wire sparking under my skin. I should have been afraid. I should have run.
But all I could think was—*closer*.
“Athena.”
His voice was low. Rough. Not a command. Not a demand. A plea.
I didn’t answer.
“You need to come back,” he said. “The forest isn’t safe. Not alone.”
“Neither are you,” I snapped, finally turning. “You think I don’t see it? The way you watch me. The way your jaw clenches when I mention her. You’re obsessed with her. With her memory. With her *ghost*.”
He flinched. Just slightly. But I saw it—the way his nostrils flared, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I’m not obsessed,” he said, voice tight. “I’m *haunted*.”
“Same thing.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “Obsession is desire. Haunting is guilt. And I carry *both*. I carry the guilt of failing her. The guilt of letting her die. And the guilt of surviving.”
My breath caught.
“You think I wanted this?” he continued, voice raw. “You think I wanted to be bound to you? To love you? To *need* you? I didn’t. I fought it. I walked away in the library. I walked away in the hollow. Because I knew—*I knew*—that if I took you, it wouldn’t be you choosing me. It would be the bond. The magic. The fever.”
“And now?” I whispered.
“Now?” He looked at me, really looked at me. “Now I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s the bond. I don’t care if it’s magic. I don’t care if you hate me. I just care that you’re *alive*. That you’re *here*. That you’re not dead because of me.”
Tears pricked my eyes. Not from sadness. From rage. From the sheer, *injustice* of it all.
“You don’t get to say that,” I said, voice breaking. “You don’t get to play the martyr. You don’t get to wear her locket and say you didn’t love her. You don’t get to—”
“I didn’t,” he said, cutting me off. “I didn’t love her like that. She was like a sister to me. A friend. A ward. I protected her because she was innocent. Because she was *yours*. Because she asked me to keep you safe. And I failed her. But I won’t fail you.”
My chest tightened.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I whispered.
“I do,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I’m the only one who’s not afraid of what we are.”
“And what are we?” I challenged, lifting my chin. “Enemies? Fated mates? Political prisoners?”
“We’re *alive*,” he said. “And we’re *together*. And that’s more than most people ever get.”
The bond flared—hot, deep, a wave of emotion that wasn’t mine. Grief. Guilt. Need.
And then—
A crack split the air.
Not thunder. Not a branch. A snare.
The ground beneath me gave way.
One second I was standing. The next, I was falling—down, down, into darkness. My scream was cut short as I hit the bottom, the impact jarring my bones, knocking the breath from my lungs. Pain flared in my shoulder, my hip. I gasped, rolling onto my side, clutching my ribs.
“Athena!”
Kaelen’s voice, sharp with fear. Boots above. Then silence. Then—
A thud.
He’d jumped in after me.
Darkness. Cold. The scent of damp earth and something older—something metallic, like blood left to rust. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. My body was still thrumming from the bond, from the fight, from the near-kiss in the hollow. And now this.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice close. His hands were on me—gentle, searching—checking my limbs, my head, my ribs.
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing him away. “I don’t need your help.”
“Too bad,” he said, not letting go. “You’ve got a cut on your temple. And you’re bleeding.”
My fingers brushed my forehead. Sticky. Warm. Blood.
“Great,” I muttered.
“Sit still.”
He pulled a cloth from his coat, pressing it to my temple. His touch was firm, steady. His body was a furnace against my side. The bond flared—hotter this time, sharper. A pulse between my thighs. My breath hitched.
“Stop,” I said, pulling back. “Just—stop.”
“I can’t,” he said, voice low. “The bond is too strong. The forest is amplifying it. And you’re bleeding. Your scent—”
“My scent?” I snapped. “What, does it make you *hungry*?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “It makes me *afraid*.”
I stilled. “Afraid of what?”
“Of losing you,” he said, voice raw. “Of failing you. Of watching you die like I watched her die. I can’t do it again, Athena. I *can’t*.”
My breath caught.
And then—
Light.
Not from above. Not from fire. From *him*.
His eyes glowed faintly in the dark—red, molten, like embers in a dying fire. He reached into his coat, pulling out a small vial of bloodwine. He uncorked it with his teeth, then tilted his head back, swallowing a mouthful. The liquid caught the dim light, shimmering with gold—fae essence. Forbidden. Dangerous.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Buying us time,” he said, handing me the vial. “Drink.”
“No.”
“Drink it, Athena. It’ll stabilize the bond. Reduce the fever. Or we’ll both go feral down here.”
I hesitated. Then took the vial. The bloodwine hit my tongue like fire and iron. Warm. Thick. It carried a current—something electric, something *alive*. I swallowed, forcing it down. The liquid slid through me, pooling in my stomach like molten lead.
And then—*sensation*.
Heat. Pressure. A pulse between my legs, sudden and deep. My nipples tightened. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. The darkness blurred. All I could see was *him*.
His scent flooded my senses—dark earth, frost, bloodied roses. His presence pressed against my mind, not invading, but *unfolding*. A whisper. A breath. A hand sliding down my spine.
“You feel it,” he murmured. “The connection.”
“It’s not real,” I whispered, but my voice trembled.
“It’s the most real thing you’ve ever known.”
He reached out, his thumb brushing my lower lip. Just a touch. Just a spark. But it was enough.
The bond *screamed*.
Heat. Pressure. A pulse between my thighs, sudden and deep. My breath came faster. My body arched toward him, seeking contact. His hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer, until I was straddling his lap, my thighs bracketing his hips. The other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my face up.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
His eyes were molten gold now, the red receding, replaced by something fiercer, hungrier. His fangs glinted, just visible behind his lips.
“This isn’t about the bond,” he said, voice low, rough. “This is about *you*. About *me*. About what we’ve been fighting since the beginning.”
“Then stop fighting,” I whispered.
And then I kissed him.
It wasn’t slow this time. Not careful. It was *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, he wanted to take her.
He wanted to bite. To mark. To claim her in front of every root, every vine, every secret this cursed forest held.
But then—
He 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.