The summons came not in blood-red wax or silver script, but on a simple white card—crisp, elegant, edged in black. No seal. No sigil. Just two words, typed in clean, unadorned font:
You’re invited.
And beneath it, an address: a private gallery in the Marais, Paris. Neutral ground. Open to all supernaturals. No weapons. No bloodshed. Only art, wine, and whispers.
I didn’t flinch. Just turned the card over in my fingers, the paper cool, the edges sharp. The bond hummed beneath my skin—warm, insistent—not with fear, but with *recognition*. This wasn’t a threat. It was a trap. And traps were only dangerous if you walked into them blind.
“It’s her,” Kaelen said, stepping into the suite, his coat open, his dagger at his hip. He didn’t ask what I held. He already knew. “She’s not done.”
“No,” I said, slipping the card into my pocket. “She’s not. But she’s running out of ways to hurt me.”
He crossed the room in three strides, his presence a wall, his golden eyes burning. “Then let her try. And when she fails—” His hand rose to cup my face. “—we remind her who holds the power.”
I didn’t smile. Just leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth, the strength, the *truth* of him. “She doesn’t want power. She wants *revenge*. For losing you. For losing her status. For being exposed as a liar.”
“Then she should’ve fought for it,” he said. “Not stolen it.”
“And now,” I said, “she’s going to make a spectacle of me. In public. With art. With lies. With *memory*.”
He didn’t argue. Just pulled me into his chest, his arms tight around me, his breath warm against my neck. “Then we go. Not to defend. Not to deny. To *own* it.”
And the bond—oh, the bond—flared gold, wrapping around us, sealing us, *claiming* us.
Not a curse.
Not a prison.
>A promise.—
The gallery was small—intimate, elegant, lit with soft golden light that glowed from within the walls like veins of amber. The air was thick with the scent of wine, perfume, and old magic. Fae stood in clusters, their wings shimmering, their eyes sharp. Witches murmured in low voices, their hands glowing faintly with sigils. Vampires moved like shadows, their coats open, their fangs just visible. And in the center—
Her.
Seraphine.
She stood beside a raised dais, her emerald-green gown clinging to her curves, her hair coiled high, her lips painted the same venomous shade. She didn’t look nervous. Didn’t look afraid. Just *smug*. Like she already knew she’d won.
And on the dais—
A painting.
Not just any painting.
Me.
Twelve years old. Running through the ruins of Edinburgh, my mother’s blood on my hands, my face streaked with tears. The night I ran. The night I hid. The night I *survived*.
And beside it—
Kaelen. Kneeling in that same blood. His fangs bared. His eyes black with power.
The face from my nightmares.
The lie I’d believed for sixteen years.
The crowd turned as we entered. Some bowed. Some flinched. Most just stared, their breaths shallow, their eyes wide. They remembered.
>They had seen me fight. >They had seen me win. >They had seen me *kill*.And now, I walked into their world like I owned it.
Seraphine smiled as we approached, her green eyes sharp. “Elara. Kaelen. So kind of you to come.”
“We don’t take orders from traitors,” I said, stepping forward, my boots clicking against the stone. “But we do enjoy front-row seats to downfalls.”
She didn’t flinch. Just gestured to the painting. “This is truth. This is history. This is *you*.”
“No,” I said. “This is *you*. This is your last attempt to tear us apart. To make me look weak. To make him look like a monster.” I turned to the crowd. “But you already know the truth. You’ve seen me stand in front of a blade for him. You’ve seen him bleed to save me. You’ve seen us fight side by side, not as king and queen, but as *equals*.”
“And what about the past?” a witch asked, her voice trembling. “What about the night your mother died?”
“The past is a shadow,” I said. “And shadows only have power if you let them.” I stepped onto the dais, my boots silent, my hand resting on *Shadowline*’s hilt. “But if you want truth—” I reached into my tunic and pulled out a small, ornate locket—the one Seraphine had given me, now empty, its photograph burned to ash. “—then here it is.”
I opened it.
Inside was nothing.
Just darkness.
And then—
I pressed my thumb to the center, and the magic *flared*.
Not with fire. Not with blood.
With *memory*.
The locket projected an image into the air—clear, sharp, *real*. Me. At twelve. Running. Screaming. My mother’s blood on my hands.
And then—
Kaelen. Not kneeling over her body.
Protecting it.
His fangs bared. His eyes black with power. His voice raw: *“Run, Elara. Run and don’t look back.”*
And then—
Veylan. Emerging from the shadows. His face twisted with rage. His hand on the knife.
And Kaelen—
Driving his dagger into Veylan’s heart.
But not fast enough.
Not before the truth was buried.
The crowd gasped.
Not in horror.
>Recognition.“This,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence, “is the truth. Not the lie she painted. Not the story she sold. This is what happened. This is what *was*. And if you still doubt—” I turned to Seraphine. “—then tell me. Where were *you* that night? Who did *you* serve? Whose lies did *you* carry?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared up at me, her green eyes wide, her breath shallow.
And then—
She laughed.
Not cruel. Not mocking.
But *broken*.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice cracking. “I didn’t want to destroy you. I wanted to *be* you. I wanted the power. The respect. The man who looks at you like you’re the only light in the dark.” She looked at Kaelen. “He never looked at me like that. Not once. Not even when I wore his ring. Not even when I lay in his bed.”
“Then you should’ve fought for it,” I said. “Not stolen it.”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped back, her hands trembling, her face pale.
And then—
I moved.
Not with violence. Not with magic.
With *mercy*.
I stepped down from the dais, my boots clicking against the stone, and held out the locket. “Take it.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Take it,” I said. “It’s empty now. The lie is gone. The truth is known. You have nothing left to fight with. So take it. And go. But know this—” My voice was cold, sharp. “—if you ever come near him again, if you ever try to use lies to tear us apart—” I leaned forward, my fangs just visible. “—I will not hesitate. I will *end* you.”
She didn’t flinch. Just took the locket, her fingers trembling, her breath shallow.
And then she turned and walked away, vanishing into the shadows.
When she was gone, the crowd didn’t cheer. Didn’t applaud.
They just *watched*.
And in their eyes—
I saw it.
>Recognition. >Respect. >Belief.And the bond—oh, the bond—flared gold, not with fire, not with need, but with *truth*.
—
We returned to the Sanctuary at dawn.
The city was quiet, the streets empty, the air thick with tension. But not fear.
Not anymore.
Back in the guest suite, I moved to the window, staring out at Paris as it pulsed beneath a veil of mist. The sun was high now, the sky clear, the city alive. Humans rushed to work, supernaturals moved in the shadows, the world turning, unaware of the war that had just ended.
“They don’t believe in us,” I said, not turning.
Kaelen stepped behind me, his chest pressing to my back, his breath warm against my neck. “They don’t have to. They just have to *follow*.”
I turned in his arms, my hands sliding up his chest, my lips brushing his jaw. “Touch me,” I whispered. “Please.”
He didn’t hesitate.
His hands were rough, possessive, *alive* as they gripped my waist, lifting me off the ground, pinning me against the wall. His mouth moved over mine—fierce, hungry, *devouring*. His tongue clashed with mine, a battle for dominance, for control, for *truth*. His cock—hard, thick, *alive*—pressed against my thigh, sending shockwaves through me.
And the bond—oh, the bond—exploded.
Fire. Light. *Need*.
I arched into him, my legs wrapping around his hips, my hands clawing at his back, desperate to feel more, to *have* more. His hands roamed my back, my ass, pulling me tighter, *closer*. His teeth scraped my lip, drawing blood, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through me.
“Elara,” he growled against my mouth. “Gods, you taste like fire.”
I didn’t answer. Just kissed him harder, deeper, my body screaming for release, for *him*. His hands slid under my thighs, lifting me higher, and then—
He entered me.
Slow.
Deep.
Like a vow.
I cried out, my head falling back, my nails raking his shoulders. Pleasure—sharp, electric—ripped through me. My core tightened, my breath came in short, desperate pulls, my body trembling on the edge.
He didn’t move. Just held me there, buried inside me, his breath ragged against my neck, his heart pounding against my chest.
“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.
I did.
His golden eyes burned. “You’re mine,” he said. “Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. But because you *chose* me.”
“I did,” I whispered. “And I’ll choose you again. And again. And again.”
He smiled—soft, real, *his*—and then he moved.
Slow at first. Deep. Then faster. Harder. A rhythm that matched the pulse of the bond, the beat of our hearts, the fire in our blood.
And I met him—every thrust, every breath, every groan. My hips rose to meet his, my nails dug into his back, my voice a whisper of his name.
And the bond—oh, the bond—flared gold, wrapping around us, sealing us, *claiming* us.
When I came, it wasn’t with a scream.
It was with a sob.
Not from pain.
Not from pleasure.
But from *truth*.
Because I wasn’t just Elara Shadowline.
I wasn’t just a hybrid.
I wasn’t just a queen.
I was *his*.
And he was *mine*.
And nothing—no lie, no betrayal, no vengeance—could ever take that away.
He followed, his body shuddering, his breath a ragged gasp against my neck, his cock pulsing inside me. And when he stilled, he didn’t pull out.
Just held me, his arms tight around me, his face buried in my hair, his breath steady.
And the bond—oh, the bond—hummed between us, warm and insistent, a second heartbeat syncing with his.
Not a curse.
Not a prison.
>A promise.And when I finally slept, I didn’t dream of shadows or blood or Veylan.
I dreamed of sunlight.
And a garden.
And a man with golden eyes who whispered, *“I’ll save you.”*
And I believed him.
—
Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in silver and rose, I stood at the edge of the balcony, the city stretching below. Kaelen stood behind me, his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“What now?” I asked.
He didn’t answer at first. Just held me tighter.
Then—
“Now,” he said, “we rule.”
I smiled.
Not because it was easy.
Not because the war was over.
But because I knew.
No matter what came next—no matter the threats, the betrayals, the battles—we would face it.
Together.
And when I turned in his arms, pressing my lips to his, I didn’t think of vengeance.
Or blood.
Or the past.
I thought of *us*.
And I knew—
This wasn’t the end.
It was just the beginning.
And as the bond flared between us—gold, warm, *alive*—I whispered against his lips:
“Forever, not by law. By choice.”
He smiled.
And kissed me back.