The vault door clicked shut behind him, sealing me in darkness.
Alone.
My breath came fast, shallow, like I’d run a mile through fire. My skin still burned where his fingers had brushed my jaw, my pulse still hammering beneath the surface, wild and unrelenting. The air in the vault was cold, thick with the scent of old blood and leather, but all I could smell was *him*—cedar and frost and that dark, ancient thing that lived in his veins.
Kaelen Duskbane.
My husband.
My enemy.
My protector.
I pressed my palms to the stone wall, grounding myself, forcing my breath to slow. I had the ledger. I had proof. Veylan had killed my mother. Seraphine was working with him. They were watching me. Waiting for me to run.
And Kaelen—he’d let me find out on my own.
Not because he trusted me.
Because he knew I wouldn’t believe him otherwise.
It was manipulation. Cold, calculated. And it had worked.
I didn’t hate him anymore.
I didn’t.
But I didn’t trust him either.
I slid the ledger from my pocket, fingers tracing the silver script on the cover. Surveillance & Infiltration. This was power. Real power. Names, locations, plans. If I played this right, I could dismantle Veylan’s network from within. Turn the Court against him. Expose the truth.
And maybe—just maybe—avoid consummating the bond.
Seven days.
That’s all I had.
I tucked the ledger back into my dress and turned to the scrying glass. The surface was dark now, the image of Seraphine gone. But I knew it wasn’t safe. If they were watching before, they’d be watching again. I needed to get back to the suite. Regroup. Plan.
I reached for the door.
It didn’t open.
I pressed my hand to the keyhole.
Nothing.
“Kaelen?” I called, voice sharp. “The door’s locked.”
Silence.
I pounded on the stone. “Kaelen!”
Still nothing.
Then—
A low hum vibrated through the floor.
The sigils on the door flared crimson.
The vault groaned open.
He stood there, tall and dark, his golden eyes glowing in the dim light. He didn’t speak. Just stepped aside, gesturing for me to exit.
I brushed past him, chin high, refusing to let him see the way my body trembled—not from fear, but from the proximity, the heat, the *pull*.
We walked in silence through the Archives, past the floating orbs of blue light, the shelves of ancient tomes. The air was still, heavy with secrets. I could feel his presence at my back, a dark weight, a predator keeping pace with its prey.
When we reached the stairwell, he finally spoke.
“You’re not to go to the Archives alone again.”
“You’re not my keeper,” I snapped.
“I’m your husband,” he said, voice low. “And until you decide whether to trust me or fight me, I’ll be both.”
I stopped, turning to face him. “You don’t get to make demands. Not after what you did—letting me walk into that vault, knowing they were watching.”
“I was watching too,” he said. “And I was here when you needed me. That’s what matters.”
“You were *late*.”
“I was *precise*,” he corrected. “If I’d come sooner, they’d know you have allies. If I’d come later, they’d have taken you. I waited until the moment it mattered.”
I stared at him. “That’s not protection. That’s strategy.”
“It’s the same thing,” he said. “In war.”
And just like that, I remembered.
I wasn’t just a woman caught in a bond.
I was at war.
And he was my general.
Whether I liked it or not.
We reached the suite without another word. He didn’t follow me into my chamber. Just stood in the sitting room, watching as I closed the door.
This time, I didn’t lock it.
I didn’t know why.
I changed into a simpler dress—black, high-necked, practical—and braided my hair back tightly. I needed to think. To plan. To move.
But the bond had other ideas.
It pulsed in my chest, warm and insistent, a second heartbeat syncing with his. The closer I was to him, the stronger it grew. And now, after the vault, after the heat of his touch, after the way my body had *ached* for him—it was unbearable.
I pressed my palms to my thighs, trying to steady myself.
Knock. Knock.
“Elara.” His voice, low through the door. “Cassian’s waiting. We’re going to the lower tunnels.”
“Why?”
“There’s been sabotage. A section of the eastern passage collapsed. We need to assess the damage. And you need to see what’s at stake.”
I opened the door.
He stood there, dressed in black leather and steel, a dagger at his hip, his hair pulled back, his face all sharp angles and lethal grace. He looked like a warrior. A king.
And for the first time, I didn’t see the monster.
I saw the man who had protected me for sixteen years.
“Why should I care about your tunnels?” I asked.
“Because if the Court falls,” he said, “you fall with it. And Veylan wins.”
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
We left the suite, Cassian falling into step beside us. He gave me a small nod—respect, maybe, or something quieter. Loyalty.
The lower tunnels were beneath the main hall, a network of ancient passages carved into the volcanic rock, used for storage, transport, and emergency evacuation. The air was colder here, damp, the walls lined with glowing obsidian veins that pulsed like slow heartbeats.
We walked in silence, our boots echoing in the narrow corridor. The damage was ahead—rubble blocking the passage, dust still hanging in the air. Workers in gray tunics were already clearing the debris, their movements slow, deliberate.
“What caused it?” I asked.
“Sabotage,” Cassian said. “Explosive runes carved into the support beams. Someone wanted this section down.”
“Veylan?”
“Or someone working for him,” Kaelen said. “This tunnel leads to the eastern armory. If it’s compromised, we lose access to half our weapons.”
I stepped forward, scanning the rubble. The runes were faint, almost invisible—etched into the stone with precision. I knelt, brushing dust from the surface.
“This isn’t vampire magic,” I said. “It’s witchcraft. Blood-based. Designed to destabilize stone.”
Kaelen crouched beside me, close enough that his arm brushed mine.
Fire shot through me.
I gasped, stumbling back.
His hand shot out, catching my wrist, steadying me.
“The bond,” he said quietly. “It’s stronger down here. The obsidian amplifies it.”
“I don’t need you to touch me,” I snapped, yanking my hand free.
But my voice wavered.
And my skin still burned.
He didn’t apologize. Just stood, scanning the tunnel. “We need to clear this. Fast. Before they strike again.”
Cassian nodded. “I’ll organize the crew.”
They began moving, directing the workers, clearing the larger stones. I stayed back, studying the runes, trying to ignore the way my body thrummed with awareness—of him, of the bond, of the heat building between my thighs.
Then—
A low rumble.
The walls trembled.
“Earthquake?” I asked.
“No,” Kaelen said, voice sharp. “It’s another blast. Run!”
Too late.
The ceiling above us cracked, stone splitting like glass. Dust rained down. Then—
CRACK.
The tunnel collapsed.
I barely had time to scream before the world went black.
Rubble. Darkness. Pain.
I was buried, pinned beneath stone, my breath coming in short, panicked pulls. Dust filled my lungs. My left leg was trapped, pinned under a slab of rock. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.
Then—
A hand.
Strong. Familiar.
Kaelen.
He dug through the rubble, his hands bloody, his face streaked with dust, his golden eyes blazing in the dark. He didn’t speak. Just pulled stone after stone away, his muscles straining, his breath ragged.
“Kaelen—” I gasped.
“Don’t talk,” he said, voice rough. “Just breathe.”
He freed my leg, then lifted me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. I could feel his heart—fast, strong, *alive*—beating against my ear.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
And for the first time in sixteen years, I believed him.
He carried me through the darkness, his steps sure, his grip unyielding. The tunnel was narrow, the air thick with dust, the only light coming from the faint glow of the obsidian veins. I clung to him, my arms around his neck, my face pressed into the crook of his shoulder.
His scent—cedar and frost and power—filled my senses.
My body responded.
Heat pooled between my thighs. My breath hitched. My core tightened.
And then—
My leg shifted.
Pressed against his groin.
He froze.
So did I.
His cock—hard, thick, *alive*—pressed against my thigh through the layers of leather and fabric.
Neither of us moved.
The air between us crackled, electric, *charged*.
His breath came faster. My pulse roared in my ears.
“Don’t,” he growled, voice raw. “Or I won’t stop.”
My breath caught.
He wasn’t talking about the rescue.
He was talking about *this*.
About us.
About the heat, the need, the *want* that had been building since the moment I stepped into the Court.
I should have pulled away.
Should have broken the contact, the tension, the spell.
But I didn’t.
I stayed still.
My leg still pressed to his hardness.
My breath still tangled with his.
And in that moment, I realized—
I didn’t want him to stop.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered.
He looked down at me, his golden eyes burning in the dark. “Neither are you.”
Then he moved.
Fast. Sure.
He carried me through the rest of the tunnel, his steps steady, his jaw clenched. I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just held on, my body still humming with the echo of that contact, that heat, that *almost*.
When we reached the surface, Cassian was waiting, his face pale. “Is she—?”
“She’s alive,” Kaelen said, voice tight. “Get the healers. Now.”
Cassian ran.
Kaelen carried me into the medical chamber—a sterile room of white stone and silver instruments. He laid me on the examination table, his hands gentle, his touch careful.
“Your leg,” he said. “Let me see.”
I lifted the torn fabric, revealing a deep gash along my calf. Blood seeped through, dark and slow.
He didn’t flinch. Just reached for a cloth, soaked it in antiseptic, and began to clean the wound.
His touch was clinical. Detached.
But I could feel it—the tension in his hands, the way his breath hitched when I gasped, the way his eyes darkened when my blood dripped onto his fingers.
Vampire.
He wanted to taste it.
“You can,” I said quietly. “If it helps the bond.”
He stilled.
Looked up at me. “You’re offering?”
“I’m being practical,” I said. “The bond’s unstable. Your blood healed me before. Maybe mine can help you.”
He studied me. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
He hesitated.
Then leaned in.
His fangs—long, sharp, deadly—sank into my skin.
I gasped.
Not from pain.
From *pleasure*.
Fire shot through my veins, white-hot and wild. My back arched. My breath came in short, desperate pulls. His mouth was warm, his tongue flicking over the wound, sealing it with a drop of his own blood.
And then—
A vision.
Not mine.
A young man kneeling beside a child—me—hiding in the garden. “Stay quiet,” he whispers. “They’re coming.”
Me, trembling. “Who?”
“The ones who want to hurt you. I won’t let them. I promise.”
Tears burned my eyes.
He pulled back, his lips stained with my blood, his eyes molten gold.
“You remember,” he said quietly.
I nodded, unable to speak.
He hadn’t just protected me.
He’d *saved* me.
And I’d spent sixteen years hating him for it.
He wiped his mouth, then stood, stepping back. “The healers will be here soon. Rest.”
“Kaelen.”
He paused.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked out.
But I saw it—the way his hand trembled as he closed the door.
And I knew—
This wasn’t just about the bond.
It wasn’t just about survival.
It was about *us*.
And no matter how much I fought it—
I was already falling.