The dream came again.
Not the one from the ritual—the silver water, the steam, the soft press of his lips against mine. Not the vision of my mother’s voice, or Kaelen kneeling in blood, whispering, *“I couldn’t save her.”*
No.
This was different.
A child—me—running through a sunlit garden, laughter ringing through the trees. My mother’s voice: “Elara, come in! Dinner’s ready!”
I turn, bare feet on warm stone, about to call back—
Then the sky darkens.
Shadows coil from the earth. Hands reach. I scream.
A figure steps from the dark—tall, cloaked, eyes like embers. Veylan.
“You don’t belong here,” he says. “You never did.”
I try to run, but the ground pulls me down. The garden crumbles. The sky bleeds.
And then—
Kaelen appears.
Not as the monster I once believed, but as he is now—golden eyes blazing, hands outstretched.
“Take my hand,” he says. “I’ll save you.”
I reach—
And the dream ends.
I woke with a gasp, my heart hammering, my skin slick with sweat. The bond pulsed in my chest, warm and insistent, a second heartbeat syncing with his. The suite was quiet, the fire in the hearth reduced to embers, the enchanted glass in the window filtering a soft, artificial dawn.
Morning in the Obsidian Court.
I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath. The dream had felt real—too real. Not just memory. Not just fear. It was a warning.
Veylan was coming.
And he would do anything to destroy me.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my injured calf protested. The healers had done their work well—no infection, no lasting damage—but the scar would remain. A reminder of the tunnel collapse. Of the way Kaelen had carried me through the dark, his body pressed to mine, his cock hard against my thigh.
I shivered.
Not from pain.
From memory.
From *want*.
And from the kiss.
The one in the Sacred Spring. Soft. Slow. Like a promise.
It hadn’t been anger. Hadn’t been revenge. It had been *surrender*.
And I’d liked it.
I stood, moving to the wardrobe, fingers brushing the black dress I’d worn the night before. I didn’t want to wear it. Didn’t want to wear any of the gowns he’d provided—silks and velvets designed to make me look like a consort, a trophy, a *wife*.
But I didn’t have a choice.
Not yet.
I pulled on a deep gray dress—simple, high-necked, no embellishments—and braided my hair back tightly. Armor. Again.
When I stepped into the sitting room, Kaelen wasn’t there.
The fire had been stoked. A tray of food sat on the low table—blood-red wine, dark bread, smoked meat. Vampire fare. I ignored it. I didn’t trust anything in this place.
Not even my own heart.
I moved to the writing desk, pulling the ledger from the inner seam of my dress. The Blood Pact Registry. Proof. Power. I flipped to the page with my mother’s name, tracing the words with my finger.
Isolde Shadowline. Status: Terminated. Blood harvested. Power transferred to Veylan Duskreaper.
Terminated.
Like she was a contract. A resource.
Not a woman. Not a mother.
And Kaelen—he hadn’t killed her. He’d tried to save her. Tried to save *me*.
I closed the ledger, pressing it to my chest.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
Didn’t know what to do with *him*.
Knock. Knock.
“Elara.” Cassian’s voice, low through the door. “The High Priestess wants to see you. Alone.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
“She wouldn’t say. But she insisted. No escorts. No delays.”
I hesitated.
Going alone meant risk. But refusing meant weakness. And I wasn’t weak.
“Tell her I’m on my way.”
I left the suite, following Cassian through the lower tunnels, past the still-recovering rubble, to the High Priestess’s sanctum—a hidden chamber beneath the ancestral hall, its walls lined with ancient tomes and blood-locked relics. The air smelled of incense and iron.
The High Priestess sat at a low table, her gaunt frame draped in black silk, her eyes like cracked porcelain. She didn’t look up as I entered.
“Close the door,” she said.
I did.
She lifted a hand, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Sit.”
I didn’t move. “You summoned me. Speak.”
She smiled—a thin, cold thing. “You are not what I expected, Lady Duskbane.”
“I’m not *Lady Duskbane*,” I said. “And I’m not here to play games.”
“No,” she said. “You’re here because you’re in danger.”
I stilled. “What kind of danger?”
“The kind that comes from within,” she said, her voice like dry leaves. “The bond is unstable. The contamination from the tunnel collapse lingers. And if it’s not cleansed soon, it will consume you.”
“The ritual in the Sacred Spring—”
“Was not enough,” she interrupted. “The water purifies the body. But the soul? The mind? The *heart*? Those are not so easily cleansed.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you saying?”
She reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out a small, leather-bound book—no larger than my palm, its cover etched with a single sigil: a fang wrapped in thorns.
“This,” she said, “is the *Codex of the Fanged Contract*. The original text. Written in blood. Sealed by fate.”
My breath caught.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because it contains the truth,” she said. “About the bond. About your mother. About Kaelen.”
She opened the book, flipping to a page filled with ancient script. “The Fanged Contract is not just a political alliance. It is a *soul-bond*. It chooses its own. And it chose you, Elara Shadowline, long before you stepped into this hall.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said, “that you were never meant to destroy him. You were meant to *save* him.”
I stared at her. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” She turned the page. “Your mother knew. She wrote it in her journal. And Kaelen—he’s known since the night he found you in the garden. He’s been waiting for you to come home.”
“And if I don’t?” I asked. “If I refuse the bond? If I run?”
“Then you die,” she said. “And so does he. The bond is not one-sided. It binds both. Kills both. And if you break it, you break *yourselves*.”
My stomach twisted.
“And Veylan?”
“He knows,” she said. “He’s been watching. Waiting. And he will use your fear against you. Your doubt. Your *love*.”
I flinched.
Love.
She’d said *love*.
“I don’t love him,” I said, voice sharp.
She smiled. “No. Not yet. But you will. And when you do, he will be your greatest strength—and your greatest weakness.”
She closed the book, sliding it across the table. “Keep it. Study it. The answers you seek are within.”
I picked it up, the leather cool in my hands. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I served your mother,” she said. “And because I know what Veylan will do if he wins.”
She stood, her gaze piercing. “Choose wisely, Elara Shadowline. The bond is not your prison. It is your power. And if you embrace it, you will become what you were born to be.”
“And what is that?”
She smiled. “A queen.”
I left the sanctum, the Codex heavy in my hands, my mind racing. A soul-bond. A fated union. A queen.
It was too much.
Too fast.
Too *real*.
I needed air. Space. Time to think.
I didn’t go back to the suite. I went to the archives—the lower level, beneath the main hall, where the vaults stood like silent sentinels. The Blood Pact Registry was still in my pocket, but I needed more. Needed to see it with my own eyes.
The stone sentinels turned their heads as I approached, their eyes glowing faintly. I held out my hand, pricking my finger with the hidden blade, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the activation plate.
The door clicked open.
I stepped inside, the cold air wrapping around me like a shroud. The floating orbs of blue light cast long shadows across the shelves. I moved to the back of the room, to the Shadowline vault.
The unmarked door. The fang-shaped keyhole.
I pressed my bleeding finger to the lock.
Nothing.
Then—
A whisper, faint, like wind through stone.
“Only Shadowline may enter.”
My breath froze.
It had recognized me.
But the door didn’t open.
“Try again,” a voice said behind me.
I turned.
Kaelen stood there, tall, dark, his golden eyes blazing. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, pressed his thumb to the lock.
The door clicked open.
Inside—dust. Darkness. And the pedestal. And the journal.
My mother’s journal.
I reached for it, hands trembling, and opened it to the first page.
“If you’re reading this, Elara, I’m already dead. And Kaelen is the only one who can protect you.”
I closed it, pressing it to my chest.
“You were right,” I said, voice low. “You did protect me.”
He didn’t respond. Just watched me, his gaze intense, unreadable.
“But why?” I asked. “Why me? Why now?”
“Because you’re mine,” he said. “And I’ve waited sixteen years to bring you home.”
My breath caught.
“And if I don’t want to be yours?”
“Then you’ll die,” he said. “And I’ll follow you into the dark.”
I stared at him. “That’s not love. That’s obsession.”
“Call it what you want,” he said. “But it’s the truth.”
I turned away, pressing my hands to the cold stone wall. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Then believe this,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t kill your mother. I couldn’t save her. But I *will* save you. Even if it costs me everything.”
I turned. “And if I don’t want to be saved?”
“Then you’re a fool,” he said. “Because you’re not just fighting me. You’re fighting *yourself*. Your body knows the truth. It *wants* this. It *wants* me.”
“It’s the bond,” I snapped.
“No,” he said. “It’s *you*.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And in that moment, I knew—
I was already his.
And I didn’t want to be anyone else.
He stepped back. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”
He turned to go.
“Wait,” I said.
He paused.
“I found something,” I said, pulling the Codex from my pocket. “The High Priestess gave it to me. It’s the original text of the Fanged Contract.”
His eyes flared gold. “You shouldn’t have it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s dangerous,” he said. “And because Veylan will kill to get it.”
“Then let him try,” I said. “I’m not afraid of him.”
He studied me. “You should be.”
Then he was gone, vanishing into the shadows like smoke.
I stayed in the vault for hours, reading the Codex, tracing the ancient script with my fingers. The truth unfolded like a blade—slow, precise, *lethal*.
The Fanged Contract was not just a bond.
It was a *destiny*.
And I was at the heart of it.
When I finally left, the Court was quiet, the vampires in their chambers, the air thick with anticipation. I moved swiftly, silently, my boots making no sound on the stone.
But I wasn’t alone.
At the end of the corridor, a door stood ajar.
Kaelen’s private chamber.
And from within—
Laughter.
Female laughter.
My breath stopped.
I stepped closer, heart pounding, pulse roaring in my ears.
Then—
A figure emerged.
Seraphine.
She stood in the doorway, wrapped in a black silk robe—*his* robe—her dark hair damp, her skin flushed, a towel in her hand. She was drying her hair, humming softly, a smirk on her lips.
And then she saw me.
Her smile widened.
“Oh,” she purred. “The wife returns. Did you enjoy your little *study session*?”
My blood turned to ice.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, voice low, dangerous.
“What does it look like?” she said, stepping forward. “I was just leaving. After a *long* night.”
My stomach twisted.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He likes it when I wear nothing but his clothes. Says it makes him feel… *alive*.”
I stepped back.
“You’re a liar,” I said. “And a pawn.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But at least I’ve been in his bed. Have you?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I couldn’t.
Because in that moment, the bond—warm, insistent—flared with *jealousy*.
And I realized—
I didn’t just want to believe him.
I wanted to *own* him.
And I turned and ran.
Not to the suite.
Not to the archives.
But straight into the corridor—
And collided with a solid chest.
Strong arms caught me.
Golden eyes burned.
Kaelen.
“Elara,” he said, voice rough. “What’s wrong?”
I looked up at him, my breath coming fast, my heart breaking.
“Was she in your bed?” I asked. “Seraphine. Was she with you?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t lie. “No.”
“Then why was she in your chamber? In your *robe*?”
“Because she stole it,” he said. “And because I let her, so she’d think she had power over me. So she’d reveal her hand.”
“And did she?”
“Yes,” he said. “She just told me where Veylan’s next strike will be.”
I stared at him. “You used her.”
“I used *us*,” he said. “To protect you.”
And in that moment, I knew—
He wasn’t just my husband.
He wasn’t just my protector.
He was my *equal*.
And I didn’t know how to fight that.
So I did the only thing I could.
I turned and walked away.
But this time—
I didn’t lock the door.