The air in the Bloodstone Chamber tasted like rust and regret.
I crouched in the alcove, pressed against cold obsidian veined with pulsing crimson light, my breath shallow, my pulse steady. Below me, the ritual pulsed like a living thing. Thirteen black candles circled the dais, their flames bent sideways by an invisible wind. The Oath was speaking. Not in words, but in pressure—humming through the floor, vibrating in my molars, tugging at the sigil burned into my hip.
Obey. Serve. Submit.
My mother’s voice, buried beneath the chant.
I tightened my grip on the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. Silver-coated, witch-forged, dipped in the ashes of my mother’s pyre. It wouldn’t kill a vampire king, not outright. But it could disrupt the ritual. Break the thread. And if I was fast—if I was lucky—I could sever the Duskbane Oath before it renewed, before another century of my bloodline was bound to this monster.
Kaelen Duskbane.
He stood at the center of the dais, tall and terrible in a coat of midnight silk, his back to me, hands folded behind him. His hair was black as a starless sky, cut sharp at the jaw. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just let the magic swirl around him like a lover’s breath.
They said he’d ruled for three hundred years. That he’d crushed rebellions with a whisper. That he’d fed from a queen and left her begging to serve.
They didn’t say he looked like sin carved from marble.
I shoved the thought down. Hard.
This wasn’t about desire. It was about justice. My mother had tried to break the Oath. She’d been dragged into this very chamber, her wrists slit, her blood used to seal it tighter. And now, a hundred years later, they were doing it again. Renewing the curse. Binding my sister, my cousins, my unborn nieces—binding me—to a life of service, of silence, of slow death.
Not tonight.
I exhaled. Slid the dagger free.
The sigil on my hip flared—white fire beneath skin. The Silence Sigil. It burned when I lied. But right now, it burned for another reason: the proximity of his blood.
We were connected. Not by blood. Not by choice.
By fate.
I didn’t believe in fated mates. Not for monsters. Not for killers. But the pull was there—a low, insistent throb between my ribs, like a second heartbeat. I ignored it. Focused on the drop from the balcony to the dais. Twelve feet. Stone floor. I’d roll. I’d lunge. I’d drive the blade into his spine, disrupt the ritual, and vanish before the guards closed in.
Simple.
Stupid.
But it was all I had.
I stepped off the edge.
The fall was silent. My boots hit stone, knees bending, momentum rolling me forward. I came up fast, blade raised, aim true—straight for the base of his skull, where the Oath’s anchor point pulsed beneath his skin.
He turned.
Not fast. Not panicked. Like he’d been waiting.
His eyes met mine—crimson, depthless, knowing—and in that split second, I saw it: not fear, not anger.
Recognition.
Then my fingers brushed the collar of his coat.
And the world exploded.
White light. White heat. A chain of fire lashed from my hand up my arm, seared through my chest, and snapped into place at the base of my spine. I screamed. Dropped the dagger. Staggered back, clutching my ribs as if I could tear the fire out.
The chamber roared.
The candles flared blue. The Oath’s chant twisted into a shriek. The ground trembled.
Kaelen didn’t move. He just… smiled.
“So,” he said, voice low, velvet-wrapped steel. “You’re finally here.”
I gasped, trying to breathe through the pain. My vision swam. The sigil on my hip was a brand. My blood pounded like it wanted to escape my veins. And between my thighs—God—there was a slick, aching warmth I couldn’t explain.
“You…” I choked. “You knew I was coming?”
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. The candles cast long shadows across his face, carving hollows beneath his cheekbones, lighting the sharp edge of his fangs.
“I’ve felt you,” he said, “in my dreams. In my blood. For months.” He tilted his head. “You feel it too. Don’t lie. Your sigil burns when you do.”
I pressed a hand to my hip. The pain flared hotter. He was right. I hadn’t said a word, but my body had already betrayed me.
“I didn’t come for you,” I spat. “I came to break the Oath.”
“And you think,” he murmured, closing the distance, “that killing me will do it?”
I backed up, but the wall stopped me. Cold. Unforgiving. He loomed, one hand braced beside my head, caging me in. His scent hit me—dark amber, iron, something wild and ancient. My pulse jumped. My breath hitched.
“The Oath is in my blood,” he said. “But it’s also in yours. You’re not just a saboteur, River Vale.” His voice dropped, intimate, dangerous. “You’re my fated mate.”
“I’m not—”
My sigil blistered.
I cried out, doubling over. He caught my arm, steady, unrelenting. His touch sent another jolt through me—this one lower, deeper. A pulse of heat between my legs. A clench in my core.
“Liar,” he whispered. “You’ve known since the moment you touched me. That bond? It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t negotiate. It claims.”
I lifted my head, glaring. “I don’t want you. I don’t want this.”
“No?” His free hand lifted, thumb brushing my jaw. His skin was cool, but the touch burned. “Then why is your body trembling? Why is your scent spiking? Why—” his eyes dropped to my lips—“are you leaning into me?”
I wasn’t. I wasn’t.
But when I tried to pull back, my body resisted. Like the bond had roots in my bones.
“You’re a monster,” I hissed. “You killed my mother.”
His expression didn’t change. But something flickered in his eyes—regret? Guilt? “She tried to break the Oath. The magic demanded a life. It wasn’t my choice.”
“Convenient.”
“Truth.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then believe this.”
He leaned in.
Not to bite. Not to attack.
To breathe against my neck.
His exhale was hot, slow, deliberate. It curled over my pulse point, and—God—my knees nearly gave out. A moan caught in my throat. My hips shifted forward, just an inch, just enough.
He felt it.
His smile turned dark. Possessive.
“You want me,” he said. “Even now. Even hating me.”
“No—”
“Don’t lie,” he warned. “The sigil will burn you raw.”
I clamped my mouth shut. Tears stung my eyes—not from pain, but from shame. From the betrayal of my own body. I’d trained for this. I’d planned. I’d steeled myself against fear, against failure.
But no one had warned me about this. About the way my blood would sing for him. About the way my wolf would whimper in submission. About the way my witch’s magic would thrum in time with his.
“Guards,” he said, still close, still breathing me in. “Take her to the west wing. Lock the door. No weapons. No visitors. And—” he pulled back just enough to meet my eyes—“if she tries to run, bring her to me. I’ll deal with her myself.”
Heavy boots echoed behind me. Two vampires in black armor stepped forward, faces blank, eyes glowing faintly red.
I fought. Of course I fought.
I kicked. I twisted. I slammed my elbow into the first guard’s throat. He barely flinched. The second grabbed my wrists, yanked them behind my back, and locked them in iron cuffs etched with binding runes.
“You won’t keep me,” I snarled as they dragged me away. “I’ll break free. I’ll break the Oath. I’ll—”
“You’ll serve,” Kaelen said, turning back to the dais. The candles flared crimson. The Oath’s chant resumed, stronger now. “Just like your mother. Just like your bloodline.”
He didn’t look at me as they hauled me out.
But I felt his gaze on my back until the door sealed shut.
They threw me into a room that wasn’t a cell. Not really. High ceilings. Velvet drapes. A four-poster bed with silk sheets. A fireplace crackling with blue flame. A washbasin of rosewater. A gown laid out on the bed—black, low-cut, mocking.
“Change,” the guard said. “Or we’ll do it for you.”
The door locked behind them.
I stood there, shaking, my hip still burning, my skin still humming from his touch. I looked at the gown. At the bed. At the mirror across the room.
My reflection stared back—wild-eyed, dark hair tangled, lips swollen. Not from a kiss. From biting them to keep quiet.
I touched my neck where he’d breathed on me. My fingers trembled.
“I came to break his oath,” I whispered to the glass. “I’ll die before I serve you.”
The sigil burned.
Not because I was lying.
Because, deep down, I wasn’t sure I meant it.
And Kaelen knew it.
Outside, the moon rose high over Blackthorn Keep. The Oath was renewed.
And the bond between us?
It was just beginning.
He’d called me his mate.
I called him a monster.
But when I closed my eyes, all I felt was the ghost of his breath on my skin.
And the terrifying truth:
I wanted him to do it again.
Fanged Vow: River’s Claim
The first time River touches Kaelen, it’s with a dagger at his throat.
Midnight. The Bloodstone Chamber. Candles gutter as the ancient oath swells in the air, and River—witch-blooded, wolf-touched, and utterly mortal—leaps from the shadows, blade aimed at the heart of the vampire king who murdered her mother. But the instant her fingers graze his skin, a white-hot bond sears through her spine, throwing her back, gasping. His crimson eyes flare. His fangs bare. And then—he smiles.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and sin, “even if you came to kill me.”
She didn’t come for love. She came to break the Duskbane Oath, a magical covenant that forces her bloodline to serve the vampire throne, body and soul. But now, the bond between them flares with every heartbeat, feeding on rage, grief, and something far more dangerous: need. The Council demands they stand together as allies to prevent war between the Fae and the Blood Courts. One lie becomes two. One forced touch becomes a shared bed during a blizzard. One night of heat becomes a scandal that ripples across realms.
But someone is watching. Someone who knows River’s true bloodline—and who wants her bond with Kaelen used, not broken. As political traps snap shut and old lovers reappear with fresh scars, River must choose: complete her mission and destroy the man she’s fated to, or surrender to a love that could cost her family’s freedom—and her life.
And Kaelen? He’s never wanted anything more than to own her. But for the first time, he fears he might lose her—and worse, deserve it.