The training yard was worse the second time.
Not because the pit was different—same black stone, same iron spikes, same cold blue torches burning with magic that stung the eyes. Not because the guards were harsher—though they shoved me in harder, laughed louder, locked the gate with a clang that echoed like a death knell. No.
It was worse because I wasn’t alone.
Torin was already there.
He stood at the center of the ring, arms crossed, one good eye fixed on me. His scarred face gave nothing away. No pity. No cruelty. Just… assessment. Like he was measuring how far I’d fall before I broke.
“You’re back,” he said, voice low.
“I never left,” I shot back, wiping sweat from my brow.
He didn’t smile. Just drew his blade—a curved, silver-edged dagger—and crouched into a fighting stance. “Then let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”
We fought.
Not like last time—no circling, no试探. This was raw. Brutal. He came at me fast, swinging wide, forcing me to dodge, to roll, to kick. I countered, slashed, blocked. My wolf surged, eager, but I held her back. This wasn’t about dominance. It wasn’t about pride.
It was about survival.
He feinted left, went right. His blade caught my shoulder—shallow, but it drew blood. I hissed, twisted, slammed my elbow into his ribs. He grunted, staggered, but didn’t fall.
Again.
Again.
We fought until my muscles burned, until my breath came in ragged gasps, until the bond between me and Kaelen flared—not from pain, but from the surge of adrenaline, from the way my body responded to the fight, to the hunt, to the *need*.
And then—
“Enough.”
Kaelen.
He stood at the gate, tall and still, hands clasped behind his back. No expression. No anger. Just… satisfaction.
The guards opened the gate. Torin stepped back. I lowered my blade, blood dripping from my shoulder, my breath coming in sharp bursts.
“You lasted longer,” Kaelen said, stepping into the pit. “Impressive.”
“I’m not fragile,” I spat.
“No,” he agreed. “But you’re not invincible either.”
He walked toward me, slow, deliberate. The bond flared—hotter now, more urgent. My skin prickled. My breath hitched.
“You disrupted the ritual again,” he said. “With a *flower* this time.”
“It worked.”
“It weakened a rune. Not the Oath.”
“It’s a start.”
He stopped a breath away. “You’re reckless. Stupid. And you think a petal will break centuries of blood magic?”
“I think *I* will.”
He smiled—slow, dangerous. “Then prove it.”
He turned to the guards. “Take her to her room. Clean her up. And—” he met my eyes—“no more sabotage. Or next time, I won’t send you to the yard.”
They dragged me out.
But this time, I didn’t fight. Didn’t resist. Because I’d seen it—beneath the cold control, beneath the predator’s gaze—something else.
Respect.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
They cleaned my wound—just a scratch, really—and left me alone. I stripped off my bloodied tunic, stepped into the bathing alcove, and let the warm water soothe my aching muscles. But the bond didn’t care about water. It didn’t care about rest. It pulsed beneath my skin, restless, *hungry*.
I kept my hand on the leather pouch beneath the mattress—where the blackthorn flower now lay beside the bark, the vial, the pin. With this, I could weaken the Oath. Not just a rune. Not just a thread.
The whole thing.
And if the Oath broke—
Kaelen would burn with it.
The thought should have brought me satisfaction. Relief. Justice.
But it didn’t.
Instead, my chest tightened. My breath caught. My fingers curled around the pouch, pressing it to my hip like I could stop the ache.
I didn’t want him to die.
I didn’t want him to suffer.
I just wanted my family free.
And if that meant his death—
Then so be it.
I wouldn’t mourn him.
I couldn’t.
I dried off, pulled on fresh clothes, and braided my hair back. No gowns. No silks. No vulnerability.
Then I stepped out of the room.
The halls were quiet. Too quiet. No guards. No attendants. Just silence and shadow. The Keep was still damaged from the storm—cracks in the walls, pools of shadow-water on the floor, the occasional groan of settling stone. But it was holding. Like me.
I moved toward the eastern wing, toward the Crimson Altar. Not to sabotage. Not yet.
To *watch*.
To learn.
To understand the magic I meant to break.
I turned the final corner—and froze.
The door to Kaelen’s private chambers stood open.
And inside—
A woman.
She stepped into the hall, barefoot, draped in nothing but one of Kaelen’s black silk shirts—long enough to cover her thighs, but not her legs, not the curve of her hips, not the silver chain around her ankle that glinted in the low light. Her hair was platinum blonde, cascading in waves down her back. Her skin was pale, flawless, glowing with a faint, unnatural luminescence. And her eyes—
Fae gold.
She didn’t look at me. Just stepped into the hall, stretched like a cat, and let out a soft, satisfied sigh.
Then she turned.
And her gaze locked onto mine.
“Oh,” she said, voice like honey and smoke. “You must be *her*.”
My blood ran cold.
“And you must be the ghost everyone’s too afraid to name,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
She smiled—slow, dangerous. “Lyra Vex. Former consort to the king. And—” she leaned in, just slightly, “—the last woman he fed from for three nights straight.”
The bond flared—hot, sharp, *painful*.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stared at her, at the way her fingers toyed with the top button of the shirt, at the way her scent—Fae glamour, dark rose, something metallic—filled the air.
“Three nights?” I said. “How… intimate.”
“It was,” she purred. “He *screamed* my name.”
My stomach dropped.
She saw it. Felt it. Her smile widened.
“You didn’t know, did you?” she said, stepping closer. “The blood bond? Three exchanges—irreversible. Addiction. *Ownership*.”
“Kaelen doesn’t *own* anyone,” I said.
“He owned me,” she said, lifting her wrist. There, just above her pulse, was a bite mark—two small punctures, healed but still visible, glowing faintly silver. “And he’ll own you too. If you survive.”
The sigil on my hip flared—white-hot, searing. I gasped, doubling over. Sweat broke across my brow. My vision blurred.
She didn’t move. Just watched. “Liar,” she murmured. “You’re already his. I can smell it on you. Your scent—wolf, witch, *need*—it’s all over you.”
I lifted my head, glaring. “I don’t belong to him.”
“You will.” She stepped even closer, until we were barely a breath apart. Her Fae glamour pressed against me—soft, warm, *seductive*. “And when he finally bites you, when he finally claims you—” her voice dropped to a whisper—“he’ll forget I ever existed.”
“He already has.”
She laughed—low, dark. “You think so? You think he doesn’t dream of me? That he doesn’t wake up with my name on his lips?”
“He dreams of *me*,” I said, voice shaking. “And he wakes up with *my* scent on his skin.”
Her smile faltered—just for a second. Then it returned, sharper. “You’re strong. I’ll give you that. But you’re not *her*.”
“Who?”
“The one who broke him.”
My breath caught.
“He’s never fed from a lover’s throat,” she said. “Never wanted to. Until *me*.”
“Then why did he stop?”
“Because I left.” She tilted her head. “Because I knew he’d destroy me if I stayed.”
“And now you’re back.”
“And now I’m here.” She stepped back, smoothing the shirt over her hips. “To remind him what he’s about to lose.”
“He doesn’t *lose* anything,” I said. “He gains a mate.”
“A mate?” She laughed. “You think that’s what you are? A *mate*?” She leaned in, close enough that her breath ghosted over my lips. “You’re a *threat*. A saboteur. A weapon. And when he’s done using you to stabilize the bond, he’ll discard you like he did me.”
“He didn’t discard you,” I said. “You ran.”
“And you’ll run too,” she whispered. “When you realize he’ll never love you. Not the way he loved *me*.”
The bond flared—hotter, sharper. Pain lanced through me. I clenched my jaw, refusing to cry out.
She saw it. Smiled. “You feel it, don’t you? The jealousy. The fear. The *need*.”
“I don’t need him.”
“You do,” she said. “And you’ll beg for him before this is over.”
She turned, started to walk away. Then paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and River?”
I didn’t answer.
“Welcome to the court,” she said, smile sharp as a blade. “It’s *so* much darker than you think.”
And then she was gone.
I stood there, heart pounding, breath unsteady. The bond hummed, restless. The sigil on my hip still throbbed. But I didn’t care.
She was wrong.
She had to be.
Kaelen hadn’t loved her. Couldn’t have. Not the way he’d looked at me—like I was something *precious*, not prey. Not the way he’d denied his nature, held me through the Heat, refused to take what he could have.
That wasn’t ownership.
That was *protection*.
That was *care*.
Wasn’t it?
I turned and walked back to my room, boots silent on the stone. The halls were still quiet. No guards. No attendants. Just silence and shadow.
But I wasn’t alone.
The bond pulsed—hot, insistent. And beneath it, something else.
Doubt.
It crept in like a thief, quiet, relentless. What if Lyra was right? What if Kaelen had loved her? What if the blood bond was real? What if he’d screamed her name, fed from her throat, *claimed* her in a way he’d never claim me?
And what if—when the Oath was broken, when the bond was tested—when he had to choose—
He chose her?
I reached my room, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. My breath came in shallow gasps. My hands trembled. I pressed them to my hips, to the sigil, to the leather pouch hidden beneath the mattress.
I had weapons.
I had a mission.
I had a plan.
But I didn’t have answers.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t know who to trust.
I didn’t know if I was fighting for justice—or just my own survival.
The sigil flared—just a whisper, a warning burn. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Just pressed a hand to the mark, my jaw clenched.
I wasn’t lying.
Not exactly.
But I wasn’t telling the truth either.
Because the truth was—I didn’t want him to let go.
I didn’t want him to leave.
I wanted to feel his arms around me again. Wanted to press my face to his chest and breathe him in. Wanted to arch into him and beg—not from Heat, not from instinct—but from something deeper. Something real.
And that was the real betrayal.
Not the Oath.
Not the blood.
But the fact that, despite everything—despite the lies, the death, the centuries of hate—I was starting to trust him.
I tucked the flower into the seam of my sleeve, where it wouldn’t be seen. Then I stood, wiped my face, and walked to the mirror.
My reflection stared back—wild-eyed, dark hair tangled, lips swollen. Not from a kiss. From biting them to keep quiet.
“You came to break his oath,” I whispered to the glass. “You’ll die before you 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.
Not to test me.
Not to claim me.
But because I *needed* it.
Because I needed *him*.
And that?
That was the real betrayal.
Not the Oath.
Not the mission.
But the fact that, despite everything—despite the lies, the blood, the centuries of hate—I was already falling.
And I didn’t want to land.
Because when I did?
There’d be nothing left to save.
But as I lay in my room that night, the echo of his touch still burning on my skin, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be saved.
I just wanted him.
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.