The sun didn’t rise in Blackthorn Keep. Not really. The storm had sealed the cliffs in a shroud of mist and shadow, the sky a bruised purple-gray that bled into the sea. But I knew it was morning. I could feel it in the rhythm of the Keep—the soft footfalls of attendants, the distant clang of repairs in the lower corridors, the quiet hum of magic being reweaved into the cracked wards.
And I could feel it in the bond.
It pulsed beneath my skin, steady, warm, *alive*. Not the feverish pull of Heat. Not the desperate ache of denial. This was different. Deeper. A quiet thrum, like a heartbeat not my own, tethering me to the man who still stood by the window, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the storm.
Kaelen.
He hadn’t left. Not once. Not through the night. He’d stayed beside me, silent, watchful, his presence a weight I couldn’t ignore. He hadn’t touched me again—not like before. No healing kiss, no slow circles of salve, no breath ghosting over my skin. But he’d been there. Watching. Waiting. Protecting.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
Because if he wasn’t the monster I’d believed him to be—
Then what did that make my mission?
What did that make me?
I sat up slowly, wincing as my shoulder pulled. The scar was faint now—silver, almost invisible—thanks to his blood, his touch, his care. I pressed a hand to it, feeling the echo of his mouth, the heat of his tongue, the way my body had arched into him even as my mind screamed to pull away.
“You’re awake,” he said, not turning.
“You’re still here.”
“I said I would be.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I did.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, boots silent on the stone. The room was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of the hearth. His bed was untouched. He’d stood there all night, like a sentinel, like a guardian.
And that? That was worse than chains.
Because chains I could break.
This? This quiet, relentless care? This was something I didn’t know how to fight.
“Malrik attacked you,” I said, standing. “Not me.”
“He aimed for my throat,” he said, finally turning. His eyes were crimson, sharp, seeing too much. “You stepped in front of the blade.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie,” he warned. “The sigil will burn you.”
I pressed a hand to my hip, jaw clenched. The mark flared—just a whisper, a warning. Not because I was lying. Not exactly.
But because I wasn’t telling the truth either.
Because the truth was—I had stepped in front of the blade.
Not to protect the Oath.
Not to save the mission.
But to save him.
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 couldn’t let him die.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
“No,” he agreed. “But you saved me.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “And now the Council wants answers.”
My breath caught. “What kind of answers?”
“Why an Elder would attack the king on neutral ground. Why you were there. Why you took the blade meant for me.”
“Then tell them the truth.”
“I will.” He tilted his head. “But you’ll be there. You’ll stand beside me. And you’ll say nothing that puts you at risk.”
“I’m not your prisoner.”
“You’re my mate.”
“And I’m not your weapon.”
“No,” he said, voice low. “You’re my shield.”
I stared at him. This vampire king, this predator, this killer—who had denied his nature, who had held me through the worst of it, who had refused to take what he could have.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t see a monster.
I saw a man.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll stand with you. But I won’t lie for you.”
“You already are,” he said, stepping closer. “Every time you say you don’t want me. Every time you say you hate me. Every time you pretend you’re not falling.”
My breath hitched.
The sigil flared—hot, sharp, searing. I gasped, doubling over. Sweat broke across my brow. My vision blurred.
He didn’t move. Just watched. “You can fight it,” he said. “You can deny it. But the truth is in your blood. In your breath. In the way your body arches toward me, even now.”
I lifted my head, glaring. “I don’t want you.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a monster.”
“And you’re mine.”
I stayed on the floor, trembling, tears in my eyes. Not from pain. Not just from pain.
From the truth.
And he let me feel it.
Because he knew.
He knew I was breaking.
And he wasn’t going to let me go.
The Council chamber was chaos.
Not the usual cold, calculating silence. Not the quiet hum of ancient magic and older lies. This was raw. Violent. A storm of accusations, threats, and demands for blood.
Malrik stood at the center of the dais, calm, composed, like he hadn’t just tried to assassinate the king. His silver eyes gleamed with satisfaction. His lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I acted in defense of the Blood Courts,” he said, voice smooth as poison. “The hybrid—River Vale—is a saboteur. A traitor. She disrupted the Oath Renewal. She attacked the king. And now, she claims to have saved him? A convenient lie to secure her place at his side.”
“She saved me,” Kaelen said, voice low, dangerous. “And if you doubt it, look at the scar on her shoulder—the blade meant for my throat.”
“A ruse,” sneered the Fae Queen. “A glamour. A curse.”
“No,” said the Witch on the root stool, eyes wide. “I’ve seen this before. The Mark of the Unclaimed. It appears when the bond is denied. When the mate refuses the bite.”
“Then it’s your fault,” Virell hissed, glaring at Kaelen. “You’ve let the bond fester. You’ve allowed this… hybrid… to stain your bloodline.”
“She’s my mate,” Kaelen growled. “And I’ll claim her when I choose.”
“And until then?” the Fae Queen purred. “She walks with your mark on her skin, a beacon to every predator in the city. You’ve made her vulnerable. You’ve made us vulnerable.”
I stood beside Kaelen, spine straight, hands clasped at my back. My shoulder ached, but not from the wound. From the weight of their stares. Their hatred. Their fear.
And the bond—God, the bond—it pulsed beneath my skin, low and insistent, pulling me toward him, even as my mind screamed to run.
“The truth,” said the High Elder, his voice like cracked marble. “River Vale. Did you act to save the king?”
All eyes turned to me.
My breath caught.
Because the truth?
The truth was I had saved him.
Not because of the mission.
Not because of the Oath.
But because I couldn’t let him die.
And if I said that—if I admitted that—then everything would change.
My mission. My purpose. My freedom.
And if I lied?
The sigil would burn me raw.
But maybe—just maybe—I could find a way to say the truth without saying it.
I lifted my chin. “I acted to protect the Oath.”
The sigil flared—white-hot, searing. I gasped, doubling over. Pain lanced through me—sharp, relentless. My knees buckled. I caught myself on the edge of the dais, teeth gritted, sweat breaking across my brow.
“She lies,” hissed the Priestess. “The Silence Sigil does not burn without cause.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” Kaelen said, stepping beside me. One hand lifted, not to strike, but to touch my hip, right over the sigil. His fingers pressed down, firm, unrelenting.
The pain flared—then shifted.
Not less. But different. The fire didn’t fade. But it spread, curling up my spine, down my thighs, pooling between my legs. A low moan escaped me before I could stop it.
His eyes darkened.
“You’re reckless,” he murmured. “And stupid. You think a flower will break the Oath?”
“It’s a start,” I whispered.
He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over my lips. “Then let me show you what happens when you fail.”
He turned to the Council. “She acted to protect the Oath. She disrupted the ritual because she believed it was being corrupted. And when Malrik attacked, she stepped in front of the blade because she knew the Oath would collapse without me.”
“And you believe her?” the Elder asked.
“I do.”
“Even though the sigil burned?”
“Because she’s afraid,” Kaelen said. “Afraid of what she’s becoming. Afraid of the bond. Afraid of me.”
I stared at him. This vampire king, this predator, this killer—who had denied his nature, who had held me through the worst of it, who had refused to take what he could have.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t see a monster.
I saw a man.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
“Then she stays,” said the Elder. “Under your protection. Under your watch. And if she lies again—” his eyes turned to me—“the sigil will burn her alive.”
They dismissed us with a wave.
Kaelen didn’t wait. He turned and walked, long strides eating the marble floor. I followed, boots clicking behind him, my mind racing. He’d covered for me. Protected me. Lied for me.
And I’d felt it—the shift in him. The doubt. The softening.
We didn’t speak as we walked through the twisting halls of the Spire. Black stone, lit by floating orbs of crimson light. Guards bowed as we passed. Servants stepped aside. No one met my eyes.
When we reached the private elevator—a cage of black iron that descended into the earth—I stepped inside and turned to him.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you lie for me?”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, too close. His chest nearly brushed mine. I could smell him—dark amber, iron, something wild and ancient. My pulse jumped. My breath hitched.
“You’re mine,” he said, voice low. “And I protect what’s mine.”
“You didn’t protect my mother.”
“I wasn’t there,” he said, voice rough. “And I’ve regretted it every day since.”
I stared at him. This vampire king, this predator, this killer—who had denied his nature, who had held me through the worst of it, who had refused to take what he could have.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t see a monster.
I saw a man.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
The elevator stopped. The door opened.
We were back in Blackthorn Keep. The west wing. His chambers.
He stepped out, then turned, holding the door. “After you.”
I didn’t move.
“River.”
“What?”
“The Pact starts now.”
My breath caught. “What?”
“Ten seconds,” he said, stepping toward me. “Skin to skin. Or would you rather wait until tomorrow and feel the pain?”
I glared at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
I stepped out of the elevator, turned to face him. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”
He held out his hand, palm up. “Touch me.”
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I reached out.
My fingers brushed his skin.
And the world exploded.
Heat. Light. A surge of energy so intense it stole my breath. My knees buckled. I grabbed his arm to steady myself, and the contact only made it worse—better?—a wave of sensation crashing through me, from my fingertips up my arm, down my spine, pooling between my legs.
His breath hitched.
His eyes flared crimson.
“Ten seconds,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t rush.”
I tried to pull away, but his free hand shot out, catching my wrist, holding her in place. His grip was firm, unrelenting. My skin was cool, but the touch burned.
One second.
My pulse thundered in my ears. My skin tingled. My breath came fast.
Two.
His thumb moved, just slightly, stroking the inside of my wrist. A jolt of pleasure shot through me. I bit back a moan.
Three.
He stepped closer. Our bodies nearly touched. I could feel the heat of him. The rise and fall of his chest. The low, quiet growl in his throat.
Four.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
Five.
“Your scent is driving me mad.”
Six.
My core clenched. My hips shifted, just slightly, just enough.
He felt it.
His fangs flashed. “Seven.”
Eight.
“You want this.”
“No—”
“Don’t lie,” he warned. “The sigil will burn you.”
Nine.
My breath came in shallow gasps. My skin was on fire. My body ached—ached—for more.
Ten.
He released me.
I stumbled back, clutching my wrist like I could tear the sensation out. My heart pounded. My legs trembled. My thighs were slick.
He just watched me, eyes dark, lips parted, breath uneven. “Not so bad, was it?”
“You’re a monster,” I whispered.
“And you’re mine,” he said. “One touch a day. But I’ll take more if you beg.”
I turned and walked away.
But as I moved down the hall, 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.