The Council’s demand came at first light—a summons sealed in black wax, delivered by a Fae messenger whose golden eyes held no warmth, only calculation. They didn’t trust River. They never had. And now, with the Bloodstone stolen and planted in her chambers, their suspicion had hardened into accusation.
“She will be tested,” the note read. “The truth must be known. The bond is unstable. The Oath is at risk. Administer the serum at dawn. We will bear witness.”
I crushed the parchment in my fist, the ink smudging beneath my grip. They wanted a spectacle. A public humiliation. They wanted to break her—not just her defiance, but her spirit. And they thought I’d let them.
They were wrong.
I stood at the window of my study, the storm long passed, the cliffs of Blackthorn Keep rising from the mist like jagged teeth. The sea below was calm, deceptively so, its surface silvered with dawn. But beneath it? A current of violence. Of hunger. Of secrets.
Like us.
Like *her*.
River.
She hadn’t come to me after the Council session. Hadn’t demanded answers. Hadn’t raged. She’d walked away—back straight, boots silent, eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Not hatred. Not anymore. Something quieter. More dangerous.
Doubt.
And I knew—
If she doubted…
She might just survive this.
And if she survived—
She might just break me.
I pressed a hand to my chest, where the bond pulsed—steady, strong, *alive*. It had been screaming since the moment she stepped in front of Malrik’s blade. Not just from proximity. Not just from danger.
From *need*.
And now they wanted to force her to speak under truth serum. To expose every lie, every secret, every buried fear. They thought it would shatter her. Prove her guilt. Strip her of power.
But they didn’t understand.
They didn’t see what I saw.
They didn’t feel what I felt.
She wasn’t lying to protect herself.
She was lying to protect *me*.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
I turned from the window and strode to the door. The serum was already in the Moonwell Chamber—a vial of opalescent liquid, Fae-made, one drop capable of unraveling even the strongest will. The Council would arrive in an hour. Witnesses. Judges. Executioners in velvet gloves.
And River?
She was still in her chambers, guarded, isolated, unaware of what was coming.
I found her kneeling beside the bed, the leather pouch open in her lap. She didn’t look up as I entered. Just closed it slowly, tucking it back beneath the mattress. Her fingers trembled—just slightly—before she stilled them, pressing her palms flat to the stone floor.
“You’re here,” she said, voice low.
“I am.”
She lifted her head, dark eyes meeting mine. “They want to test me.”
“They do.”
“With truth serum.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just studied me, like she was measuring how far I’d go to keep her from breaking. “And you’ll let them.”
“No.”
Her breath caught.
“I’ll *administer* it,” I said. “Not them. Not some Fae witch with a grudge. *Me*.”
“Why?”
“Because if they do it, they’ll push too hard. They’ll demand everything. They’ll break you.”
“And you won’t?”
“I’ll ask only what I need to know.”
“And what’s that?”
“Whether you stole the Bloodstone.”
She exhaled, sharp. “I didn’t.”
“Then say it now. To me. Without the serum.”
She didn’t answer. Just pressed a hand to her hip, where the Silence Sigil burned. The mark flared—just a whisper, a warning. Not because she was lying. But because she wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“You touched the Altar,” I said. “Two nights ago. After the ritual bath. You were trying to find a weakness. A flaw.”
Her eyes widened—just slightly—before she masked it. “I was *observing*.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t take anything.”
“Then who did?”
“Lyra.”
“You have no proof.”
“She was in your chambers this morning. In your shirt. Smelling like *you*.”
The bond flared—hot, sharp, *painful*. I clenched my jaw. “She was never in my bed.”
“But she wants to be.”
“And you?” I stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “Do you want to be?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at me, those dark eyes seeing too much. “You’re not what I expected,” she said.
“Neither are you.”
“I came here to destroy you.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what I want.”
My breath caught.
Because that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Not hate.
Not fury.
But *doubt*.
And I knew—
If she doubted…
She might just survive this.
And if she survived—
She might just break me.
I reached out, slow, and brushed my thumb over her lower lip. “Then let me show you,” I said, voice low. “Let me show you what it means to be mine.”
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t speak.
Just stayed still.
And when I leaned in, when my lips hovered over hers, when my breath ghosted over her skin—
She didn’t say no.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
But I didn’t kiss her.
Not yet.
Because if I did—if I took that step, if I let the bond pull me under—I wouldn’t stop.
Not until she screamed my name.
Not until she begged.
Not until she *claimed* me back.
And I couldn’t.
Not when she was broken. Not when she was lost. Not when the world was watching, waiting for us to fall.
So I stepped back.
Just enough.
And I watched her.
As the truth settled in. As the pieces fell into place. As the mission she’d carried for a lifetime cracked and shifted, revealing something deeper. Something real.
She wasn’t here to destroy me.
She was here to finish what her mother started.
And I?
I wasn’t the monster.
I was the man who’d loved her mother.
The man who’d failed her.
And now—
The man who might just save her daughter.
“Come with me,” I said, offering my hand.
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she took it.
The Moonwell Chamber was already lit—silver veins pulsing along the walls, the pool still, its surface shimmering with moonlight that shouldn’t have been able to reach this deep. The air was cool, thick with the scent of salt and moss, the silence heavy with anticipation.
The Council waited in a half-circle—twelve figures in shadowed cloaks, their faces hidden, their magic humming with tension. The Fae Queen sat at the center, her golden eyes sharp, her lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Malrik stood to her left, silver eyes gleaming, hands clasped behind his back. Virell, the vampire elder, stood to her right, his gaze fixed on River like she was already condemned.
And Lyra?
She wasn’t here.
But I could smell her—Fae glamour, dark rose, something metallic—lingering in the air, like a ghost.
I led River to the center of the chamber, my hand still clasping hers. The bond flared—hot, insistent—pulling us together, even as the Council watched, waiting for us to break.
“She will answer three questions,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “No more. No less. And I will administer the serum myself.”
“We decide the questions,” the Fae Queen purred.
“No.” I met her gaze, my fangs bared. “*I* do. Or this ends now.”
She studied me—long, silent—before nodding. “Three questions. You ask. We listen.”
“And if she lies?” Malrik asked.
“The sigil will burn her,” I said. “And I’ll know.”
I turned to River. She was pale, but not afraid. Her spine was straight, her jaw set, her eyes dark with defiance. But beneath it? A flicker of fear. Not of the serum. Not of the Council.
Of *me*.
Because she didn’t know what I’d ask.
And she didn’t know if she could lie to me.
I pulled the vial from my coat—small, glass, filled with a shimmering, opalescent liquid. One drop. That’s all it would take.
“Open your mouth,” I said, voice low.
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she parted her lips.
I pressed the dropper to her tongue.
The moment the serum touched her, the world *exploded*.
Heat. Light. A surge of energy so intense it stole her breath. Her knees buckled. I caught her, one arm around her waist, holding her upright. Her body trembled against mine, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her scent spiked—wolf, witch, *need*—filling the chamber like a storm.
“Breathe,” I murmured, my lips close to her ear. “It’ll pass.”
It didn’t.
It settled—low, insistent, like a second heartbeat—and with it came the truth.
Not just the words.
But the *feeling*.
Her pulse beneath my fingers. Her breath against my skin. The way her body leaned into me, even as her mind screamed to pull away.
“First question,” I said, voice rough. “Did you steal the Bloodstone?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, trembling, her eyes wide, her breath uneven. The serum was working—unraveling her, stripping her bare.
Then—
“No,” she whispered.
The sigil on her hip flared—just a whisper, a warning burn. Not because she was lying. But because she wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“You touched the Altar,” I said. “You wanted to break the Oath.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t take the stone.”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“Lyra.”
“You have no proof.”
“She was in your chambers. In your shirt. She *wanted* you to see her.”
The bond flared—hot, sharp. I clenched my jaw. “She was never in my bed.”
“But she wants to be.”
“And you?” I stepped closer, my free hand lifting to her face. “Do you want to be?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at me, those dark eyes seeing too much. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
The Council stirred—whispers rising and falling like the tide. Malrik’s lips curled into a sneer. The Fae Queen’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
But I didn’t care.
Because she hadn’t lied.
And she hadn’t looked away.
“Second question,” I said. “Why did you save me from Malrik’s blade?”
She flinched.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers curled into my coat, knuckles white.
And then—
“Because I couldn’t let you die,” she said, voice raw.
The sigil flared—white-hot, searing. She gasped, doubling over, sweat breaking across her brow. Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled.
I held her tighter, my arm like iron around her waist. “You didn’t do it for the Oath,” I said. “You did it for *me*.”
“Yes.”
“And why?”
“Because—” Her breath caught. Tears spilled down her temples. “Because I *care*.”
The chamber went silent.
Not just quiet. *Silent*. Like the world had stopped breathing. The fire in the hearth died. The wind outside stilled. Even the bond—God, the *bond*—it went still, like it was waiting for her to break.
And then—
“You love me,” I said, voice rough.
She didn’t answer.
Just stayed in my arms, trembling, tears falling.
And the bond—
It *screamed*.
Not pain.
Pleasure.
A wave of energy so intense it tore through me, white-hot, electric, crashing through my veins, pooling between my legs, making me *climax*—right there, in front of the Council, with her in my arms, her breath on my skin.
I groaned, low and deep, my fangs grazing her neck. “Gods, you feel like *mine*.”
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t resist.
Just let the wave take her, let the bond pull her under, let my hands, my mouth, my body *own* her.
And when it was over, when the chamber stilled, when the moonlight dimmed, when the bond settled into a quiet, insistent hum—
She was still in my arms.
Still breathing hard.
Still *his*.
“Last question,” I said, voice rough. “What do you want?”
She lifted her head, tears in her eyes, her lips swollen, her breath unsteady. “I want my family free,” she whispered. “I want the Oath broken. I want *justice*.”
“And me?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at me, those dark eyes seeing too much. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I don’t want you to die.”
The Council stirred again—angry, restless. Malrik stepped forward. “She admits sabotage. She admits betrayal. She must be punished.”
“She didn’t steal the Bloodstone,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “And she saved my life. That’s enough.”
“It’s not enough,” the Fae Queen purred. “The bond is unstable. The Oath is at risk. She must be contained.”
“She’s *mine*,” I growled. “And I’ll protect what’s mine.”
They didn’t argue. Just watched. Waited. Judged.
And I knew—
This wasn’t over.
They would come for her again.
They would try to break her.
But they didn’t understand.
They didn’t see what I saw.
They didn’t feel what I felt.
She wasn’t just my mate.
She was my redemption.
My salvation.
My *future*.
And I wouldn’t let them take her.
Not now.
Not ever.
I turned to River. She was still trembling, still breathless, still *mine*. I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, my fingers lingering on her skin. “You’re safe,” I murmured. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t answer. Just leaned into me, pressing her face to my chest, breathing me in.
And the bond—
It pulsed, steady, strong.
Like a heartbeat not my own.
Like a promise.
Like a vow.