The banquet hall of Blackthorn Keep was a cathedral of shadows and firelight, its vaulted ceiling lost in darkness, its walls lined with flickering torches that cast long, dancing silhouettes across the stone. A hundred guests—Fae nobles in gilded silks, vampire elders in black velvet, werewolf envoys in leather and bone—milled beneath the arches, their laughter sharp, their eyes sharper. The air was thick with the scent of bloodwine, roasted meat, and something darker: ambition.
I stood at the edge of the dais, glass in hand, spine straight, face neutral. I hadn’t wanted to come. Kaelen had insisted.
“They need to see us together,” he’d said, his voice low, fingers brushing the small of my back as we stepped from the elevator. “Not as enemies. Not as prisoner and king. As allies. As mates.”
“We’re not mates,” I’d snapped.
He’d smiled—slow, dangerous. “The bond says otherwise.”
And it did.
It pulsed beneath my skin, low and insistent, a second heartbeat tethering me to the man now standing at the center of the room, glass raised, voice cutting through the din like a blade.
“To the Oath,” Kaelen said, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd. “To balance. To survival.”
“To survival,” the room echoed, glasses lifting, bloodwine catching the torchlight like liquid rubies.
My fingers tightened around my own glass. The wine was dark, rich, laced with something bitter—hemlock, maybe, or nightshade. Not enough to kill. Just enough to dull the senses. To make you compliant.
Or so I’d been told.
I didn’t drink. Just held it, let the warmth seep into my palm, let the scent coil in my nose. I’d learned my lesson. Trust no offering. Question every gesture. Assume every kindness is a trap.
Especially his.
Because Kaelen Duskbane didn’t do kindness.
He did control.
He did power.
And he did *me*.
The bond flared—hot, sudden—pulling my gaze to him. He was watching me, not smiling, not speaking, just *seeing*. Like he could peel back my skin and read the truth beneath. Like he already knew what I was thinking. What I was feeling. What I was hiding.
And God help me, I was hiding *everything*.
Because since the truth serum, since I’d whispered *“I care”* into his chest, since the bond had *screamed* and I’d come apart in his arms like I belonged there—
I hadn’t been able to look at him the same.
It wasn’t just the way his hands had felt on my waist. Or the way his breath had ghosted over my neck, sharp and sweet. Or the way his fangs had grazed my skin, not to bite, but to *taste*.
It was the way he’d held me after.
Not like a prisoner.
Not like a weapon.
Like something *precious*.
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 turned away, scanning the room. Malrik stood near the eastern arch, silver eyes gleaming, hands clasped behind his back. The Fae Queen lounged on a velvet chaise, golden gaze sharp, lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. And Lyra—
Lyra wasn’t here.
But I could smell her—Fae glamour, dark rose, something metallic—lingering in the air, like a ghost.
Or a warning.
I took a slow breath, willing my pulse to steady. The Touch Pact had been completed an hour ago—ten seconds of skin-to-skin contact in the elevator, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, my core clenching, my breath hitching. I’d walked away trembling, thighs slick, heart pounding. But I’d done it. Survived it. Endured it.
And now?
Now I just had to survive the night.
“You look like you’re planning an escape,” a voice purred behind me.
I didn’t turn. Just sipped from my glass—still not drinking, just pretending. “I’m just observing.”
Lyra stepped into my peripheral vision, barefoot, draped in a gown of liquid silver that clung to every curve. Her platinum hair cascaded in waves down her back. Her skin glowed with a faint, unnatural luminescence. And her eyes—Fae gold—were sharp with amusement.
“Observing?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Or *hunting*?”
“Depends on the prey.”
She laughed—low, dark. “You’re good. 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, voice dropping to a whisper. “Never wanted to. Until *me*.”
“Then why did he stop?”
“Because I left.” She stepped closer, until we were barely a breath apart. Her Fae glamour pressed against me—soft, warm, *seductive*. “Because I knew he’d destroy me if I stayed.”
“And now you’re back.”
“And now I’m here.” She smiled—slow, dangerous. “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*?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “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—hot, sharp, *painful*.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stared at her, at the way her fingers toyed with the stem of her glass, at the way her scent—Fae glamour, dark rose, something metallic—filled the air.
“You’re wrong,” I said, voice steady. “He doesn’t love you.”
“No?” She lifted her wrist. There, just above her pulse, was a bite mark—two small punctures, healed but still visible, glowing faintly silver. “This says otherwise.”
My stomach dropped.
She saw it. Felt it. Her smile widened.
“Three nights,” she said. “Three exchanges. Irreversible. Addiction. *Ownership*.”
“The bond is stronger,” I said. “It can’t be broken.”
“But it can be *ignored*,” she purred. “And when the Oath is broken, when the power shifts—when he has to choose—” her voice dropped to a whisper—“he’ll choose *me*.”
The sigil on my hip flared—white-hot, searing. I gasped, doubling over, sweat breaking 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 back, smoothing the silver fabric over her hips. “And when he finally bites you, when he finally claims you—” her smile turned cruel—“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 the dais, boots silent on the stone. The banquet had resumed—music swelling, laughter rising, bloodwine flowing. But I didn’t see it. Didn’t hear it.
All I could feel was the bond.
Pulsing.
Pulling.
*Needing*.
And then—
Kaelen stepped forward, glass raised, voice cutting through the din. “To River Vale,” he said, crimson eyes locking onto mine. “My mate. My shield. My salvation.”
The room fell silent.
Not just quiet. *Silent*. Like the world had stopped breathing. Every eye turned to me. Every scent sharpened. Every magic hummed with tension.
My breath caught.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t wink. Just held my gaze, his expression unreadable, his presence a storm held in check.
And then—
He lifted his glass to his lips.
And drank.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Because the glass in his hand wasn’t bloodwine.
It was poison.
I saw it the moment the liquid touched his lips—just a flicker, a shimmer, a scent too sharp, too metallic. *Belladonna*. *Wolfsbane*. *Deathroot*. Three drops, no more. Enough to kill a mortal in seconds. Enough to weaken even a vampire king.
And he’d just swallowed it.
“No,” I breathed.
I didn’t think.
Didn’t hesitate.
Just moved.
Across the dais. Through the crowd. To his side.
And before anyone could stop me—before Malrik could smirk, before the Fae Queen could pounce, before Lyra could whisper her venom—I grabbed the glass from his hand and drank.
The poison burned.
Like fire in my veins, like ice in my lungs, like a thousand knives slicing through my chest. I gasped, doubling over, the glass slipping from my fingers, shattering on the stone. My vision blurred. My knees buckled. My body convulsed.
But I didn’t fall.
Because he caught me.
Arms like iron, chest like stone, breath like smoke and sin against my ear. “River,” he growled, voice rough with panic. “*River*.”
I couldn’t answer. Just clung to him, my fingers digging into his coat, my body trembling, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The poison was spreading—fast, relentless, *lethal*.
And then—
His fangs pierced my neck.
Not to kill.
Not to claim.
To *save*.
He tore into my throat, drinking deep, drawing the poison from my veins, his mouth hot, his tongue rough, his groan low and deep as he fed. The bond flared—white-hot, electric—crashing through me, pooling between my legs, making me *climax*—right there, in his arms, in front of the Council, with his fangs in my neck.
I cried out, my body arching, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t pull away.
Just drank, and drank, and *drank*, until the poison was gone and my body was limp in his arms.
And when he finally lifted his head, blood staining his lips, fangs still bared, his eyes blazing crimson—he didn’t look at the Council.
He looked at *me*.
“You saved me,” he breathed, voice raw.
I smiled weakly, my vision fading, my body slipping. “Maybe I’m not done with you yet.”
And then—
Darkness took me.
But not before I felt his arms tighten.
Not before I heard his voice, low and broken, whisper against my skin:
“Then live. For me.”