The silence in the infirmary was wrong.
Not the usual stillness of healing—no, this was heavier. Thick. Like the air had been drained, leaving only shadows and the slow drip of blood from the IV line snaking into River’s arm. The room was dim, lit only by the cold blue glow of the warding runes etched into the stone, their light pulsing faintly, like a dying heartbeat.
And she was dying.
Not slowly. Not peacefully. But fast. Violent. The poison—belladonna, wolfsbane, deathroot—had been meant for me. Three drops, no more. Enough to weaken a king, not kill him. But in her? A hybrid. A witch-blooded, wolf-touched mortal?
It was killing her.
I stood beside the bed, one hand clenched around the edge of the stone slab, the other pressed to my chest, where the bond had been screaming since the moment she drank from that glass. Not pain. Not fear.
Panic.
Raw, unrelenting, *animal* panic.
Because she wasn’t just my mate.
She was my *future*.
And I was losing her.
“She’s fading,” Mira said, her voice low, her dark curls wild, her eyes sharp with grief. She stood at the foot of the bed, fingers tracing the edge of a silver vial—witch’s remedy, moon-blessed, laced with her own blood. “The poison’s in her core. It’s burning through her magic. Through her blood. Through the bond.”
“Then fix it,” I growled, my fangs bared, my voice rough with restraint.
“I *can’t*,” she snapped. “Not without killing her. The bond’s too strong. If I force the cure, it’ll tear her apart. If I don’t—” she didn’t finish. Just looked at me, those fierce eyes seeing too much. “She’ll die.”
My breath caught.
And the bond—God, the bond—it flared, white-hot, electric, crashing through me like a blade to the gut. I doubled over, one hand flying to my chest, my fangs sinking into my own lip, blood spilling down my chin. My vision blurred. My knees buckled.
“Kaelen,” Mira said, stepping forward. “You’re feeling it too.”
“I know what I’m feeling,” I snarled, straightening, wiping the blood from my mouth. “I’ve felt it every second since she stepped into this Keep. Every time she lied. Every time she fought me. Every time she *saved me*.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m going to *save her*.”
She didn’t argue. Just stepped back, hands raised, eyes wary. “Then do it. But don’t expect her to thank you.”
“I don’t want her thanks.” I stepped closer to the bed, my gaze locked on River’s face. Pale. Still. Lips parted, breath shallow. Her scent—wolf, witch, *need*—was fading, replaced by the sharp tang of poison, of death. “I want her *alive*.”
“She’s not just your mate,” Mira said softly. “She’s her own woman. Her own warrior. Her own *queen*.”
“And I’m her king,” I said, voice low. “And I’ll burn the world to keep her breathing.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned and walked to the door, pausing in the threshold. “Twenty-four hours,” she said. “If she’s not awake by then, the bond will break. And you’ll both die.”
“Then I’ll die with her,” I said, not looking at her. “But not before I make sure she lives.”
The door clicked shut.
And I was alone.
With her.
With the silence.
With the bond.
I reached for her hand—cold, lifeless, trembling—and brought it to my lips. I pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then bit down, just enough to draw blood. My blood. Dark, ancient, laced with power. I let it pool in my mouth, then leaned in, pressing my lips to hers, forcing the blood between her parted lips, into her mouth, down her throat.
“Drink,” I murmured, voice rough. “Take it. *Live*.”
Nothing.
Her body didn’t respond. Her chest didn’t rise. Her lips didn’t move.
But the bond—
It flared.
Just a whisper. A spark. A pulse.
And I felt it.
Not her heartbeat.
Not her breath.
But *her*.
Still there. Still fighting. Still *mine*.
I pressed my forehead to hers, my fangs grazing her skin, my breath hot against her lips. “You’re not dying,” I whispered. “Not while I’m breathing. Not while I’m *feeling* you.”
And I did.
Every second.
Every breath.
Every heartbeat.
Because the bond wasn’t just magic.
It was *us*.
And I wasn’t letting go.
Not now.
Not ever.
I stayed with her. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Didn’t leave. Just sat beside the bed, one hand clasping hers, the other pressed to my chest, where the bond pulsed—slow, weak, *fading*. The runes on the walls dimmed. The IV line emptied. The poison burned through her veins, through her magic, through the bond.
And I felt it.
Every second.
Every breath.
Every heartbeat.
Like a blade twisting in my gut.
Like a fire in my chest.
Like a scream in my soul.
And then—
Twenty-three hours.
She wasn’t waking.
And the bond—God, the bond—it was unraveling.
I stood, pacing the room, my coat unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to my forearms, fangs bared, breath coming in sharp gasps. The pain was unbearable. Not just in my chest. In my bones. In my blood. In my *soul*.
“No,” I growled, slamming my fist into the wall. Stone cracked. Blood spilled. “You’re not taking her. Not like this.”
But it was.
The bond was breaking.
And if it did—
We’d both die.
I turned to the bed, my vision blurred, my body trembling, my breath ragged. She looked so small. So fragile. So *mortal*. And I—
I was supposed to protect her.
And I’d failed.
Again.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pressing a hand to her cheek. “I’m so sorry, River.”
And then—
It hit me.
Bond-fever.
Not just pain.
Not just weakness.
But *need*.
Raw, unrelenting, *animal* need.
And I couldn’t fight it.
Not anymore.
I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Just moved.
Across the room. To the door. I wrenched it open—guards snapped to attention, eyes wide—and roared, “No one enters. No one *touches* her. Or I’ll rip your throats out.”
They didn’t argue. Just stepped back, hands on weapons, fear in their eyes.
Good.
Because if anyone tried to stop me—
I’d kill them.
I slammed the door shut, locked it, and turned back to the bed. The bond was screaming now—white-hot, electric, crashing through me like a storm. My fangs were fully out. My eyes crimson. My body trembling, not from weakness, but from *hunger*.
Not for blood.
Not for power.
For *her*.
I stepped to the bed, my boots silent on the stone. My breath came in sharp gasps. My hands shook. My cock was hard, aching, pressing against my trousers like it knew—like it *remembered*—the last time I’d touched her, the last time she’d come apart in my arms.
And I was going to do it again.
Not to claim her.
Not to own her.
But to *save* her.
Because if the bond broke—
We’d both die.
And I’d rather die with her in my arms than live without her.
I reached for her—slow, deliberate—and pulled the thin sheet down, revealing her body. She was still in the gown from the banquet, silver fabric clinging to every curve, the neckline low, the fabric sheer enough to show the shadow of her hips, the line of her thighs, the faint scar on her shoulder where my mouth had been.
My breath hitched.
My fangs grazed my lip.
And the bond—
It *screamed*.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just reached for the neckline and tore.
The fabric split with a soft rip, baring her chest, her breasts, her stomach, the sigil on her hip glowing faintly in the low light. My hands were rough, not gentle, not careful. I didn’t care. I needed her. Needed to *feel* her. To *own* her. To *save* her.
I leaned down, pressing my mouth to her neck, not to bite, but to taste. Her skin was cool, lifeless, but I could still smell her—wolf, witch, *need*—faint, fading, but still *there*. I dragged my tongue over her pulse point, groaning at the taste—salt, iron, something wild. My cock throbbed. My fangs ached.
“You’re mine,” I growled, pressing my body against hers, my erection grinding against her thigh. “You’ve always been mine.”
She didn’t respond. Just lay there, still, silent, *dying*.
And the bond—
It flared.
Just a whisper. A spark. A pulse.
And I felt it.
Not her heartbeat.
Not her breath.
But *her*.
Still there. Still fighting. Still *mine*.
I reached between us, fumbling with the fastening of my trousers, my hands shaking, my breath coming in sharp gasps. I freed my cock—hard, thick, aching—and pressed it against her bare stomach, the heat of her skin searing through me. My fangs sank into my own lip again, blood spilling down my chin, dripping onto her chest.
“Take it,” I growled, pressing my blood into her skin. “Take it and *live*.”
Nothing.
But the bond—
It flared again.
Stronger this time.
And I felt it.
Not just her.
But *us*.
Together.
Alive.
I reached down, sliding my hand between her legs, parting her folds, finding her wet—slick, hot, *ready*—even unconscious. My breath hitched. My cock throbbed. My fangs ached.
“You want this,” I growled, pressing two fingers inside her, curling them deep. “You’ve always wanted this.”
She didn’t respond. Just lay there, still, silent, *dying*.
But her body—
Her body *answered*.
Her hips shifted. Just slightly. Just enough.
And the bond—
It *screamed*.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just pulled my fingers free and pressed the head of my cock to her entrance, then thrust forward, burying myself inside her in one hard, deep stroke.
She gasped.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
From *need*.
And the bond—
It *exploded*.
Heat. Light. A surge of energy so intense it stole my breath. My vision blurred. My body trembled. My cock throbbed, deep inside her, her walls clenching around me like a vise.
“Gods,” I groaned, pressing my forehead to hers, my fangs grazing her lip. “You feel like *mine*.”
And she was.
Not just in my arms.
Not just in my bed.
But in my *blood*.
In my *soul*.
In my *future*.
I didn’t move. Just stayed buried inside her, feeling her, *owning* her, the bond flaring, pulsing, *alive*. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her body trembled. Her hips shifted, just slightly, just enough.
And then—
Her eyes fluttered open.
Dark. Dazed. Confused.
But *alive*.
“Kaelen?” she whispered, voice raw.
“I’m here,” I growled, pressing a kiss to her lips, not gentle, not soft, but *claiming*. “I’ve got you.”
“What—”
“You’re dying,” I said, voice rough. “And I’m saving you.”
“How?”
“By making you *mine*.”
And I did.
Not slow. Not gentle.
Hard. Deep. Desperate.
I pulled back, then thrust forward, burying myself inside her again, groaning at the heat, the tightness, the *rightness* of it. Her breath hitched. Her body arched. Her fingers dug into my shoulders.
“You’re not supposed to—”
“I don’t care what I’m supposed to do,” I snarled, thrusting again, deeper, harder. “I care that you’re *alive*.”
“You’re hurting me—”
“No,” I growled, pressing my mouth to her neck, not to bite, but to taste. “I’m *saving* you.”
And I was.
Because with every thrust, every groan, every pulse of the bond, the poison burned away. Her magic flared. Her blood warmed. Her breath steadied.
And the bond—
It was *whole*.
Strong.
Alive.
“Kaelen,” she gasped, her body arching, her hips shifting, her core clenching around me. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I growled, thrusting deeper, harder, my fangs grazing her neck. “Come for me. *Now*.”
And she did.
Not from pleasure.
Not from desire.
From *need*.
Her body convulsed, her walls clenching around me, her breath coming in sharp gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders. The bond flared—white-hot, electric—crashing through me, making me *climax*—deep inside her, my seed spilling into her, my fangs sinking into her neck, not to claim, not to own, but to *save*.
And when it was over, when the chamber stilled, when the runes brightened, when the bond settled into a quiet, insistent hum—
She was alive.
Still in my arms.
Still breathing.
Still *mine*.
I pulled back, just enough to look at her. Her eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her breath uneven. “Better?” I asked, voice rough.
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.”
She lifted a hand, slow, trembling, and brushed her fingers over my cheek. “You saved me.”
“I *claimed* you,” I said, voice low. “And I’ll do it again if I have to.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stayed in my arms, her body still trembling, her breath still unsteady. “Then do it,” she whispered. “But don’t expect me to thank you.”
“I don’t want your thanks,” I said, pressing a kiss to her lips, not gentle, not soft, but *claiming*. “I want you *alive*.”
And she was.
Still in my arms.
Still breathing.
Still *mine*.
And for the first time in a century—
I felt hope.
Not for the Oath.
Not for the throne.
But for *her*.
For us.
Because if she could survive this—
She could survive anything.
And if she survived—
She might just save me.
The door clicked shut.
And the silence returned.
But this time?
It wasn’t heavy.
It was alive.
With possibility.
With future.
With *her*.
And I knew—
No matter what came next.
No matter the lies, the blood, the centuries of hate.
I wouldn’t let her go.
Not again.
Not ever.