The storm had passed. The Keep was quiet, too quiet, like the world was holding its breath after the dance, after the climax in front of the Council, after the way River had arched into me, trembling, breathless, *mine*. I stood at the window of my study, the sea below churning beneath a bruised sky, the cliffs of Blackthorn Keep rising like jagged teeth from the mist. The air was thick with salt and silence. No guards. No attendants. Just the low hum of ancient magic in the stone, the occasional drip of shadow-water from the ceiling.
And the bond.
It pulsed beneath my skin, steady, strong, *alive*. Not just a tether. Not just a curse. A vow. A promise. A future.
And I was going to destroy it.
I pressed a hand to my chest, where the mark burned—dark, ancient, shaped like a crescent moon wrapped in thorns. The fated mate bond. The one thing I’d never wanted. The one thing I’d spent centuries running from. And now? Now it was the only thing that kept me breathing.
Because she was in it.
River.
She hadn’t come to me after the dance. 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 turned from the window and strode to the door. The truth was a blade, and I was going to cut her with it. Not to hurt her. Not to punish her. But to free her. To give her the one thing I’d never had—*clarity*.
She deserved it.
Even if it cost me everything.
I found her in the east tower—the old observatory, long abandoned, its windows cracked, its telescope shattered. The wind howled through the broken glass, carrying the scent of salt and storm. She stood at the far wall, where a single intact window overlooked the cliffs. Her back was to me, dark hair tangled, hands pressed to the stone, breath visible in the cold air. She didn’t turn. Just felt me—the bond flaring, heat rushing through her, her pulse jumping in her throat.
“You’re avoiding me,” I said, my voice low, dangerous.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
She turned then, glaring at me. “About how I’m supposed to destroy you when I can’t even look at you without my body betraying me.”
My breath caught.
She was so close to the edge. So close to breaking. And I was going to push her.
“You don’t have to destroy me,” I said, stepping closer. “You could choose something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like *us*.”
She laughed—low, sharp, broken. “There is no *us*. There’s a bond. A lie. A mission.”
“And yet,” I said, stepping closer, “you saved my life. You drank the poison. You let me feed from you. You let me *claim* you.”
“I didn’t *let* you do anything.”
“You didn’t stop me.”
“I was unconscious.”
“Your body responded.”
“It was instinct.”
“It was *need*.” I reached out, slow, and brushed my thumb over her lower lip. “And you feel it. Every second. Just like I do.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said, voice shaking.
“Neither are you.”
“I came here to destroy you.”
“And now?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at me, those dark eyes seeing too much. “Now I don’t know what I want.”
And 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 stepped closer, until our bodies were nearly touching. My hand moved to her hip, over the sigil, pressing down, firm, unrelenting. The mark flared—hot, sharp—but it didn’t burn. Not really. It just… shifted. Like it knew.
Like it *recognized* me.
“Then let me show you,” I murmured, voice low. “Let me show you what it means to be mine.”
Her breath caught.
And then—
She kissed me.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Desperate. A clash of teeth and tongue and breath, a surge of heat so intense it stole my breath. My hands tightened on her waist, pulling her against me, my body hard, my cock pressing against her thigh. She moaned into my mouth, her hips shifting, her core clenching.
I groaned, low and deep, my fangs grazing her lip. “Gods, you taste like *mine*.”
And then—
The world shifted.
The wind stilled. The sea calmed. 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 her arms, in the broken tower, with her mouth on mine.
I cried out, my body arching, my fingers digging into her shoulders.
She held me, groaning, her breath hot against my skin. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Let go. Let me have you.”
And I did.
I didn’t fight. Didn’t resist. Just let the wave take me, let the bond pull me under, let her hands, her mouth, her body *own* me.
And when it was over, when the wind returned, when the sea roared, when the bond settled into a quiet, insistent hum—
I was still in her arms.
Still breathing hard.
Still *hers*.
She pulled back, just enough to look at me. Her eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her breath uneven. “Better?” she asked, voice rough.
I didn’t answer. Just stared at her, those dark eyes seeing too much. “You’re not what I expected,” I said.
“Neither are you.”
She smiled—slow, dangerous. “Now imagine what it’ll be like when I’m *inside* you.”
My breath caught.
And the bond—
It *screamed* again.
I didn’t push her away.
Didn’t walk out.
Just stayed in her arms, my body still trembling, my breath still unsteady.
And when she leaned in, when her lips hovered over mine, when her breath ghosted over my skin—
I didn’t say yes.
But my body arched into hers.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t feel like a predator.
I felt like a man.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
Because if she wasn’t the weapon I’d believed her to be—
Then what did that make me?
What did that make *us*?
I didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.
But as I stood there, her arms still around me, her breath warm against my neck, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I didn’t want her to let go.
And when I finally lifted my head, when I met her eyes in the dim light, when I saw the hunger still there—barely restrained, barely contained—I didn’t look away.
Because part of me—shameful, traitorous, hungry—wanted to say yes.
Wanted to arch into her.
Wanted to beg.
But I didn’t.
Because if I gave in—if I let her touch me, let the bond pull me under—I wouldn’t just lose my mission.
I’d lose myself.
And then, there’d be nothing left to save.
So I stayed still.
Stayed silent.
And when she finally leaned in, when her lips hovered over mine, when her breath ghosted over my skin—
I didn’t say yes.
But my body arched into hers.
And then—
I broke.
Not with a roar. Not with a snarl. But with a whisper.
“I didn’t kill your mother.”
Her breath caught.
Her hands stilled.
The bond—
It went quiet.
Like the world had stopped breathing.
“What?” she whispered.
“I didn’t kill her,” I said, voice raw. “My father did.”
She didn’t move. Just stared at me, those dark eyes wide, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “No.”
“Yes.” I pressed a hand to my chest, where the mark burned. “He executed her to secure the Oath. To prove the vampires were in control. To silence the witch who’d discovered the Council’s plan—their real goal wasn’t to maintain balance. It was to *control* it. To use the Oath to enslave not just witches, but werewolves, Fae, anyone who wasn’t vampire.”
Her breath hitched.
“And when she tried to expose it—” I continued, voice rough, “—they framed her. Made it look like sabotage. And I… I believed it.”
“You *believed* them?” Her voice was sharp, broken. “You let them *kill* her?”
“I wasn’t there,” I said, voice cracking. “I was on the northern border, securing the treaty with the werewolves. By the time I returned, she was already gone. And the Council—Malrik, Virell, the Fae Queen—they told me she’d betrayed me. That she’d tried to break the Oath. That she’d *lied* to me.”
“And you believed them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was a fool,” I said, my fangs baring, my voice rough with shame. “Because I was young. Because I was arrogant. Because I thought I could control everything. And when the bond severed—when I felt her die—I didn’t question it. I *raged*. I destroyed half the Bloodstone Chamber. I nearly killed three elders. And then—” I pressed a hand to my chest, where the pain still lived, “—I buried myself in power. In control. In *coldness*. Because if I let myself feel it—if I let myself *grieve*—I’d break.”
She didn’t speak. Just stared at me, those dark eyes seeing too much. Tears spilled down her temples. Her fingers curled into my coat, knuckles white.
“And now?” she whispered.
“Now I know the truth.”
“And you’re telling me *now*?”
“Because you deserve it,” I said, voice low. “Because you’ve earned it. Because you saved my life. Because you let me claim you. Because you *kissed* me. And because—” I pressed my forehead to hers, my breath hot against her skin—“I can’t lie to you anymore.”
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.
“I hate you,” she said, voice raw, tears falling. “I *hate* you.”
“I know,” I said, voice rough. “Then hate me. But don’t leave.”
And then—
She collapsed into my arms.
Not with rage. Not with fury. But with grief. With loss. With the weight of a century of lies, of betrayal, of a mother murdered for truth.
I held her. Tight. Possessive. Protective. My arms like iron around her waist, my chest a wall of heat, my breath hot against her hair. She sobbed, her body trembling, her fingers digging into my coat. The bond flared—white-hot, electric—crashing through me, not with pleasure, not with need, but with *pain*. Her pain. Her grief. Her rage.
And I took it.
Not because I deserved it.
But because I loved her.
And for the first time in a century—
I didn’t feel like a king.
I felt like a man.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if she wasn’t the weapon I’d believed her to be—
Then what did that make me?
What did that make *us*?
I didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.
But as I stood there, her body trembling in my arms, her breath hot against my neck, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I didn’t want her to let go.
And when she finally lifted her head, when she met my eyes in the dim light, when I saw the storm still there—barely restrained, barely contained—I didn’t look away.
Because part of me—shameful, traitorous, hungry—wanted to say yes.
Wanted to arch into her.
Wanted to beg.
But I didn’t.
Because if I gave in—if I let her touch me, let the bond pull me under—I wouldn’t just lose my mission.
I’d lose myself.
And then, there’d be nothing left to save.
So I stayed still.
Stayed silent.
And when she finally leaned in, when her lips hovered over mine, when her breath ghosted over my skin—
I didn’t say yes.
But my body arched into hers.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t feel like a monster.
I felt like a man.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
Because if she wasn’t the weapon I’d believed her to be—
Then what did that make me?
What did that make *us*?
I didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.
But as I stood there, her arms still around me, her breath warm against my neck, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I didn’t want her to let go.
And when I finally lifted my head, when I met her eyes in the dim light, when I saw the hunger still there—barely restrained, barely contained—I didn’t look away.
Because part of me—shameful, traitorous, hungry—wanted to say yes.
Wanted to arch into her.
Wanted to beg.
But I didn’t.
Because if I gave in—if I let her touch me, let the bond pull me under—I wouldn’t just lose my mission.
I’d lose myself.
And then, there’d be nothing left to save.
So I stayed still.
Stayed silent.
And when she finally leaned in, when her lips hovered over mine, when her breath ghosted over my skin—
I didn’t say yes.
But my body arched into hers.