The silence after the Touch Pact was worse than the contact.
It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t relief. It was the quiet of a storm that hadn’t broken yet—low, thick, charged with the scent of ozone and iron. I walked down the hall, boots clicking on the black stone, my hand still burning where he’d touched me, my skin still humming with the echo of his voice, his breath, the way his fangs had flashed when he said *mine*.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t slow.
I just kept moving, spine straight, jaw clenched, until I reached my room and slammed the door shut behind me. The sigil on my hip flared—just a whisper, a warning burn—but I didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Just pressed a hand to the mark and breathed through it.
Because I wasn’t lying.
Not exactly.
But I wasn’t telling the truth either.
Because the truth was—I didn’t want him to let go.
I didn’t want him to leave.
I wanted to feel his arms around me again. Wanted to press my face to his chest and breathe him in. Wanted to arch into him and beg—not from fever, not from instinct—but from something deeper. Something real.
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 was starting to trust him.
I stripped off the gown from the gala—silver silk, too tight, too revealing—and pulled on my usual clothes: dark trousers, a high-collared tunic, boots laced tight. Practical. Unremarkable. No gowns. No silks. No vulnerability.
Then I reached for the small leather pouch hidden beneath the mattress. My fingers trembled as I opened it—just slightly—but I forced them steady. Inside lay four things: a sliver of blackthorn bark, a vial of dried moonlight, a tiny silver pin etched with a sigil of disruption, and now—the blackthorn flower.
And now—
The memory of his mouth.
The echo of his hands.
The ghost of his breath on my skin.
I tucked the flower beside the others, my heart pounding. This was more than a weapon. More than a symbol.
It was a key.
My mother had used blackthorn in her rituals—the strongest binding-breaker in witch magic. But it required a personal token. A lock of hair. A drop of blood. A flower worn close to the heart.
And now I had one.
With this, I could weaken the Oath. Not just a rune. Not just a thread.
The whole thing.
And if the Oath broke—
Kaelen would burn with it.
The thought should have brought me satisfaction. Relief. Justice.
But it didn’t.
Instead, my chest tightened. My breath caught. My fingers curled around the pouch, pressing it to my hip like I could stop the ache.
I didn’t want him to die.
I didn’t want him to suffer.
I just wanted my family free.
And if that meant his death—
Then so be it.
I wouldn’t mourn him.
I couldn’t.
I stepped out of the room and into the hall.
The Keep was quiet. Too quiet. No guards. No attendants. Just silence and shadow. The storm had passed. The repairs were still underway—cracks in the walls, pools of shadow-water on the floor, the occasional groan of settling stone. But it was holding. Like me.
I moved toward the east tower, toward the Crimson Altar. Not to sabotage. Not yet.
To *watch*.
To learn.
To understand the magic I meant to break.
I turned the final corner—and froze.
The door to the Bloodstone Chamber stood open.
And inside—
Malrik.
He stood at the center of the room, silver eyes locked onto mine, a goblet of bloodwine in his hand. He didn’t smile. Didn’t bow. Just watched, like a wolf waiting for the hunt to begin.
“You’re alone,” he said, voice smooth, dangerous. “No king. No guards. No little rebel allies.”
My breath caught.
But I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stepped into the chamber, boots silent on the stone. The air was thick with the scent of old blood, ancient magic, and something sharper—fear.
“I don’t need them,” I said, voice steady. “I’ve faced worse than you.”
“Have you?” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You’ve faced a king. A consort. A council. But have you faced *me*?”
“You’re just another vampire with a crown and a lie.”
“And you’re just another hybrid with a mission and a death wish.” He tilted his head, silver eyes gleaming. “But you’re different, aren’t you? You’re not here to serve. You’re here to *destroy*.”
“And if I am?”
“Then you’ll fail.” He stepped even closer, until we were barely a breath apart. His scent—cold iron, decay, something metallic—filled the air. “Because you’re weak. You hesitate. You *feel*.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t.” He lifted the goblet, took a slow sip. “I don’t love. I don’t grieve. I don’t *doubt*. I only take.”
The sigil on my hip flared—white-hot, searing. I gasped, doubling over. Sweat broke across my brow. My vision blurred.
He didn’t move. Just watched. “Liar,” he 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.” He stepped even closer, until our bodies were nearly touching. “And when he finally bites you, when he finally claims you—” his voice dropped to a whisper—“he’ll forget you ever existed.”
“He already has.”
He 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.”
His 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,” he said. “Never wanted to. Until *me*.”
“Then why did he stop?”
“Because I left.” He tilted his head. “Because I knew he’d destroy me if I stayed.”
“And now you’re back.”
“And now I’m here.” He stepped back, smoothing the sleeve of his coat. “To remind him what he’s about to lose.”
“He doesn’t *lose* anything,” I said. “He gains a mate.”
“A mate?” He laughed. “You think that’s what you are? A *mate*?” He leaned in, close enough that his 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,” he 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.
He saw it. Smiled. “You feel it, don’t you? The jealousy. The fear. The *need*.”
“I don’t need him.”
“You do,” he said. “And you’ll beg for him before this is over.”
He turned, started to walk away. Then paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and River?”
I didn’t answer.
“Welcome to the court,” he said, smile sharp as a blade. “It’s *so* much darker than you think.”
And then he 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.
He was wrong.
He had to be.
Kaelen hadn’t loved him. 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 fever, 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 my room, boots silent on the stone. The halls were still quiet. No guards. No attendants. Just silence and shadow.
But I wasn’t alone.
The bond pulsed—hot, insistent. And beneath it, something else.
Doubt.
It crept in like a thief, quiet, relentless. What if Malrik was right? What if Kaelen had loved him? What if the blood bond was real? What if he’d screamed his name, fed from his throat, *claimed* him in a way he’d never claim me?
And what if—when the Oath was broken, when the bond was tested—when he had to choose—
He chose him?
I reached my room, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. My breath came in shallow gasps. My hands trembled. I pressed them to my hips, to the sigil, to the leather pouch hidden beneath the mattress.
I had weapons.
I had a mission.
I had a plan.
But I didn’t have answers.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t know who to trust.
I didn’t know if I was fighting for justice—or just my own survival.
The sigil flared—just a whisper, a warning burn. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Just pressed a hand to the mark, my jaw clenched.
I wasn’t lying.
Not exactly.
But I wasn’t telling the truth either.
Because the truth was—I didn’t want him to let go.
I didn’t want him to leave.
I wanted to feel his arms around me again. Wanted to press my face to his chest and breathe him in. Wanted to arch into him and beg—not from fever, not from instinct—but from something deeper. Something real.
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 was starting to trust him.
I tucked the flower into the seam of my sleeve, where it wouldn’t be seen. Then I stood, wiped my face, and walked to the mirror.
My reflection stared back—wild-eyed, dark hair tangled, lips swollen. Not from a kiss. From biting them to keep quiet.
“You came to break his oath,” I whispered to the glass. “You’ll die before you serve you.”
The sigil burned.
Not because I was lying.
Because, deep down, I wasn’t sure I meant it.
And Kaelen knew it.
Outside, the moon rose high over Blackthorn Keep. The Oath was renewed.
And the bond between us?
It was just beginning.
He’d called me his mate.
I called him a monster.
But when I closed my eyes, all I felt was the ghost of his breath on my skin.
And the terrifying truth:
I wanted him to do it again.
Not to test me.
Not to claim me.
But because I needed it.
Because I needed him.
And that?
That was the real betrayal.
Not the Oath.
Not the mission.
But the fact that, despite everything—despite the lies, the blood, the centuries of hate—I was already falling.
And I didn’t want to land.
Because when I did?
There’d be nothing left to save.
But as I lay in my room that night, 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.
The next morning, I avoided the main halls. Took the servant’s passage—narrow, dim, lined with pipes that hissed like serpents. I needed space. Needed air. Needed to think without the bond pulling me toward him like a leash.
But it followed me.
Low. Insistent. A second heartbeat beneath my skin.
I reached 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. I stepped inside, boots crunching on glass, and moved to the far wall, where a single intact window overlooked the cliffs. The sea below was wild, waves crashing against the rocks, white foam churning in the wind.
And then—
A presence.
Dark. Quiet. Inevitable.
I didn’t turn. Just felt him—the bond flaring, heat rushing through me, my pulse jumping in my throat.
“You’re avoiding me,” Kaelen said, his voice low, dangerous.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how I’m supposed to destroy you when I can’t even look at you without my body betraying me.”
He stepped closer. I could feel the heat of him, the rise and fall of his chest, the low growl in his throat. “You don’t have to destroy me,” he said. “You could choose something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like *us*.”
I turned then, glaring at him. “There is no *us*. There’s a bond. A lie. A mission.”
“And yet,” he 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*.” He reached out, slow, and brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “And you feel it. Every second. Just like I do.”
My breath caught.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice shaking.
“Neither are you.”
“I came here to destroy you.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what I want.”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, until our bodies were nearly touching. His hand moved to my 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* him.
“Then let me show you,” he murmured, voice low. “Let me show you what it means to be mine.”
My breath hitched.
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.
Fanged Vow: River’s Claim
The first time River touches Kaelen, it’s with a dagger at his throat.
Midnight. The Bloodstone Chamber. Candles gutter as the ancient oath swells in the air, and River—witch-blooded, wolf-touched, and utterly mortal—leaps from the shadows, blade aimed at the heart of the vampire king who murdered her mother. But the instant her fingers graze his skin, a white-hot bond sears through her spine, throwing her back, gasping. His crimson eyes flare. His fangs bare. And then—he smiles.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and sin, “even if you came to kill me.”
She didn’t come for love. She came to break the Duskbane Oath, a magical covenant that forces her bloodline to serve the vampire throne, body and soul. But now, the bond between them flares with every heartbeat, feeding on rage, grief, and something far more dangerous: need. The Council demands they stand together as allies to prevent war between the Fae and the Blood Courts. One lie becomes two. One forced touch becomes a shared bed during a blizzard. One night of heat becomes a scandal that ripples across realms.
But someone is watching. Someone who knows River’s true bloodline—and who wants her bond with Kaelen used, not broken. As political traps snap shut and old lovers reappear with fresh scars, River must choose: complete her mission and destroy the man she’s fated to, or surrender to a love that could cost her family’s freedom—and her life.
And Kaelen? He’s never wanted anything more than to own her. But for the first time, he fears he might lose her—and worse, deserve it.