The silence after the gala should have been relief.
It wasn’t.
It was the quiet of a blade drawn in the dark—tense, sharp, waiting. I stood at the edge of the war room, staring at the map of the Blood District, where Malrik’s influence pulsed like a diseased heart. The obsidian table still hummed with residual magic from our strategy session, the runes above flickering faintly, like dying stars. River had left hours ago, boots silent, spine straight, her scent—wolf, witch, *need*—lingering in the air like a ghost.
And I hadn’t followed.
She’d said to stay. Said she needed to think. Said she’d come to me when she was ready.
And I’d obeyed.
For the first time in three centuries, I’d *obeyed*.
Not because I was commanded.
But because I *trusted* her.
The bond flared—low, insistent—a second heartbeat beneath my skin. Not pain. Not yet. But something worse.
Doubt.
It crept in like a shadow, quiet, relentless. What if she was right? What if I was still the monster she’d come to destroy? What if my father’s sins stained my soul too deep for redemption? What if, when the Oath was rewritten, when the truth was laid bare, she looked at me and saw only the blood on my hands?
I pressed a hand to my chest, where the fated mate mark burned—dark, ancient, shaped like a crescent moon wrapped in thorns. The bond. The vow. The curse. The only thing that kept me breathing.
And I was going to lose it.
Because she was in it.
River.
She hadn’t come to me after the gala. 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 map and strode to the door. The war room was empty. The elders had left. The guards were stationed outside. The Keep was quiet, too quiet, like the world was holding its breath.
And then—
The bond shattered.
Not weakened.
Not strained.
Shattered.
It wasn’t pain.
It was loss.
A void ripped through my chest, so deep, so vast, it stole my breath. My knees buckled. I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself, fangs bared, a growl tearing from my throat. My vision blurred. My pulse roared in my ears. The mark on my chest burned—white-hot, searing—like it was being torn from my skin.
“River,” I snarled, voice raw.
She was gone.
Not dead.
Not yet.
But taken.
The bond was still there—frayed, flickering, like a thread about to snap. But the connection, the warmth, the *presence*—it was gone. Replaced by silence. By cold. By fear.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t plan.
I just ran.
Boots thundering on the stone, I tore through the halls of Blackthorn Keep, shadows curling around me like a second skin. I didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care if the Council rose against me. If the Fae Queen declared war. If Malrik laughed in triumph.
She was mine.
And I was coming for her.
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. The door stood open.
And inside—
Nothing.
No body. No blood. No struggle.
Just silence.
And the faintest trace of her scent—wolf, witch, *need*—fading fast.
“River,” I whispered, voice breaking.
And then—
A flicker.
Not from the bond.
From the shadows.
One of my spies—cloaked, face hidden—stepped from the corner, eyes down, voice low. “She was taken, my king. By Malrik. Through the underground tunnels. He’s taken her to the Bloodforge.”
My breath caught.
The Bloodforge.
An ancient prison beneath the Blood District, built during the Vampire-Werewolf War. A place of torture. Of blood rituals. Of screams that never stopped.
And now?
He had her there.
Alone.
Defenseless.
And I was going to burn it to the ground.
“How long?” I demanded.
“An hour. Maybe less.”
“And the tunnels?”
“Guarded. But I can get you through.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Then do it.”
We moved fast—through the servant’s passages, down the hidden stairwells, into the underbelly of the Keep. The air grew thick with the scent of iron, decay, and something sharper—fear. My fangs ached. My hands clenched. My shadow writhed around me, alive, hungry.
“He’ll be expecting you,” the spy said, voice low.
“Let him.”
“He’ll have her guarded. Tortured. He’ll use her to break the Oath.”
“He’ll die before he touches her.”
The spy didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Then may the shadows carry you, my king.”
And then he was gone.
I stood at the edge of the tunnel—a narrow, damp passage that sloped down into darkness. The walls were slick with moisture, the floor uneven, the air thick with the scent of old blood. Somewhere below, a drip echoed like a heartbeat.
I stepped into the dark.
Shadow-walking wasn’t magic. It was instinct. A predator’s gift. I let the darkness swallow me, my body dissolving into the void, moving through the tunnel like smoke. No sound. No breath. Just the pull of the bond—faint, flickering, but still there.
She was alive.
She was waiting.
And I was coming.
I emerged in the Bloodforge—a vast, cavernous chamber lit by torches that burned with crimson flame. The walls were lined with iron cages, their bars thick, their locks enchanted. The air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and something darker—desperation.
And at the center—
River.
She hung from the ceiling, wrists bound in silver chains, feet barely touching the ground. Her head was bowed, dark hair tangled, lips swollen. Her clothes were torn—tunic ripped at the shoulder, trousers stained with blood. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her body trembled.
But she was alive.
And she was mine.
Malrik stood before her, silver eyes gleaming, a dagger in his hand. He didn’t see me. Didn’t sense me. Just watched her, like a wolf circling prey.
“You’re weak,” he said, voice smooth, dangerous. “You hesitate. You *feel*.”
She lifted her head, glaring. “I don’t belong to you.”
“You will.” He stepped closer, blade tracing the line of her throat. “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.”
Malrik 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*,” she 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.”
“He’s never fed from a lover’s throat,” she 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,” she 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 her 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,” she 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?”
She 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 didn’t wait.
I didn’t hesitate.
I just attacked.
Shadow coalesced around me, my body reforming in a burst of darkness, fangs bared, claws out. I moved like death—fast, silent, lethal. The guards didn’t see me. Didn’t hear me. Just died—throats torn, hearts crushed, bodies crumpling to the stone.
I reached River in seconds.
She lifted her head, eyes wide, breath catching. “Kaelen—”
“I’m here,” I growled, voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
I tore the chains from the ceiling, silver burning my hands, but I didn’t care. I caught her as she fell, cradling her against my chest, her body trembling, her breath hot against my neck.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Always,” I said. “I’ll always come for you.”
She didn’t speak. Just buried her face in my chest, breathing me in—dark amber, iron, something wild. The bond flared—white-hot, electric—crashing through me, not with pleasure, not with need, but with *relief*. She was alive. She was safe. She was mine.
And I wasn’t letting go.
“Can you walk?” I asked, voice low.
She nodded, slow. “I can try.”
I helped her to her feet, one arm around her waist, the other supporting her. She was weak. Shaking. But she stood.
“We need to move,” I said. “Now.”
She didn’t argue. Just leaned into me, her body a wall of heat, her breath uneven. “Where?”
“Back to the Keep. To safety.”
“And Malrik?”
“He’s dead,” I said, voice low. “If he’s not, he will be.”
She didn’t flinch. Just stayed where she was, her fingers curling into my coat, knuckles white. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You could’ve let me go. Let the Oath break. Let him take it.”
“And lose you?” I said, voice rough. “Never.”
She lifted her head, those dark eyes locking onto mine. Not with hatred. Not with fury. But with something quieter. More dangerous.
Trust.
“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 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 Bloodforge, 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.