The storm broke with the violence of a god’s wrath.
Thunder cracked across the cliffs of Blackthorn Keep, lightning splitting the sky like a blade through silk. Rain fell in sheets, turning the courtyard to mud, washing blood into dark rivers that snaked toward the sea. The air reeked of iron, ozone, and something older—magic, raw and untamed, pulsing beneath the stone like a dying heartbeat.
And Kaelen held me.
Still cradled against his chest, my body aching from the fight, my arm burning where Malrik’s Bloodstone had grazed me. His breath was hot against my neck, his fangs grazing my skin—not to bite, not to claim, but to feel. To know I was alive. To know I was his.
But we didn’t have time.
Not for softness. Not for silence. Not for the slow, sweet ache of afterglow.
Because the Keep was under siege.
Malrik’s faction wasn’t gone.
They were regrouping.
And they were coming.
Kaelen set me down gently, one hand lingering on my hip, over the sigil. It didn’t burn. Just warmed, like it was alive, like it was ready. “Stay close,” he said, voice low, rough. “And don’t die.”
I didn’t smirk. Didn’t roll my eyes. Just nodded. “You first.”
He almost smiled. Almost.
But then the gates exploded.
Not with fire. Not with force.
With magic.
A blast of crimson energy tore through the iron bars, sending shards of enchanted metal flying like shrapnel. Vampires screamed as they were impaled. Werewolves howled as their flesh burned. Fae flickered out of existence, their glamours shattered by the surge.
And then—
They came.
Not Malrik.
But worse.
The remnants of his army—vampires with eyes like frozen silver, werewolves with claws dripping with poison, Fae with daggers forged from shadow and lies. They poured through the breach like a flood, fangs bared, claws out, magic crackling in their hands.
And at their head—
Lyra.
She stepped through the smoke like a queen, her silver hair unbound, her eyes glowing with Fae glamour. She wore a gown of black silk, torn at the hem, stained with blood—Kaelen’s blood, I realized. From when he’d bled to honor Torin. She’d taken it. Worn it like a trophy.
And around her neck—
A pendant.
Not just any pendant.
A blood vial.
Dark, thick, pulsing with crimson light.
Kaelen’s blood.
My breath caught.
She’d stolen it. From the Bloodstone Chamber. From the ritual. From him.
And now she was using it.
“You think you’ve won?” she called, voice like honey and venom. “You think rewriting the Oath changes anything? The blood still calls. The magic still binds. And you—” her eyes locked onto mine—“you’ll always belong to him.”
“I belong to no one,” I said, stepping forward, dagger in hand.
She smiled. Slow. Sharp. “Then why do you fight for him? Why do you bleed for him? Why do you burn for him?”
“Because I choose to,” I said, voice low. “Because he’s not what you are. He’s not a monster. He’s not a king who feeds on fear. He’s a man who loves me. Who sees me.”
“And you?” she sneered. “You’re just a weapon. A hybrid. A saboteur. And when this is over—” she tilted her head, smile sharp as a blade—“you’ll be nothing but ash.”
The bond flared—hot, sharp, painful.
But I didn’t flinch.
Just lunged.
Dagger flashing, I drove it toward her heart—but she was fast, twisting, avoiding the strike, slashing with the blood vial. A drop of Kaelen’s blood struck my arm, burning like fire. I gasped, stumbling back, but didn’t fall.
She came at me again, fast, brutal, relentless. I blocked with my dagger, but she was stronger, faster. She knocked it from my hand, sent it skittering across the stone.
I was unarmed.
And she knew it.
She lunged, the vial aimed at my chest.
I didn’t dodge.
I charged.
Shoulder first, I slammed into her, driving her back. She snarled, slashing, but I held on, one hand gripping her wrist, the other driving my elbow into her throat. She gagged, staggering, but I didn’t let go. I twisted, using her momentum, throwing her over my shoulder.
She hit the ground hard. The vial skittered away.
I didn’t go for it.
I went for her.
I dropped on top of her, fists flying, teeth bared. She fought back—claws raking my face, fangs biting my shoulder—but I didn’t stop. I hit her—again and again—my knuckles splitting, blood streaking her face.
“You don’t get to do this!” I roared, voice cracking. “You don’t get to twist the Oath! You don’t get to enslave my bloodline!”
She didn’t answer. Just fought, eyes wild, fangs bared.
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.
Kaelen.
He stood at the edge of the courtyard, coat unbuttoned, fangs bared, eyes crimson with rage. He didn’t look at Lyra. Didn’t speak to her. Just watched me, like I was something precious, not prey.
“River,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t answer. Just kept fighting, fists flying, blood on my hands.
Lyra twisted, breaking free, scrambling back. She reached for the vial.
I lunged.
But not for her.
For the vial.
I moved fast—faster than I thought possible—throwing myself toward the blood vial, fingers closing around the glass. It burned—white-hot, searing—but I didn’t let go. I could feel the magic, the old runes, the lie, the corruption.
And then—
Lyra was on me.
She grabbed me—fast, brutal, desperate—one hand in my hair, the other at my throat, slamming me back against the stone. I gasped, vision blurring, but didn’t let go of the vial.
“You’re weak,” she snarled, voice raw. “You hesitate. You feel.”
“And you don’t?” I demanded, voice breaking. “You don’t feel anything? No love? No loyalty? No honor?”
“Honor is a weakness,” she spat. “And love? Love is a lie.”
“Then why do you hate him so much?” I said, voice shaking. “Why do you want the Oath so badly? Why do you burn for power?”
She didn’t answer. Just tightened her grip, fangs bared, eyes blazing.
And then—
The bond screamed.
Not from me.
From him.
Kaelen.
He moved then—fast, silent, deadly. A blur of motion. Shadows writhing around him, fangs bared, claws out. Lyra turned, tried to fight, but it was over before it began.
A snarl.
A scream.
A flash of silver.
And then—
Silence.
Lyra’s body hit the stone, throat torn, eyes wide, blood pooling beneath her.
Kaelen didn’t look at her.
He looked at me.
And for the first time since I’d known him, I saw something in his eyes that wasn’t cold. Wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t calculating.
Relief.
He crossed the courtyard in three strides, catching me as I fell. I hit the ground hard, but he held me, one arm under my shoulders, the other pressing against the wound on my arm. Blood seeped between his fingers, warm, sticky.
“River,” he said, voice raw. “No. No.”
I tried to speak, but pain filled my chest. I coughed, wincing, but managed a weak smile. “Told you… I’d never seen you hesitate… until her.”
His breath caught.
“I’m not dying,” I said, voice breaking. “Not without you.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me against his chest, cradling me like I weighed nothing, like I was something precious, not prey. His breath was hot against my neck, his fangs grazing my skin, not to bite, not to claim—just to feel.
And the bond—
It pulsed, steady, strong.
Like a heartbeat not my own.
Like a promise.
Like a vow.
The courtyard was quiet now—no screams, no battle, just the distant echo of thunder, the scent of rain on the wind. The remnants of Malrik’s faction were gone—fled, or dead. The Keep was damaged, but standing. The Oath was rewritten. The bond was ours.
And we were alive.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice low.
He didn’t look at me. Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my skin. “Neither are you.”
“I came here to destroy you.”
“And now?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, 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 I doubted…
I might just survive this.
And if I survived—
I might just break him.
He 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 me.
“Then let me show you,” he murmured, voice low. “Let me show you what it means to be mine.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I kissed him.
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 tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching into his, my core clenching, already slick, already ready.
He groaned, low and deep, his fangs grazing my 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 his arms, in the courtyard, with the blood of our enemies staining the stone.
I cried out, my body arching, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He held me, groaning, his breath hot against my skin. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go. Let me have you.”
And I did.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because, for one terrible, shameful moment, I wanted it.
Wanted him.
Needed him.
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 his arms.
Still breathing hard.
Still his.
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, his lips swollen, his breath uneven. “Better?” he asked, voice rough.
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, those dark eyes seeing too much. “You’re not what I expected,” I said.
“Neither are you.”
He 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 him away.
Didn’t walk out.
Just stayed in his arms, my body still trembling, my breath still unsteady.
And when he leaned in, when his lips hovered over mine, when his breath ghosted over my skin—
I didn’t say yes.
But my body arched into his.