The night before our private vows, I dreamed of fire.
Not the warm, flickering kind that danced in the hearths of Blackthorn Keep, casting long shadows over stone and ivy. Not the cold, silver flame that Elara had conjured during her first sigil lesson, trembling in the air like a promise. No—this was different. This was the fire of destruction. The fire of endings. The fire that had once consumed my mother’s body on the Blood Moon, her scream echoing across the cliffs as the Duskbane Oath was sealed in her blood.
In the dream, I stood barefoot on the sacrificial stone, the same one where she had died. The moon above was crimson, swollen with hunger. The air smelled of iron and violets, thick with magic and memory. And then—Kaelen appeared, not as the man I loved, but as the king I had come to destroy. His fangs were bared, his eyes black with need, his hand closing around my throat.
“You were always mine,” he whispered, voice like smoke and sin. “Even when you came to kill me.”
I didn’t fight. Didn’t scream. Just stared into his eyes, watching the monster I had believed him to be—watching the truth I had refused to see.
And then I woke.
Sweat-slicked. Gasping. Heart pounding like a war drum beneath my ribs. The bond pulsed under my skin, not screaming, not demanding—just there, steady, warm, alive. A second heartbeat. A vow etched into my bones.
Kaelen wasn’t beside me.
The bed was empty.
But I could feel him—his presence, his heat, the low growl in his throat as he stood at the edge of the balcony, his coat flaring in the wind, his silhouette sharp against the moonlit sea. He didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, like a sentinel, like a predator, like a man who had spent centuries ruling through fear—and now stood on the edge of something he couldn’t name.
Love.
Not possession.
Not control.
Love.
I pushed back the covers, my bare feet silent on the stone, my hand resting low on my belly where our son still kicked, still strong. The dream clung to me like a second skin, its weight pressing down on my chest. I wanted to believe this was real. That the peace was real. That the love was real. But after a lifetime of betrayal, after years of running, of fighting, of surviving—trust didn’t come easy.
And neither did surrender.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice rough, not turning.
“So are you.”
He finally turned, slow, deliberate, those crimson eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Not anger. Not command. Grief. “Bad dream?”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, until I was standing beside him, the sea roaring below, the stars sharp in the sky. The Keep was quiet—no alarms, no battles, no blood. Just peace. Just us. Just our child, growing strong beneath my skin.
“I dreamed of the Blood Moon,” I said, voice low. “Of my mother.”
He didn’t flinch. Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my skin. “I know.”
“And you?” I asked. “Do you dream of her too? Of what your father did?”
His jaw tightened. “Every night.”
And that—
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if he carried that guilt, if he bore that grief—if he wasn’t just the monster I’d believed him to be—then what did that make me?
What did that make us?
“Tomorrow,” I said, “we’re not just renewing vows. We’re rewriting them.”
“I know.”
“No more chains. No more oaths. No more lies.”
“Just truth.”
“Just us.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into his arms, not gently, not softly—like he was claiming me. One arm wrapped around my waist, the other behind my head, pulling me against him, his mouth crashing down on mine—not a kiss, not a caress, but a claim. His fangs grazed my lip, sharp and sweet, and I tasted blood—mine, his, ours.
And the bond—
It screamed.
Not with pain.
Not with need.
With warning.
“Be careful,” he murmured against my skin, breath hot, voice breaking. “If they touch you—”
“They won’t.” I pulled back, just enough to look at him. “Because if they do, I’ll burn their court to ash.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched me, like I was something precious, not prey.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if he wasn’t the monster I’d believed him 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, his arms still around me, his breath warm against my neck, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I didn’t want him to let go.
And when I finally lifted my head, when I met his 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 him.
Wanted to beg.
But I didn’t.
Because if I gave in—if I let him 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 he finally 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.
—
The next evening, the Keep was quiet—no crowds, no fanfare, no Council members watching with sharp eyes and sharper tongues. Just us. Just the bond. Just the silence between heartbeats.
The vow chamber was small, tucked deep within the oldest wing of the Keep, its walls carved from blackthorn stone, its ceiling arched like the ribs of a beast long dead. No torches. No candles. Just the soft, silver glow of moonlight filtering through the high, narrow windows, painting the floor in stripes of light and shadow. At the center of the room, a single stone dais rose from the floor, etched with the sigil of the Duskbane Oath—cracked now, shattered, rewritten.
And there—barefoot, dressed in a gown of dark gray silk edged with silver thorns—was Kaelen.
He didn’t look like a king.
No crown. No cloak. No fangs bared in warning.
Just a man.
Waiting.
I stepped forward, slow, deliberate, my hand resting low on my belly, the curve of my pregnancy just visible beneath the fabric. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, not with magic, not with power—but with truth.
“You’re late,” he said, voice low.
“I was making sure Elara was asleep.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched me, those crimson eyes seeing too much. “She asked me something tonight.”
“What?”
“She asked if we were going to get married.”
I stopped, just a few feet from him. “And what did you say?”
“I told her we already were. In every way that matters.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
We had already bled for each other. Already fought for each other. Already died for each other.
And yet—
There was still this. Still the need to say it. To claim it. To make it ours.
“This isn’t for the Council,” I said, stepping onto the dais. “Not for the courts. Not for the people.”
“I know.”
“It’s for us.”
“Then say it,” he said, voice rough. “Say what you want.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Just reached for the dagger at my hip—the same one I had once aimed at his heart. The same one I had carried into Blackthorn Keep with murder in my soul. I drew it slowly, the blade catching the moonlight, its edge sharp with intent.
And then—
I sliced my palm.
Blood welled—dark, rich, alive. I let it drip onto the stone, watching as it pooled in the cracks of the shattered Oath, as it seeped into the sigil, as it began to glow—silver, steady, new.
“I don’t want power,” I said, voice low. “I don’t want revenge. I don’t want chains.” I looked at him. “I want you. Not as my king. Not as my mate. Not as my master.” I stepped closer, until our bodies were nearly touching. “I want you as my equal. As my partner. As the man who held me when I broke. Who let me rewrite the world.”
His breath hitched.
And the bond—
It pulsed, low, insistent.
“Then take it,” I said, holding out my bleeding hand. “Take my blood. Take my truth. Take my heart. But never take my choice.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at me, those crimson eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Not hunger. Not need. Worship.
And then—
He knelt.
Not in submission.
In offering.
He took my hand, slow, deliberate, and brought it to his lips. Not to bite. Not to claim. Just to taste. His tongue dragged over the wound—warm, wet, reverent—and the bond screamed, not with magic, not with rage, but with truth.
“I don’t want to own you,” he said, voice breaking. “I don’t want to control you. I don’t want to chain you.” He looked up, those crimson eyes seeing too much. “I want to love you. Not as my queen. Not as my mate. Not as my possession.” He pressed my hand to his chest, over his heart. “I want you as my equal. As my partner. As the woman who made me afraid—not of death, not of war, but of losing you.”
My breath caught.
And the bond—
It flared, white-hot, searing, not with pain, but with power.
And then—
I knelt.
Not in surrender.
In return.
I took his hand, slow, deliberate, and sliced his palm with my dagger. His blood was dark, thick, ancient—older than cities, older than wars, older than gods. I brought it to my lips, tasting iron and moonlight and something deeper—something that had once been rage, but was now love.
“I choose you,” I said, voice low. “Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. Not because of magic.” I pressed his hand to my chest, over my heart. “I choose you because you let me break you. Because you let me rewrite the Oath. Because you burned your brother to ash with your own blood.”
His breath caught.
And the bond—
It screamed.
Not with magic.
Not with rage.
With truth.
And then—
We kissed.
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, on the dais, in his arms, with the moonlight burning above us and our child stirring beneath my skin.
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. Blood streaked his cheek—my blood, his blood, ours. “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 didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched me, like I was something precious, not prey.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if he wasn’t the monster I’d believed him to be—
Then what did that make me?
What did that make us?
I didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.
But as I knelt there, his arms still around me, his breath warm against my neck, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I didn’t want him to let go.
And when I finally lifted my head, when I met his 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 him.
Wanted to beg.
But I didn’t.
Because if I gave in—if I let him 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 he finally 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.
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.