The vial burned in my palm like a brand.
Not from heat. Not from magic. But from weight. The weight of my mother’s blood—dark, ancient, humming with a power that had once shaped storms and shattered chains. The weight of Mara’s confession, her tears, her trembling hands as she pressed it into mine. The weight of knowing—finally—that I hadn’t been fighting alone. That she’d been preparing me not for vengeance, but for liberation.
And the weight of him.
Kael—no, Elion—stood beside me in the suite, his presence a steady, silent force. He hadn’t spoken since we returned. Hadn’t tried to touch me. Hadn’t even looked at me. But I could feel him—through the bond, through the quiet hum beneath my skin, through the way my pulse still hitched when he shifted, when his coat brushed the floor, when his breath ghosted over my neck.
I hated that.
I hated that even now—after everything—I still felt him.
“You should rest,” he said, voice low, rough. “You’ve been through enough today.”
“I don’t need rest,” I snapped. “I need answers. I need the contract. I need to know how to break it.”
He turned, finally meeting my eyes. Obsidian. Unreadable. But beneath it—something darker. Something I couldn’t name.
“You already know how,” he said. “The name. The blood. The bond.”
“Then why hasn’t it worked?” I demanded. “Why hasn’t the bond broken? Why is it still chaining her soul?”
“Because it’s not just a bond,” he said. “It’s a curse. And curses don’t break with truth. They break with power. With sacrifice. With the one who forged it.”
My breath caught.
“You mean Vexen.”
He nodded. “He’s the only one who can undo it. Or destroy it.”
“And if he won’t?”
“Then we take it from him,” he said, stepping closer. “By force. By fire. By blood.”
I stared at him. At the man who had once been my enemy. At the boy who had brought my mother water. At the vampire who had whispered her name like a prayer.
And for the first time, I didn’t see a monster.
I saw a weapon.
And I wanted to wield him.
“Then we find him,” I said. “We end this.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for the vial in my hand, his fingers brushing mine—cool, deliberate. The bond flared, warm and deep, a silent claim. I didn’t pull away.
“Not yet,” he said. “The Council is calling us. Now.”
My stomach dropped. “Why?”
“They know about the storm,” he said. “About Vexen’s vision. About the blood memory. They want answers. And they want the bond sealed.”
“Sealed how?”
“A public ceremony,” he said. “In seven days. A full bonding ritual. Blood, breath, and body.”
The room tilted.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“You think I’m going to let them parade me like some kind of trophy? That I’m going to let them force us into a ritual that—” I cut myself off, jaw clenching. “No. I won’t do it.”
“You don’t have a choice,” he said, stepping closer. “If we refuse, they’ll declare us traitors. They’ll tear the bond apart. And if they do…”
“Then what?” I challenged.
“Then you’ll die,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Storm Sickness will rip through you. Lightning will tear your body apart. And I’ll be powerless to stop it.”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From the way his voice dropped—low, rough, intimate.
From the way his hand lifted, his thumb brushing my lower lip. The bond flared—warm, deep, aching. My body leaned into his touch without permission.
And I hated that I didn’t pull away.
“You’re not giving me a choice,” I whispered.
“I’m giving you survival,” he said. “And a chance to fight another day.”
I wanted to argue. To rage. To summon lightning and tear the room apart.
But I didn’t.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part.
“Fine,” I said, voice cold. “I’ll play their little game. But don’t think this means I’m yours.”
“You already are,” he said, stepping closer. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”
The Council Chamber was colder than I remembered, the air thick with the scent of old magic and something darker—fear. The High Queen sat at the center, her silver crown gleaming, her eyes sharp as daggers. The elders stood in a half-circle, cloaked in their house colors. No Lyra. No whispers. No shadows.
Just silence.
And judgment.
“Prince Kael Valen,” the High Queen intoned. “Tide of the Storm-Witch Line. You stand before the Council to answer for the instability of your bond. Explain.”
Kael didn’t hesitate. “The bond is not unstable. It is evolving. It is alive. It is rejecting artificial control.”
“And the storm?” an elder demanded. “The blood vision? The shattered wards?”
“Vexen,” Kael said. “My father. He’s alive. He’s using blood magic to summon storms, to anchor his return. And he wants Tide’s blood to complete his immortality ritual.”
The chamber erupted.
“Impossible!”
“He was destroyed!”
“The records show his death!”
“The records were falsified,” I said, stepping forward. “By him. To hide his crimes. To enslave my mother. To wait for the fated bond to awaken.”
“And you believe this?” the High Queen asked, eyes narrowing.
“I’ve seen him,” I said. “In the storm. In the blood memory. He’s not a ghost. He’s not a vision. He’s real. And he’s coming.”
“Then why hasn’t he struck?” another elder asked.
“Because he can’t,” Kael said. “Not yet. The bond protects her. But it’s not enough. Not if we’re separated. Not if the Council declares us traitors.”
“Then prove your loyalty,” the High Queen said, voice sharp. “Seal the bond. In seven days. A full ritual. Blood, breath, and body. Before the court. Before the world.”
My stomach dropped.
“You can’t be serious,” I said. “That’s not a ritual. That’s a consummation.”
“It is a binding,” the Queen said. “And it is required. Refuse, and war begins. The vampire houses will turn on each other. The Fae will take sides. And the balance of power will collapse.”
“And if we agree?” Kael asked.
“Then peace holds,” she said. “For now. And you will be granted full access to the Valen archives. To find the truth. To destroy Vexen.”
I looked at Kael. At the man who had once been my enemy. At the vampire who had given me my mother’s journal. At the one who had whispered her name like a prayer.
And I didn’t know whether to trust him… or fear him.
“We accept,” he said, before I could speak.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I snapped, turning to him.
“I already did,” he said, stepping closer. “Because if we don’t, you die. And I won’t let that happen.”
The chamber fell silent.
And then—
The High Queen raised a hand. “It is decided. The bond will be sealed in seven days. May the fates guide you.”
We left in silence, the weight of the ultimatum pressing between us. Back in the suite, the door clicked shut behind us, and I didn’t wait.
“You had no right,” I said, turning to him. “You had no right to agree to that. Not without me.”
“I had every right,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I’m the only one who can protect you. And if that means forcing your hand, I’ll do it.”
“You think this is about control?” I demanded. “You think parading me like some kind of trophy proves something?”
“I think it keeps you alive,” he said. “The Council sees a united front. A bond that can’t be broken. And that means they won’t try to break it.”
“And if they had?”
“Then I’d kill them,” he said simply. “Anyone who tries to take you from me dies.”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From the way his voice dropped—low, rough, intimate.
From the way my body responded—heat pooling low in my belly, the bond flaring beneath my skin.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I whispered.
“I already did,” he said. “You’re mine, Tide. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
I wanted to argue. To rage. To summon lightning and tear the room apart.
But I didn’t.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part.
“I came here to destroy you,” I said, voice breaking. “To burn your house to the ground. To make you pay for what your father did.”
“And now?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Now I don’t know what I want,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just reached for me, his hand lifting to brush a strand of wild hair from my face. His thumb traced my lower lip. The bond flared—warm, deep, aching. My breath hitched. My body leaned into his touch without permission.
And I hated that I didn’t pull away.
“Then let me show you,” he said.
And before I could answer, he kissed me.
Not like in the hall. Not for show.
This was real.
His mouth crashed into mine, hot and demanding, his fangs grazing my lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond exploded—fire and lightning, hunger and rage, desire so sharp it was pain. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, my body pressing against his, every inch of me screaming for more.
He groaned, one hand tangling in my hair, the other sliding down, gripping my thigh, lifting me—
And then—
A knock.
Hard. Insistent.
The door burst open.
Riven.
He froze in the doorway, his amber eyes wide, taking in the scene—me in Kael’s arms, my lips swollen, his hand on my thigh, his fangs still bared.
“I—” he started, then stopped, jaw clenching. “The Council requests your presence. Immediately.”
Kael didn’t release me. Just turned his head, his voice low, dangerous. “We’ll be there.”
He hesitated—then nodded, backing out, shutting the door.
Silence.
Kael slowly lowered me, his hands still on my hips, his eyes searching mine. “You’re not going to kill me,” he said again. “Not today.”
“No,” I whispered. “Not today.”
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow, I wasn’t so sure.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
The silence after Riven left was worse than the chaos.
Not empty. Not still. But charged—thick with truth, with grief, with the echo of what we’d both seen. Kael’s memory of his mother, dying in the garden, whispering about the woman who would one day stand beside him… about me. The same words my mother had written in her journal. The same plea: *Break the chain. Not the man.*
And now, standing in the suite, the fire reduced to embers, the torches dim, I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to feel. Grief for a woman I’d never met. Guilt for the hatred I’d carried. A terrifying, fragile hope that maybe—just maybe—this bond wasn’t a curse. Maybe it was a bridge.
Kael didn’t speak. Just stood there, his obsidian eyes dark, unreadable, his hand still outstretched, the cut on his palm slowly closing. The scent of his blood—rich, ancient, laced with sorrow—hung in the air, mingling with the storm magic that still crackled beneath my skin.
“You didn’t have to show me that,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “That was sacred. Private.”
“It was true,” he said. “And the bond demands truth. Not lies. Not politics. Not vengeance.”
“And what if I’m not ready for truth?” I asked, stepping back. “What if I still want to hate you?”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, closing the distance. “Then hate me. But don’t lie to yourself. Don’t lie to the bond. It knows. It always knows.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
The bond didn’t care about my mission. Didn’t care about my mother’s death. It only cared about us. About the way my pulse jumped when he touched me. The way my magic flared when he was near. The way my body—traitor that it was—arched into his, begged for more, even now, when I should’ve been running.
“I don’t know what I want,” I whispered.
“Then let me show you,” he said, stepping closer. “Let me show you everything.”
Before I could argue, he pressed his palm to my lips again—fresh blood welling, warm and metallic. “Drink,” he murmured. “And see.”
I hesitated.
Not because I didn’t want to. But because I was afraid.
Afraid of what I’d see. Afraid of what I’d feel. Afraid that once I knew him—truly knew him—I’d never be able to destroy him.
But I did it anyway.
I parted my lips, my tongue brushing his wound.
And then—
I was no longer in the suite.
I was in his mind.
Memories. Emotions. Sensations. All flooding into me like a river breaking its banks.
A boy—seventeen, pale, sharp-featured—kneeling in the dungeon, pressing a vial of water through the bars to my mother. Her whispering, “Don’t help me. They’ll punish you.” Him saying, “I can’t let you suffer.” A guard dragging him away. The crack of a whip. His father’s voice, cold, cruel: “You will learn obedience, boy.”
A man—older, colder, his heart locked behind centuries of control—standing over his father’s empty throne, vowing to destroy the monster who’d broken his mother, who’d enslaved mine, who’d turned him into a weapon. But unable to act. Bound by blood. By duty. By fear.
A prince—alone, isolated, his soul fractured—feeling the bond ignite the moment our hands touched in the Grand Atrium. Not just magic. Not just fate. But recognition. As if he’d been waiting for me his entire life.
And then—
The most terrifying memory of all.
Me.
Not as an enemy. Not as a weapon. Not as the daughter of the woman he’d failed.
As mine.
His thoughts—raw, unfiltered—flashed through me like lightning: She’s beautiful. She’s fire. She’s storm. She’s mine. I don’t care if she hates me. I don’t care if she tries to kill me. I will never let her go.
I gasped, staggering back—but the magic held me, binding us together in a way that wasn’t just physical.
It was intimate.
“You… you really feel that?” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “Even now? Even after everything?”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for me, his hand lifting to brush a strand of wild hair from my face. His thumb traced my lower lip. The bond flared—warm, deep, aching. My breath hitched. My body leaned into his touch without permission.
And I hated that I didn’t pull away.
“I’ve felt it since the moment I saw you,” he said, voice low, rough. “And I’ll feel it until the day I die.”
I didn’t speak. Just looked at him—storm-gray eyes searching his—trying to find the lie, the manipulation, the monster I’d sworn to destroy.
But all I saw was truth.
And it terrified me.
Because if he wasn’t the enemy… then who was?
The door burst open.
Not with a bang. Not with a threat.
With wind.
Cold, sharp, sudden—cutting through the silence like a blade. The torches flickered. The fire snapped. And then—
Thunder.
Not distant. Not fading.
Right above us.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the suite in flashes of violet and silver. Rain—thick, heavy, smelling of ozone and iron—slammed against the windows, rattling the glass.
Another storm.
Not mine.
This one was darker. Older. Hungrier.
“What the hell is that?” I demanded, moving to the window.
Kael was beside me in an instant, his hand on my arm. “It’s not natural. It’s blood magic. Someone’s summoning it.”
“Who?”
“Does it matter?” he said, voice low. “It’s coming for us.”
And then—
The lights went out.
Not just in the suite. Not just in the tower.
The entire Fae High Court plunged into darkness.
And in the silence that followed—
A whisper.
Not from the storm.
From the bond.
Run.
I didn’t hesitate.
I grabbed my cloak, yanked it around my shoulders, and bolted for the door.
Kael was right behind me, his presence a steady weight at my back. We moved through the corridors in silence, shadows stretching like claws, the storm howling above. Guards were nowhere to be seen. Servants had vanished. The court was empty—abandoned, or trapped.
“Where are we going?” I asked, breathless.
“The lower archives,” he said. “If someone’s trying to summon a blood storm, they’ll need an anchor. A relic. A contract. And if we’re lucky, we’ll find it before they complete the ritual.”
“And if we’re not?”
“Then we die,” he said simply.
I didn’t argue.
Just ran.
The storm worsened with every step. The wind screamed through the corridors, tearing at our clothes, our hair. Rain seeped through the cracks, pooling on the stone. Lightning flashed—once, twice—illuminating the walls in bursts of silver, revealing sigils I didn’t recognize, runes that pulsed with dark magic.
And then—
The floor cracked.
A bolt of lightning—wild, uncontrolled—slammed into the stone beneath us, splitting the corridor in two. The ward shattered. The ceiling groaned. Debris rained down.
Kael moved.
Shadow Veil snapped around us—dark tendrils of night coiling through his limbs, folding space, carrying us across the gap in a heartbeat. One moment, we were on the collapsing floor. The next, we were on solid ground, the debris crashing behind us.
“Thanks,” I said, breathless.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, gripping my wrist. “We’re not out of this.”
We reached the lower archives—a labyrinth of stone corridors lined with ancient tomes, sealed scrolls, and blood-locked chests. The air was thick with dust and decay, the scent of old magic and something darker—fear.
“Where do we start?” I asked, scanning the shelves.
“There,” he said, pointing to a blackened chest in the far corner, its surface etched with Valen runes. “That’s my father’s private vault. If there’s a contract, it’s there.”
I moved toward it—but the bond flared.
Not with desire. Not with anger.
With warning.
“Stop,” I said, yanking him back. “It’s a trap.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped aside as I summoned a bolt of lightning, directing it at the chest.
The explosion was deafening.
Wood splintered. Metal twisted. And then—
Smoke.
Thick, acrid, smelling of blood and rot.
And from the wreckage—
A figure.
Not human. Not vampire. Not Fae.
Something older.
Something wrong.
It rose from the ashes, its form shifting—first a man, then a shadow, then a face I knew.
Vexen.
Kael’s father.
But not as I’d imagined him. Not a monster in the flesh. But a vision—a blood mirror projection, summoned through the storm, anchored by the contract hidden in the chest.
“Hello, son,” the vision said, voice like rust and bone. “Did you miss me?”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just stepped in front of me, his body a shield. “You’re not real.”
“Oh, I’m real enough,” Vexen said, smiling—a thin, cruel curve of his lips. “And I’ve been waiting for this moment. The fated bond. The storm-witch. The key to my immortality.”
My stomach dropped.
“You want my blood,” I said, stepping forward. “To complete the ritual.”
“Clever girl,” he said. “Just like your mother. Pity she didn’t live to see this.”
Rage surged—hot, blinding. I summoned lightning, aiming for the vision—
But Kael grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low. “It’s not real. It’s just a projection. You can’t kill a shadow.”
“Then what do we do?” I demanded.
“Break the anchor,” he said. “The contract. The source of the storm.”
But before we could move—
The vision raised a hand.
And the storm changed.
Not just wind and rain.
But cold.
A biting, unnatural cold that seeped through my cloak, through my skin, into my bones. The torches flickered. The air thickened. And then—
The temperature dropped.
Not gradually.
Like a blade.
“We can’t stay here,” Kael said, voice urgent. “The storm’s draining the heat. If we don’t get out, we’ll freeze.”
“And go where?” I snapped. “The corridors are collapsing. The wards are down. We’re trapped.”
He didn’t answer. Just grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the far end of the archive—toward a narrow staircase, veiled in shadow, leading up into darkness.
“Where does that go?” I asked, breathless.
“The old watchtower,” he said. “It’s isolated. No one goes there. But it’s the only place close enough to break the storm’s anchor.”
“And if it’s not strong enough?”
“Then we die,” he said. “But we die together.”
I didn’t argue.
Just ran.
The staircase was narrow, the steps slick with ice, the air thick with the scent of old stone and something darker—blood. We climbed in silence, the storm howling above, the vision of Vexen fading behind us. The bond hummed between us, not with its usual warning flare, but with something deeper. Calmer. Like a heartbeat syncing, a storm finally finding its eye.
We reached the top—
A small, circular chamber, its walls lined with broken glass, the roof half-collapsed. Wind screamed through the gaps, rain slashing in, lightning splitting the sky. The cold was worse here—biting, relentless, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“We need to seal the storm,” I said, teeth chattering. “Break the anchor.”
“We can’t,” Kael said, stepping closer. “The ritual’s too strong. The only way to stop it is to share body heat. To keep each other warm.”
My breath caught.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he said, moving toward me. “If we don’t, we’ll die. The cold will take us. The storm will consume us. And Vexen will win.”
“And if we do?”
“Then we live,” he said. “And we fight another day.”
I wanted to argue. To rage. To summon lightning and tear the tower apart.
But I didn’t.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part.
“Fine,” I said, voice cold. “But don’t think this means anything.”
“It means survival,” he said. “And that’s enough.”
He stepped closer, pulling me into his arms.
Not roughly. Not possessively.
Gently.
And I didn’t fight it.
I buried my face in his chest, my body trembling, my breath hitching. His arms tightened around me, his scent—night and blood and something uniquely him—filling my senses. The bond hummed, warm, deep, alive.
And then—
The storm flared.
Not with wind.
With heat.
Fire ripped through my veins. Lightning crackled over my skin. My vision whited out. And then—
I was no longer in the tower.
I was in his mind.
Memories. Emotions. Sensations. All flooding into me like a river breaking its banks.
A boy—seventeen, pale, sharp-featured—kneeling in the dungeon, pressing a vial of water through the bars to my mother. Her whispering, “Don’t help me. They’ll punish you.” Him saying, “I can’t let you suffer.” A guard dragging him away. The crack of a whip. His father’s voice, cold, cruel: “You will learn obedience, boy.”
A man—older, colder, his heart locked behind centuries of control—standing over his father’s empty throne, vowing to destroy the monster who’d broken his mother, who’d enslaved mine, who’d turned him into a weapon. But unable to act. Bound by blood. By duty. By fear.
A prince—alone, isolated, his soul fractured—feeling the bond ignite the moment our hands touched in the Grand Atrium. Not just magic. Not just fate. But recognition. As if he’d been waiting for me his entire life.
And then—
The most terrifying memory of all.
Me.
Not as an enemy. Not as a weapon. Not as the daughter of the woman he’d failed.
As mine.
His thoughts—raw, unfiltered—flashed through me like lightning: She’s beautiful. She’s fire. She’s storm. She’s mine. I don’t care if she hates me. I don’t care if she tries to kill me. I will never let her go.
I gasped, staggering back—but the magic held me, binding us together in a way that wasn’t just physical.
It was intimate.
“You… you really feel that?” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “Even now? Even after everything?”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for me, his hand lifting to brush a strand of wild hair from my face. His thumb traced my lower lip. The bond flared—warm, deep, aching. My breath hitched. My body leaned into his touch without permission.
And I hated that I didn’t pull away.
“I’ve felt it since the moment I saw you,” he said, voice low, rough. “And I’ll feel it until the day I die.”
And then—
The vision struck.
Not from the storm.
From him.
A flash—sharp, sudden—of a ritual chamber, centuries old, its walls lined with obsidian mirrors. A chalice of blood. A dagger. And us—naked, entwined, our bodies fused by magic and desire, the bond flaring like a supernova.
“What was that?” I gasped.
“The future,” he said, voice rough. “If we don’t stop him. If we don’t break the curse. The bond will demand consummation. And if we resist… it will consume us.”
My breath caught.
“So we’re trapped,” I whispered. “Fight him, and the bond destroys us. Let him win, and the world burns.”
“No,” he said, pulling me closer. “We fight. We burn. We break the chain. Together.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not like in the hall. Not for show.
This was desperation.
His mouth crashed into mine, hot and demanding, his fangs grazing my lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond exploded—fire and lightning, hunger and rage, desire so sharp it was pain. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, my body pressing against his, every inch of me screaming for more.
He groaned, one hand tangling in my hair, the other sliding down, gripping my thigh, lifting me—
And then—
The vision faded.
The storm calmed.
And the world went still.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t fighting.
For the first time, I was feeling.
And I didn’t know whether to scream… or surrender.