The storm wasn’t just outside anymore.
It was in me.
Not metaphorically. Not magically. But physically. Every breath I took crackled with energy, every heartbeat sent a pulse of lightning through my veins. The bond with Kael—no, Elion—hadn’t just flared in the watchtower. It had merged. Our thoughts, our memories, our magic—intertwined like roots in dark soil, feeding each other, strengthening each other, becoming something neither of us could’ve been alone.
And now, standing at the edge of the northern gate, the wind screaming through the ruins, the sky split by violet lightning, I could feel him—not just beside me, but within me. His strength. His focus. His cold, unshakable resolve. And beneath it all, something deeper. Something he’d never let anyone see.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice low, rough. His hand found the small of my back, warm even through the layers of cloth. The bond flared—just once, warm and deep.
“It’s the cold,” I lied.
He didn’t argue. Just pulled me closer, his body shielding mine from the wind. “Then stay close. And don’t fall behind.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I shot back, but there was no bite in it. Not anymore. Not after the visions. Not after the truth.
After the kiss.
The watchtower loomed ahead, half-collapsed, its stone walls blackened by centuries of storms and blood magic. The air around it shimmered—unnatural, thick with power. Sigils glowed along the base, pulsing like a heartbeat. This wasn’t just a ruin. It was a trap. A prison. An anchor.
And at its center—Vexen.
Not in flesh. Not in blood.
But in shadow.
“He’s not alone,” I whispered, my storm-gray eyes scanning the darkness. “There are others. Fae. Vampires. They’re guarding the anchor.”
“Of course they are,” Kael said, his voice calm, calculating. “He wouldn’t risk it. Not when he’s so close.”
“And when we break it?” I asked, turning to him. “When we destroy the anchor—what happens then?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at me—obsidian eyes unreadable, yet filled with something I couldn’t name. Something that made my breath catch.
“Then he’ll come for us,” he said. “In flesh. In blood. And he’ll stop at nothing to take what he wants.”
“My blood,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you’ll be there,” I said. “To stop him.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. “To kill him.”
I didn’t flinch. Just reached for my dagger—the one etched with storm sigils, the one I’d carried since I was sixteen. The one I’d sworn to plunge into his father’s heart.
“Then let’s go,” I said.
We moved in silence, shadows stretching like claws, the storm howling above. The bond hummed between us—not with warning, not with desire, but with purpose. We weren’t just fighting for survival. We weren’t just fighting for vengeance.
We were fighting for her.
For my mother.
For the woman who had whispered, Break the chain. Not the man.
The first ambush came at the base of the tower—three Fae warriors, cloaked in shadow, blades drawn, sigils glowing on their skin. They lunged from the darkness, magic flaring, their eyes sharp with loyalty to Mirelle, to Vexen, to the lie that had ruled this world for centuries.
I didn’t hesitate.
Lightning arced from my fingertips, striking the first warrior in the chest. He screamed as the magic tore through him, his body convulsing, his sigils burning out. The second came at me with a dagger—I ducked, spun, and drove my knee into his stomach. He doubled over. I brought the hilt of my dagger down on his temple. He dropped.
The third—taller, faster—went for Kael.
He moved like smoke—Shadow Veil snapping around him, folding space, carrying him across the stone in a heartbeat. His fangs sank into the warrior’s throat before he could scream. Blood—rich, warm, laced with Fae magic—flooded his mouth. He didn’t swallow. Just let it spill, painting the stone in crimson.
And then—
We were moving again.
Up the crumbling stairs, through the shattered archway, into the heart of the tower. The air grew heavier, thicker, the scent of old magic and something darker—fear—clinging to the walls. The sigils pulsed faster now, brighter, feeding the storm above.
And then—
The chamber.
Not large. Not grand. Just a circular room, its walls lined with broken glass, the roof half-collapsed. At the center—on a stone pedestal—sat the anchor.
A chalice.
Not gold. Not silver.
Obsidian.
And inside it—blood.
Dark. Ancient. Her blood.
My mother’s.
I froze.
Not from fear.
From rage.
“They’re using her,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “They’re using her blood to power the storm. To summon him.”
Kael stepped beside me, his presence a steady weight. “Then we break it,” he said. “We destroy the chalice. We end this.”
But before we could move—
The shadows shifted.
Not from the storm.
From within.
Figures emerged—six of them. Vampires. Purebloods. Their eyes glowed red, their fangs bared, their hands dripping with blood magic. And behind them—
Lyra.
Not dead. Not exiled.
Just betrayed.
She stepped forward, her silver hair gleaming in the dim light, her lips curved in a cruel smile. “Did you really think you could walk in here and destroy everything?” she asked, her voice like silk over steel. “Did you really think the High Queen would let you?”
My breath caught.
“You’re working for Mirelle,” I said.
“And for Vexen,” she said. “They promised me power. They promised me him.” Her eyes flicked to Kael. “I could’ve had him, you know. Before you. Before the bond. But he never looked at me the way he looks at you.”
“And you think killing me will change that?” I asked, stepping forward.
“No,” she said. “But it will destroy him. And that’s enough.”
The vampires attacked.
Not one. Not two.
All six.
Kael moved first—Shadow Veil snapping, fangs bared, blood magic surging. He broke necks. He tore throats. He let the monster loose.
And I—
I was fire.
Lightning arced from my hands, striking down vampires with precision. My dagger flashed, cutting through glamours, through flesh, through lies. I fought like I’d been born for war—graceful, deadly, relentless.
And every time I moved, every time I breathed, every time I lived—
The bond roared.
Not with pain.
With pride.
One vampire lunged at me from the side—I spun, ducked, and drove my dagger into his heart. He screamed, his body convulsing, his blood magic unraveling. Another came at Kael—too fast, too strong. He blocked the strike, but the force sent him stumbling back.
And then—
Lyra.
She moved like a shadow, her dagger flashing, her magic flaring. She wasn’t aiming for me.
She was aiming for him.
“You don’t get to have her,” she snarled, driving the blade toward his heart—
But I was faster.
I moved—lightning crackling over my skin, my body a blur—and intercepted the strike. Our blades clashed, sparks flying, the bond flaring between us like a war drum.
“You don’t get to touch him,” I growled.
“And you think you deserve him?” she spat. “You’re a half-breed. A witch. A weapon. You don’t love him. You never will.”
“Maybe not,” I said, pressing forward, forcing her back. “But I’ll die for him. And that’s more than you’ve ever done.”
She screamed—pure rage—and lunged.
I didn’t dodge.
I met her.
Our blades clashed again, harder this time, the force sending shockwaves through my arms. She was strong. Fast. But I was angry.
And anger was my magic.
I summoned lightning—raw, unfiltered—and drove it into her blade. The metal shattered. The shockwave threw her back.
She hit the wall—hard.
But she didn’t stay down.
She rose, her eyes blazing, her lips curled in a snarl. “You think you’ve won?” she hissed. “You think this changes anything? He’ll never love you. He’ll never—”
“Enough,” I said.
And then—
I kissed her.
Not on the lips.
On the forehead.
My fingers brushed her skin—just once—and I poured my magic into her. Not to hurt. Not to kill.
To see.
And in that moment—through the bond, through the storm, through the truth—I saw her.
Not as a rival.
Not as a villain.
As a woman.
Lost. Alone. Desperate for love. For power. For meaning.
And I felt pity.
“You don’t have to die for them,” I whispered. “You don’t have to be their weapon.”
She stared at me—eyes wide, breath ragged.
And then—
She screamed.
Not in rage.
In grief.
And she collapsed.
Not dead.
Just… broken.
But the fight wasn’t over.
The last vampire—tall, scarred, his magic pulsing like a heartbeat—lunged at Kael. They clashed—fist against fang, blood against shadow. Kael was strong. Faster. But the vampire had centuries on him. Experience. Ruthlessness.
And then—
The chalice flared.
A wave of dark energy surged from it, knocking me off my feet. The storm above intensified—lightning splitting the sky, thunder shaking the tower. The sigils on the walls burned brighter, feeding the anchor, feeding Vexen.
“The chalice!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. “Destroy it!”
Kael didn’t hesitate.
He broke free, lunged for the pedestal—
But the vampire was faster.
He intercepted, slamming into Kael, sending him crashing into the wall. Blood—his blood—splattered the stone.
And then—
The vampire turned to me.
His eyes glowed red.
His fangs bared.
And he smiled.
“You’re next,” he said.
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for the storm.
Not lightning.
Not wind.
Not fire.
Everything.
I pulled—deep, harder than I’d ever pulled before—and the magic answered.
The sky split.
Lightning—violet, blinding—slammed into the tower, tearing through the roof, shattering the walls. The vampire screamed as the magic tore through him, his body convulsing, his blood magic unraveling.
And then—
Silence.
Not empty.
Not still.
But charged.
And in that silence—
Kael rose.
He moved to the chalice, his hand trembling—not from fear, but from rage. From grief. From centuries of being controlled, of being used, of being broken.
And then—
He shattered it.
One strike—his fist slamming into the obsidian—and the chalice exploded. Blood—her blood—splattered the walls, the floor, his hands. The sigils dimmed. The storm above weakened. The anchor was broken.
But it wasn’t over.
Because in the silence that followed—
A whisper.
Not from the storm.
Not from the bond.
From him.
“You’ve only delayed the inevitable.”
Vexen.
Not a vision.
Not a shadow.
But a promise.
And I knew—
He was coming.
Back in the suite, the door clicked shut behind us, and I didn’t wait.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, turning to Kael. “You didn’t have to destroy the chalice. You could’ve taken it. Studied it. Used it.”
“And risk it being used against us?” he asked, stepping closer. “No. It was her blood. Her soul. It didn’t belong to him. It never did.”
My breath caught.
Not from anger.
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’re not what I expected,” I said, voice hoarse.
“Neither are you,” he said.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not like before. Not angry. Not desperate.
Soft.
Slow.
Real.
His lips were cool, but the kiss was fire. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—her voice, her magic, her love, flooding through us like a river breaking its banks.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I didn’t run.
For the first time, I let myself believe—
That maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t come here to destroy him.
Maybe I’d come here to save him.
And in saving him… save myself.
He pulled back, his thumb brushing my cheek. “We’ll find the truth,” he said. “Together.”
“Together,” I whispered.
And as the first light of dawn broke through the drapes, painting the room in gold and shadow, I knew—
The mission hadn’t changed.
The enemy hadn’t changed.
But I had.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.