The silence after Lyra’s exile was different.
Not the charged stillness of before, not the electric tension that used to crackle between us like a storm about to break. This was… deeper. Calmer. Like the quiet after a war, when the smoke has cleared and all that’s left is the truth, raw and unvarnished. The High Queen had granted us access to the Valen archives—her price paid in blood, in truth, in the shattered remains of a woman who had once been her pawn. And now, standing in the suite, the first light of dawn bleeding through the drapes, I could feel it—the weight of what we’d done, the weight of what we still had to do.
Kael—no, Elion—stood by the hearth, his back to me, his presence a steady weight in the dark. He hadn’t spoken since we returned. Hadn’t moved. Hadn’t tried to touch me. But I could feel him—through the bond, 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.”
“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 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 archives. If the contract exists, it’s there. Hidden. Protected. But we’ll find it.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then we make one,” he said. “A new bond. A new curse. One that frees her. One that destroys him.”
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.
The Valen archives were deeper than I remembered, hidden beneath the vampire stronghold in 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. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows that stretched like claws. The silence was absolute—no whispers, no echoes, no breath. Just the weight of centuries, of secrets, of blood.
“This way,” Kael said, guiding me down a narrow passage, his hand on the small of my back. The bond flared—just once, warm and deep.
“How do you know where to go?” I asked, scanning the shelves. “You said the records were burned. Sealed. Erased.”
“Not all of them,” he said. “My father was meticulous. Paranoid. He kept two sets of records—one for the court, one for himself. The real ones. Hidden.”
“And you know where?”
He didn’t answer. Just stopped in front of a blackened chest in the far corner, its surface etched with Valen runes. “This is it,” he said. “His private vault. If the contract is here, it’s inside.”
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 book.
Not leather. Not parchment.
Skin.
Bound in human flesh, its surface etched with sigils that pulsed with dark magic. The spine was reinforced with bone. The clasp—a lock of silver hair, braided with threads of blackened blood.
My stomach dropped.
“That’s not just a book,” I whispered. “That’s a body.”
“It’s a grimoire,” Kael said, stepping forward. “One of the oldest. My father used it to record his darkest spells. His most powerful curses.”
“And the contract?”
“It’s in there,” he said. “I can feel it. The bond—it’s pulling me toward it.”
I reached for it—but the moment my fingers brushed the cover, fire ripped through my veins. The room tilted. And then—
I was no longer in the archive.
I was in her mind.
My mother.
She stood in the dungeon, the journal in her hands, her storm-gray eyes blazing with power. She was writing—furious, desperate—and as she wrote, the words glowed, rising from the page like smoke, forming a sigil in the air.
And at the center of it—his name.
Elion.
She whispered it like a prayer. Like a spell. Like a key turning in a lock.
And then—
The sigil flared.
The dungeon shook.
And the bond—ancient, cursed, chained—shattered.
I gasped, staggering back, but the vision held me, binding me in a way that wasn’t just physical.
It was truth.
“She knew,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “She knew the bond could free her. That it could break the curse. That you could save her.”
Kael—no, Elion—reached for me, his hands gripping my arms. “I didn’t know,” he said, voice raw. “I didn’t know she’d written this. I didn’t know she’d seen it. But now I do. And now we have a choice.”
“What choice?” I asked.
“To destroy the bond,” he said. “Or to use it.”
“Use it how?”
“To break the curse,” he said. “To free her soul. To burn my father to ash.”
I stared at him. At the man who had once been my enemy. At the boy who had brought my mother water. At the man who had whispered her name like a prayer.
And I didn’t know whether to hate him… or claim him.
“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.
He opened the grimoire.
Not with a key. Not with a spell.
With his blood.
He sliced open his palm, pressed it to the clasp, and whispered a name—Elion. The silver hair unbraided. The blood threads dissolved. And the cover fell open.
Pages upon pages of script—ancient, jagged, written in a language I didn’t recognize. But at the center—on a single sheet of vellum, sealed with crimson wax—was the contract.
My mother’s name.
My father’s name—unknown.
And the bond.
Not just a chain.
A curse.
“It’s here,” I whispered, fingers trembling. “It’s cursed.”
“Then we break it,” he said, stepping closer. “With the name. With the blood. With the bond.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we die trying,” he said. “But we die together.”
I didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And then—
We began.
He placed his palm over the wax seal. I placed mine over his. Our blood mingled—storm and shadow, fire and ice, life and death—merging into a single, pulsing force. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive. And then—
The seal cracked.
The vellum unfurled.
And the curse—ancient, chained, cursed—screamed.