The Northern Woods were not silent.
Not with the wind. Not with the wolves. Not with the distant howl of a pack that had not yet found its new Alpha. The silence was deeper than that. It was the kind that settles in your bones when something sacred has been broken and then—barely—mended. The trees still stood, their roots deep in ancient magic, their bark scarred from fire, their leaves trembling in the breath of something older than war.
We had come at dawn, slipping through the veil between worlds like ghosts returning home. Elion carried Lira in his arms, her small body curled against his chest, her silver hair loose, her violet eyes closed. She hadn’t spoken since we left the city. Not a word. Not a sound. Just clung to him, her fingers tangled in the fabric of his coat, her breath steady, like she already knew she was safe.
I walked behind them, my hand resting on the hilt of the witch’s dagger I still wore—though it no longer felt like a weapon. It felt like a relic. A reminder. A ghost of the woman I had been before I learned that vengeance was not the only fire that could burn.
Riven led the way, his silver hair catching the morning light, his amber eyes scanning the path with quiet intensity. He hadn’t spoken much since we left the city either. But his silence wasn’t empty. It was full—of grief, of loyalty, of the weight of what he had lost and what he had chosen to protect.
“It’s still standing,” he said, finally breaking the quiet as we reached the clearing.
And it was.
The sanctuary—hidden deep in the heart of the Northern Woods, protected by old magic and older blood—had survived the purge. Not untouched. The outer wards were cracked, the stone archway half-collapsed, the ivy thick with ash. But the heart of it—the garden—was intact.
Not by chance.
By will.
The garden was small, no larger than a courtyard, its cobblestone paths winding between wildflowers and silver-barked trees. At its center stood a fountain—dry now, its basin filled with leaves and time—but carved into its stone, names. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Etched in Fae script, in werewolf runes, in witch sigils, in vampire glyphs. Names of the lost. The forgotten. The loved.
And one more.
Elara.
My breath caught.
Not from pain.
From the way the bond flared—warm, deep, alive—but now it pulsed with something new. Not just love. Not just magic.
Memory.
“She used to come here,” Riven said, stepping forward. “Your mother. When she was with the pack. Before… before everything.”
“She never told me,” I whispered, my fingers brushing the name, the stone cool beneath my touch.
“She didn’t speak of the past,” he said. “But she left traces. In the soil. In the roots. In the way the wind carried her voice when no one else was listening.”
I closed my eyes.
And then—
I felt it.
Not a vision. Not a memory.
A presence.
Soft. Warm. Familiar.
Like a hand on my shoulder. Like a whisper in the dark.
“She’s here,” I said, opening my eyes. “Not in flesh. Not in bone. But in the storm. In the fire. In the silence between heartbeats.”
Riven didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “And now she’s not alone.”
Elion stepped forward, still holding Lira, his obsidian eyes scanning the garden. “This place is more than a sanctuary,” he said. “It’s a threshold. Between life and death. Between past and future.”
“And between us,” I said.
He looked at me—steady, unyielding. “Then we cross it together.”
Lira stirred in his arms, her violet eyes fluttering open. She didn’t speak. Just looked at the garden—long, hard, unflinching. And then—
She reached out.
Not toward the fountain. Not toward the names.
Toward the earth.
Her small hand hovered over the soil, and the moment her fingers brushed the ground, the garden answered.
Not with flowers. Not with light.
With names.
They rose from the soil—glowing, trembling, written in violet fire—names I didn’t know, names I had never heard, names that belonged to children who had never drawn breath, to lovers who had never spoken their vows, to warriors who had died nameless in the dark.
And then—
One more.
Tide.
Not carved. Not written.
Claimed.
My breath stopped.
Not from fear.
From the way the bond flared—hot, then cold, then hot again.
From the way my body responded—heat pooling low in my belly, the storm within me answering, roaring to life.
“She’s not just remembering,” I said, stepping forward. “She’s awakening.”
“Awakening what?” Riven asked, his voice tight.
“The Garden of Forgotten Names,” Elion said, stepping beside me. “A place where lost souls leave echoes. Where the unspoken truths of the world are buried. And now—now she’s calling them back.”
“And if she can’t control it?”
“Then we’ll help her,” I said, kneeling beside her. “Not by silencing her. Not by hiding her. By standing with her.”
Lira looked at me—her violet eyes searching mine—and then, slowly, deliberately, she placed her small hand in mine.
And the world shattered.
Not in sound. Not in light.
In memory.
I saw her—this child—not in the cradle, not in the garden, but in a place between worlds. A void. A wound. And around her—
Shadows.
Not of the dead.
Of the unborn.
Children who had never drawn breath. Souls who had been erased before they could speak. Magic that had been stolen before it could bloom. And in the center—
Me.
Not as I was now. Not as I had been.
As I could have been.
A queen. A mother. A storm. A woman who had chosen love over vengeance, life over death, light over hate. And beside me—
Elion.
Not as a prince. Not as a vampire.
As a man.
And in our arms—
A child.
Not Lira.
But one like her.
Ours.
The vision came faster, sharper, until it wasn’t just an image.
It was a truth.
And then—
The garden released us.
I gasped, staggering back, my heart hammering, my breath ragged. Lira didn’t let go. Just held on tighter, her small fingers gripping mine like she was afraid I’d disappear.
“She saw it,” Elion said, his voice rough. “She saw what could be.”
“And what we’ve lost,” I whispered. “All the lives that were taken. All the love that was buried.”
“And all that can still be born,” he said, stepping forward, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing my cheek. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive.
My chest ached.
Not from fear.
From the truth in his voice.
From the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing left that mattered.
“We can’t protect her by hiding her,” I said. “Not here. Not in the woods. Not in the dark.”
“Then we protect her by letting her shine,” he said. “By showing the world that she is not a weapon. Not a monster. But a miracle.”
“And if they fear her?”
“Then we teach them not to,” he said. “Not with force. Not with magic. With truth.”
“And if they try to take her?”
“Then we stand,” he said. “Not above them. Not against them. With them.”
The bond flared again—warm, deep, alive—and this time, I didn’t fight it.
I let it pull me in.
Not with magic.
Not with command.
With need.
I reached for him—slow, deliberate—my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his collarbone, the hard planes of his chest. He didn’t move. Just let me touch him, like he was giving me time to remember, to believe, to choose.
And I did.
I pulled him down, my mouth finding his, not with desperation, not with anger, but with truth. 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, his obsidian eyes searching mine. “We did it,” he said. “We broke the chain.”
“And found something else,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me again—deeper, hungrier, more real. His hands slid under my shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine, the heat of his touch searing through me. I gasped, my body trembling, my breath ragged. The bond flared—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Need.
I tore at his coat, my fingers fumbling with the buttons, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He didn’t stop me. Just let it fall, then shrugged it off, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was giving me time to change my mind. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
His shirt followed—white, crisp, now undone, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the faint scars that marked his past, the pulse of his heart beneath his skin. I touched him—slow, reverent—my fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone, the ridges of his abdomen, the heat of his body under my hands.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice hoarse.
“Neither are you,” he said, his hands sliding to my hips, pulling me against him. “You were supposed to be my ruin.”
“And I am,” I whispered. “And my salvation.”
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 lifted me—effortless, like I weighed nothing—and carried me to the fountain. The stone was cool beneath my back, the names of the forgotten glowing beneath me like a promise. He knelt between my legs, his body hovering over mine, his eyes searching mine, asking permission, waiting for me to say no.
I didn’t.
Just reached for him—slow, deliberate—and pulled him down.
His weight settled over me, solid, real, mine. His hands slid under my shirt, peeling it off, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my stomach, my ribs, my breasts. I arched into his touch, my breath catching, my body trembling. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—and then—
His mouth found my neck.
Not with fangs.
With kisses.
Soft. Slow. Real.
Each one sent fire through me, each one deepened the bond, each one pulled me closer to the edge. His hands moved lower, unfastening my pants, sliding them down, his fingers brushing the inside of my thigh, making me gasp, making me need.
“Elion,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
He lifted his head, his obsidian eyes searching mine. “Say it again.”
“Elion,” I said, louder this time. “I need you. Not the prince. Not the vampire. You.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me—deep, desperate, real.
And then—
He moved.
Slow. Deliberate. Reverent.
His body sliding against mine, his hands guiding me, his mouth never leaving my skin. And when he finally entered me—slow, deep, whole—I cried out, not from pain, but from the sheer, unbearable truth of it.
This wasn’t conquest.
This wasn’t vengeance.
This was love.
His rhythm was steady, deep, unhurried, each thrust a promise, each movement a vow. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Connection.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, my hands gripping his back, my body arching into his. The storm answered—lightning crackling over our skin, the air thick with power, the garden trembling with the force of it. But I didn’t care. Not anymore.
Because I was seen.
Because I was loved.
And because for the first time in my life—I was free.
He kissed me—soft, slow, real—his lips 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, his obsidian eyes searching mine. “We did it,” he said. “We broke the chain.”
“And found something else,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into his arms, his body shielding mine, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed—warm, deep, alive—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Love.
And as the first light of dawn broke through the trees, painting the garden in gold and shadow, I knew—
The mission had changed.
The enemy was gone.
And the world—
Was finally ready to burn.
Not with hate.
But with light.
Fated Tide: Blood & Bond
The night Tide’s mother died, she whispered two words: Break the bond.
Now, twenty-five years later, Tide walks into the Fae High Court with those words etched into her bones. A half-fae, half-witch with storm-born magic and a mother’s vengeance, she’s spent a decade mastering blood sigils, shadow spells, and the art of deception. Her mission: infiltrate the vampire elite, locate the original bond contract, and sever the curse that turned her mother into a blood-slave—then burn the prince responsible to ash.
But Prince Kael is not the monster she expected. He’s colder. More dangerous. And when their hands touch during a peace ritual, a forbidden fated bond flares to life between them—one that hasn’t existed in centuries. The High Court declares it divine will. The elders demand they unite. And Kael, with eyes like black ice and a voice that curls around her spine, offers her a choice: play the devoted fiancée, or die as a spy.
Trapped in a gilded cage of silk and secrets, Tide fights to keep her mission intact. But between forced proximity, blood-sharing rituals, and the way his scent makes her pulse throb, her control is slipping. When a rival vampiress flaunts her past with Kael—wearing his mark, whispering his secrets—Tide’s jealousy explodes into a duel that ends with her pinned beneath him, breathless, aching, and seconds from surrender.
Their bond is both salvation and damnation: it could free her mother’s soul… or chain Tide to the very monster she came to destroy. And as war brews between the courts, one truth becomes undeniable—when their bodies touch, magic surges. When they fight, empires tremble. And when they love? The world will burn.