The garden was silent.
Not the silence of absence, but of fullness. Like the breath before a storm, the stillness before a revelation. The names still glowed in the soil—violet, trembling, alive—etched by Lira’s touch, awakened by her magic. Elara. Tide. Forgotten ones. They pulsed beneath my skin, not as memory, but as truth. As claim.
Elion knelt beside me, his hand still over mine, his presence a steady weight against the chaos of what had just happened. Lira sat between us, small and solemn, her violet eyes reflecting the fire in the earth. She hadn’t spoken since the vision. Hadn’t moved. Just sat there, her fingers curled around a handful of soil, as if she were holding the world together.
“She’s not just a child,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s a conduit. A vessel for what was lost. For what was buried.”
Elion didn’t look at me. Just watched Lira, his obsidian eyes unreadable, yet filled with something deeper than fear, deeper than awe.
Recognition.
“She’s not the first,” he said. “There were others. Centuries ago. The Fae called them Stormborn. They said they were born from grief, from the unspoken names of the dead. That they carried the echoes of what should have been.”
“And what happened to them?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at the scorched trees, the cracked archway, the wards that had been broken not by force, but by silence.
“They were feared,” he said. “Hunted. Burned. Because they didn’t just remember. They awakened. And when the world is built on forgetting, remembrance is the most dangerous magic of all.”
My chest ached.
Not from anger.
From the truth in his voice.
From the way he looked at Lira—like she wasn’t just a child, but a reckoning.
“Then we don’t let them take her,” I said, rising. “We don’t hide her. We protect her. Not with walls. Not with lies. With truth.”
Elion stood with me, his hand finding mine. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—but now it carried something new. Not just love. Not just magic.
Duty.
“And if they come for her?” he asked.
“Then we stand,” I said. “Not above them. Not against them. With her.”
Lira looked up at us—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.
This time, I didn’t see the void. Didn’t see the unborn souls. This time, I saw her.
My mother.
Not in the dungeon. Not in chains. Not dying.
Alive.
Laughing.
Running through this very garden, her silver hair flying behind her, her storm-gray eyes blazing with joy. She was young—so young—her face unlined, her body strong, her magic wild and free. And beside her—
A man.
Not Elion.
Not Vexen.
My father.
Human. Strong. Smiling. His arms around her, his voice low, his breath warm against her neck. They were dancing—barefoot on the cobblestone, beneath a sky streaked with violet clouds, the air thick with the scent of rain and wildflowers. And in her arms—
A child.
Me.
Not as I was now—hardened, scarred, queen of ruins—but as I had been before the vengeance, before the storm. Soft. Small. Smiling.
And then—
The vision shifted.
The garden burned.
Not with fire. Not with magic.
With betrayal.
The Fae came first—robes of silver, eyes of ice, voices like winter wind. They said she had broken the laws. That her magic was chaos. That her child was an abomination. They didn’t ask. Didn’t listen. Just took her—ripped her from my father’s arms, from mine—dragged her into the dark.
And then—
Vexen.
Not as a monster. Not as a tyrant.
As a man.
Young. Pale. Haunted. He stood in the shadows, his hand outstretched, his voice a whisper: “I can save her. But you must let me bind her. It’s the only way.”
My father didn’t hesitate. Just nodded. “Save her. No matter the cost.”
And Vexen did.
Not with cruelty.
With magic.
A bond. Not of slavery. Not of domination.
Of protection.
He bound her to him—not to control her, but to hide her. To keep her from the Fae, from the Council, from the ones who would kill her for being what she was. He took her into the vampire court, not as a slave, but as a secret. As a ward. As a shield.
And then—
The truth.
He never meant to enslave her.
He meant to save her.
But the magic twisted. The bond corrupted. The Fae found out. And by the time he could break it, it was too late.
She was broken.
And so was he.
The vision ended.
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.
“He loved her,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “Vexen. He didn’t enslave her to possess her. He did it to protect her.”
Elion didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing my cheek. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive.
“And he failed,” he said. “Not because he was cruel. Because he was weak. Because he believed in power when he should have believed in truth.”
“And my father?”
“He didn’t betray her,” Elion said. “He chose her life over her freedom. And that choice cost him everything.”
My chest ached.
Not from anger.
From the truth in his voice.
From the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing left that mattered.
“All this time,” I said, voice breaking. “I thought I was avenging her. But I was just repeating her prison. I was so busy hating that I didn’t see—she didn’t want me to destroy him. She wanted me to break the chain. Not the man.”
Elion 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.
Lira stood, her small hand still in mine, and walked to the fountain. She didn’t speak. Just placed her palm against the stone, over the name Elara.
And then—
The fountain woke.
Not with water. Not with sound.
With light.
A single drop rose from the dry basin—violet, trembling, alive—and hovered in the air. It didn’t fall. Just pulsed, like a heartbeat. And then—
Another.
And another.
Until the air above the fountain was filled with them—dozens of droplets, glowing, swirling, forming a constellation no one had seen before. And in the center—
A name.
Tide.
Not written. Not carved.
Claimed.
“She’s naming you,” Elion said, voice rough. “Not as a queen. Not as a storm-witch. As a mother.”
“I’m not her mother,” I said, voice breaking.
“You are,” he said. “Not by blood. By choice. By love.”
And then—
Lira turned to me.
Not with fear. Not with anger.
With hope.
And she spoke.
Not with her voice.
With mine.
“Break the chain,” she whispered. “Not the man. Be the storm. Be the light. Be the name.”
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 a reflection,” I said, stepping forward. “She’s a successor.”
“And if she’s like you?” Elion asked.
“Then we don’t fear her,” I said. “We don’t hide her. We don’t control her.”
“We love her,” he said.
And I knew he was right.
We stayed in the garden until dusk, until the names in the soil dimmed, until the droplets in the air faded, until Lira finally closed her eyes and fell asleep in Elion’s arms. We didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just sat by the fountain, the bond humming between us, the silence thick with everything we hadn’t said.
“She’s not just a child,” I said, breaking the quiet. “She’s a bridge. Between the old magic and the new. Between the past and the future.”
“And between us,” Elion said.
I turned to look at him—his pale skin, his obsidian eyes, the quiet strength in his stance. “And if she sees us as parents?”
He didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze—steady, unyielding. “Then we’ll be worthy of it.”
“And if she hates us?”
“Then we’ll earn her love,” he said. “Not by force. Not by magic. By truth.”
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.
“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 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.
Back in the suite, the door clicked shut behind us, and I didn’t wait.
“We can’t keep her here,” I said, turning to Elion. “Not in the court. Not in the city. They’ll come for her. They’ll try to control her. To use her.”
“Then we take her somewhere safe,” he said. “The Northern Woods. The pack’s old sanctuary. No one knows it’s still standing.”
“And if they find it?”
“Then we protect it,” he said. “Not with walls. Not with wards. With truth.”
“And if she grows?”
“Then we teach her,” he said. “Not to hide. Not to fear. To lead.”
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 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.
Lira slept in the bed, curled beneath the blankets, her silver hair fanned out like a halo. We didn’t leave her. Just sat by the hearth, the firelight dancing over our skin, the silence thick with everything we hadn’t said.
“She’s not just a child,” I said, breaking the quiet. “She’s a bridge. Between the old magic and the new. Between the past and the future.”
“And between us,” Elion said.
I turned to look at him—his pale skin, his obsidian eyes, the quiet strength in his stance. “And if she sees us as parents?”
He didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze—steady, unyielding. “Then we’ll be worthy of it.”
“And if she hates us?”
“Then we’ll earn her love,” he said. “Not by force. Not by magic. By truth.”
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.
“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 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 drapes, painting the room 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.