The silence after Kael’s kiss was different.
Not charged. Not tense. Not a battlefield of wills.
It was… quiet. A stillness that settled over the suite like fog, soft and unfamiliar. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the black marble floor. The scent of night and blood and something uniquely him lingered in the air, clinging to my skin, my clothes, the very breath in my lungs. My lips still burned from his touch—gentle, deliberate, a contrast to the hunger that had consumed us in the Ritual Chamber.
And I hadn’t pushed him away.
Worse—I hadn’t wanted to.
He sat beside me on the chaise now, close enough that our arms brushed, his presence a steady weight against my side. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just… there. The bond hummed between us, not with the usual flare of magic or desire, but with something deeper. Calmer. Like a heartbeat syncing, a storm finally finding its eye.
I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Because if I did, I’d see the truth in his eyes—the same truth that had shattered through my defenses in the ritual: that he wasn’t the monster I’d sworn to destroy. That he’d tried to save my mother. That he’d suffered too.
And that I no longer knew what I wanted.
“You should rest,” he said, voice low, rough. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
He didn’t argue. Just reached for the woolen robe still draped around my shoulders, tugging it tighter. His fingers brushed my collarbone. The bond flared—just once, warm and deep—and I didn’t flinch.
“You’re not fine,” he said. “You’re trembling.”
I was. My hands, my legs, the very core of me. Not from cold. Not from fear.
From surrender.
From the terrifying, undeniable realization that I’d stopped fighting.
“I just need time,” I whispered. “To think. To breathe.”
“Then take it,” he said. “But don’t run from me again. Not like that.”
I looked down at my hands—pale, calloused, still stained with dried blood from the ritual. The ring on my finger pulsed faintly, a living thing fused to my skin. A leash. A tether. A promise.
“I’m not running,” I said. “I’m just… lost.”
He didn’t answer. Just shifted, his arm sliding around my back, pulling me gently against him. I stiffened—instinct, reflex, the last remnant of resistance—but he didn’t force it. Just held me, his warmth seeping through the fabric, his heartbeat steady against my ear.
And slowly, against every vow I’d ever made, I relaxed.
I didn’t lean into him. Didn’t wrap my arms around him. But I didn’t pull away.
And that was enough.
Minutes passed. The fire dimmed. The shadows grew longer.
Then—
He spoke.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
My breath caught.
“I’ve spent my whole life carrying it,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “The grief. The rage. The mission. I swore I’d make them pay. That I’d burn it all down.”
“And have you?”
“Not yet.”
“Then maybe you don’t have to,” he said. “Maybe you don’t have to carry it alone.”
I looked up at him. “You’d help me?”
“Not for revenge,” he said. “For justice. For your mother. For us.”
And in that moment, I believed him.
Not because he was charming. Not because he was persuasive.
Because I could feel it—through the bond, through his touch, through the way his heart beat against mine.
He wasn’t my enemy.
He was my partner.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure whether that was salvation… or damnation.
I didn’t answer. Just closed my eyes, letting the weight of his arm, the warmth of his body, the hum of the bond anchor me in a world that had just tilted off its axis.
And then—
The door opened.
Not with a bang. Not with a threat.
Quietly. Carefully.
Riven.
He stepped in, his amber eyes scanning the room, lingering on Kael’s arm around me, the way I leaned into him, the softness in my expression that I hadn’t known I’d let show.
His jaw tightened.
“You’re back,” he said, voice neutral.
“I’m here,” I said, sitting up, pulling away from Kael. The loss of warmth was immediate, sharp.
Kael didn’t resist. Just removed his arm, though his presence remained—solid, unyielding, a silent claim.
Riven stepped forward, handing me a folded bundle of fabric. “I brought you clothes. Clean ones.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking them. My fingers brushed his—warm, rough, familiar. And for a heartbeat, I felt it. Not magic. Not bond. But something older. Something deeper.
Regret.
“We need to talk,” he said, glancing at Kael. “Alone.”
Kael didn’t move. Just studied Riven, his obsidian eyes unreadable. “Say what you need to say.”
“It’s private.”
“So am I,” Kael said, voice low. “And she’s not going anywhere without me.”
“Kael—” I started.
“No,” he said, turning to me. “You ran from me once tonight. You don’t get to run from me again. Not to him. Not to anyone.”
Riven’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t belong to you.”
“She belongs to no one,” I snapped, standing. “But I’ll hear what you have to say. With or without him.”
Kael exhaled through his nose, a sound almost like a growl. Then, slowly, he stood. “I’ll be in the war room. If you need me.”
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t touch me.
But as he passed, his hand brushed mine—just once, a whisper of contact—and the bond flared, warm and deep, a silent promise.
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
Riven waited—counted to ten—then turned to me, his expression grim. “You’re losing yourself.”
“I’m not,” I said, folding my arms.
“You are,” he said, stepping closer. “I saw you in the training yard. You were broken. And now? You’re letting him hold you like you’re his.”
“He’s not what I thought,” I said. “He tried to help my mother. He was just a boy, Riven. He couldn’t stop his father.”
“And now he’s a man,” Riven said. “A vampire prince with centuries of power. And you’re letting him use that power to control you.”
“He’s not controlling me,” I said, voice rising. “The bond—”
“The bond is a weapon,” he said. “And he’s using it to make you weak.”
“I’m not weak!”
“Then why are you crying?” he shot back.
I froze.
Because I hadn’t realized—until now—that tears were burning my eyes.
“You came to me tonight,” he said, voice softening. “Not to him. Not to the prince. To me. You wept in my arms. You told me you wanted him. You told me you were losing yourself.”
“I was vulnerable,” I said. “It was a moment of weakness.”
“It was truth,” he said. “And you’re lying to yourself if you think it wasn’t.”
I turned away, wiping my face. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
“Then stop pretending you do,” he said. “Stop pretending this bond means something. Stop pretending he’s not the enemy. Because he is, Tide. His bloodline destroyed your mother. And if you don’t kill him, you’re no better than the ones who stood by and did nothing.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part.
“You don’t understand,” I whispered. “The bond—it’s not just magic. It’s not just politics. It’s… alive. It shows me things. Feels things. I saw his memories. I felt his guilt. His pain. He’s not like his father.”
“And what if he is?” Riven asked. “What if this is all a game? What if he’s using the bond to manipulate you? To make you soft? To make you his?”
“He wouldn’t—”
“How do you know?” he demanded. “You’ve known him for a week. You’ve spent your life vowing to destroy him. And now, because he kissed you and said a few pretty words, you’re ready to forget everything?”
“I’m not forgetting,” I said, voice breaking. “I’m just… seeing him differently.”
“Then you’re a fool,” he said, stepping closer. “And I won’t watch you destroy yourself.”
I looked up at him, my storm-gray eyes searching his. “You care.”
“Of course I care,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve cared since the day you walked into the Northern Pack, covered in blood and lightning, swearing you’d burn the world down. I’ve followed you. Protected you. Fought for you. And I’ll keep doing it—even if it means standing against him.”
My chest ached.
Not from anger. Not from betrayal.
From guilt.
Because he was right. He’d always been there. Always loyal. Always strong.
And I’d used him. As a weapon. As a shield. As a way to feel something other than hate.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Be smart. Be strong. Be the woman I know you are.”
“And if I can’t?” I asked. “If I’m not strong enough to fight him? If I’m not strong enough to fight myself?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just reached up, brushing a strand of wild hair from my face. His touch was warm. Gentle. Familiar.
“Then let me help you,” he said. “Let me be your strength when yours fails. Let me remind you who you are when you forget.”
My breath hitched.
Because in that moment, I saw it—the truth I’d been avoiding. That I wasn’t just fighting Kael.
I was fighting everyone.
My mother’s memory. My mission. My rage. My desire. And now, Riven’s loyalty, his quiet love, the way he’d always been there, waiting, never asking for more.
And I didn’t know how to fix it.
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t let you love me like that. Not when I don’t know what I feel. Not when I don’t know if I can ever be free.”
“You don’t have to be free,” he said. “You just have to be you.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know who that was anymore.
He stepped back, his expression unreadable. “I’ll be in the east wing. If you need me. If you remember who you are.”
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
I stood there, trembling, the clean clothes still in my hands, the scent of wolf and pine fading from the air. The bond hummed beneath my skin, quiet now, but present. Waiting. Watching.
And then—
A flicker.
In the mirror, behind me, the air shimmered. A ripple, like heat over stone. I spun, magic flaring in my palms—
Nothing.
Just the empty room.
But I’d felt it. A presence. A whisper of power.
“Riven?” I whispered.
No answer.
I stepped closer to the mirror, tracing the frame. The iron was cold, the runes faintly glowing. Then I saw it—a tiny sigil etched into the corner. A werewolf mark. A message.
I pressed my palm against it.
A voice, low and rough, echoed in my mind.
“He’s not what you think. But neither is Kael. Be careful, Tide. The bond is real. But so is the danger. And I’ll always be watching.”
Riven.
I exhaled, relief and dread warring in my chest. He was still with me. Still watching.
But he was right. I couldn’t trust anyone.
Not even my own instincts.
Because as I turned back to the mirror, I caught my reflection again—and this time, I saw it.
The way my fingers had lingered on the clean clothes.
The way my breath had hitched when Riven spoke of love.
The way my body still hummed with the memory of Kael’s touch.
I wasn’t just fighting the bond.
I was fighting myself.
A knock at the door.
I tensed, magic coiling in my veins.
“Enter,” I called, voice steady.
The door opened. A vampire servant—pale, expressionless—wheeled in a cart laden with food: roasted venison, blood-orange compote, dark bread, a carafe of water. No wine.
“Dinner, my lady,” the servant said, bowing.
“Leave it,” I said.
They did. The door shut. I waited—counted to fifty—then moved to the cart. Sniffed the food. Tested it with a drop of blood from my fingertip. No reaction. Safe.
I ate slowly, every bite a battle. My mind raced—plans forming, failing, reforming. I needed the contract. I needed proof. I needed to know what Kael wasn’t telling me.
And I needed to survive the night.
After dinner, I changed into the clean clothes—dark trousers, a high-collared tunic, sturdy boots. Practical. Ready. I washed my face, braided my hair, and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting.
Hours passed.
The torches dimmed. The room grew colder.
Then—
The door opened.
Kael stepped in, dressed in black, his hair slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. He froze when he saw me.
“You’re dressed,” he said.
“Observant,” I said.
He closed the door, locking it. “You could have slept.”
“I don’t sleep with enemies in the room.”
“Then you’ll be tired tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage.”
He moved to the far side of the bed, pulling back the covers. “You take the left. I’ll take the right. We don’t touch. We don’t speak. We survive the night. Understood?”
“Crystal.”
I stood, walking around to the other side. The mattress dipped as I sat. The sheets were cold. The air between us was charged.
We lay down.
Backs to each other.
Silence.
And then—
The bond flared.
A sudden, searing heat shot through my body, low in my belly, spreading like wildfire. I gasped, rolling onto my side—
And collided with him.
He’d turned too.
Our faces were inches apart. His breath was cool against my lips. His eyes, in the dim light, were wide, startled. The bond surged again, stronger this time, a pulse of raw, unfiltered desire that wasn’t mine alone.
I could feel his want. His hunger. His restraint.
“Control it,” he growled, voice rough.
“I *am*,” I lied, my body trembling.
He reached out, gripping my wrist—his touch like ice and fire. “The bond—it reacts to proximity. To emotion. To *arousal*.”
“Then maybe you should sleep somewhere else.”
“Can’t,” he said, his thumb brushing my pulse point. “Storm Sickness. Remember?”
Our eyes locked.
The air between us crackled.
And then, slowly, he released my wrist.
“Turn over,” he said.
“What?”
“Turn over. Back to back. It’ll help.”
I hesitated—then did as he said.
We lay there, rigid, the bond still humming, but quieter now. The heat receded, though the tension didn’t.
Minutes passed.
Then—
His voice, low, in the dark.
“Tide.”
“What.”
“When this is over… if we both survive… what will you do?”
I didn’t answer at first. Then, softly: “I’ll burn it all down.”
He was silent for a long time.
Then, just as I thought he’d fallen asleep—
“You’ll need help.”
I didn’t respond.
But in the darkness, I smiled.
Not because I trusted him.
But because for the first time, I wasn’t sure he was lying.