The throne was gone.
Not destroyed. Not stolen.
Gone.
One moment it had been there—carved from blackened bone and gold, pulsing with golden light, crowned with living fire—and the next, it had dissolved into mist, vanishing like smoke in the wind. Only the echo of its power remained, humming in the air, pressing against my skin like a ghost’s breath.
The catacombs were silent now. No whispers. No ancient voice. No light. Just the cold stone, the scent of earth and blood, and the weight of what had just happened.
Kael stood beside me, his chest rising and falling, his silver eyes wide, his hand still gripping mine. We hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t moved. Just stood there, trembling, *alive*, as if the world had cracked open and let something sacred slip through.
And then—
He squeezed my hand.
Not tight. Not possessive.
Just… present.
I didn’t pull away.
Couldn’t.
Because for the first time since I’d walked through the obsidian gates, I didn’t feel like a hunter. Didn’t feel like a weapon. Didn’t feel like the girl who’d come to burn the Bloodmarked Prince to ash.
I felt like I belonged.
And that terrified me.
We climbed back into the night, the city still cloaked in violet shadow, the spires piercing the bruised sky like broken teeth. The bond pulsed—low, constant—but I let it guide me, like a second heartbeat. Let it make me sharper. Faster. Deadlier.
But not for him.
For her.
Nyx.
She wasn’t in the catacombs. The throne had been a sign. A test. A promise. But she was still out there. Hiding. Waiting. And I would find her.
We didn’t speak on the way back to the palace. Didn’t need to. The bond carried everything—my fear, my fury, my need—and he felt it, just as I felt his. The fever had passed. The weakness had faded. But something else had taken its place.
Something deeper.
Something I couldn’t name.
The royal wing was silent when we returned. No whispers in the halls. No guards watching us with narrowed eyes. Just the flicker of sconces, the hum of ancient wards, the scent of old stone and something darker—something that made my wolf stir beneath my skin.
Kael stopped at the entrance to his chambers, his hand still in mine. “You should rest,” he said, voice low.
“I don’t need rest,” I said. “I need answers.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped aside, letting me pass.
The room was vast—walls of fused bone and black crystal, a ceiling lost in shadow, a hearth where violet flames danced without fuel. The bed was still rumpled from the night before, the sheets tangled, the scent of sex and blood still clinging to the air. I didn’t look at it. Didn’t let my mind go there.
Instead, I moved to the window, staring out at the jagged skyline. The city was quiet. Too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.
“You’re not just my consort,” he said, stepping behind me. “You’re my *mate*. And I don’t let my mate bleed on the floor like trash.”
“You don’t *own* me,” I snapped, turning.
He didn’t flinch. Just stared at me, his silver eyes dark, unreadable. “No. But the bond does. And so does the blood in your veins.”
“And what if I don’t want it?” I asked, stepping closer. “What if I don’t want to be bound to you? To your throne? To your *curse*?”
“Then you wouldn’t have come back,” he said. “You wouldn’t have saved me. You wouldn’t have let me press your hand to my chest and let the court feel us.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
I’d had a choice. In the catacombs. When the throne had appeared. When the light had wrapped around us. I could’ve walked away. Could’ve left him there, weak, broken, *dying*.
But I hadn’t.
I’d stayed.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
“I need to find Nyx,” I said, turning back to the window. “She’s alive. She’s hiding. And if I don’t find her—”
“Then she’ll be found first,” he said, stepping closer. “By Vexis. By Mirela. By the court.”
“Then help me,” I said, turning. “You have eyes everywhere. You have power. You have—”
“I have enemies,” he said, voice rough. “And if I move too fast, they’ll know something’s changed. That the bond is stronger. That the curse is breaking.”
“So what?” I asked. “You’d rather wait? Let her die?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I’d rather keep you *alive*.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stared at him, my heart pounding, my breath unsteady.
And then—
“Blair.”
A voice. Smooth. Sweet. False.
I turned.
Mirela stood in the doorway, draped in white silk, her lips painted blood-red, her hair cascading over one shoulder. And around her neck—
A fake bite mark.
Fake. Painted. Pathetic.
She smiled—slow, knowing. “I see you’ve been busy.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
Just reached up—and tore the fabric of my collar, exposing the sigil on my neck.
“He does,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “But not from you.”
Her smile faltered.
And for the first time—
I saw fear in her eyes.
Good.
Let her be afraid.
“You always were so… crude,” she purred, stepping closer. “Tearing your clothes like a feral animal. Baring your neck like a pet.”
“And you always were so… fake,” I said, stepping forward. “Painting your skin like a courtesan. Wearing his shirt like a trophy. Pretending you matter.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think you’re better than me? You think because he pressed your hand to his chest, you’re *his*?”
“I don’t think,” I said. “I *know*.”
“Then you’re a fool,” she said, stepping closer. “Because I’ve tasted him. I’ve felt him. I’ve *had* him in ways you could never imagine.”
My breath caught.
“Liar,” I said, voice shaking.
“Am I?” she asked, reaching into her coat. “Then explain this.”
She pulled out a vial—crystal, stoppered with silver, filled with dark red liquid. Blood.
And not just any blood.
His blood.
“He shared it with me,” she said, holding it up. “The night before you arrived. He said it was the last time. That he was done with me. But he still gave it. Still let me drink. Still let me feel him.”
My stomach dropped.
“You’re lying,” I said, stepping back.
“Am I?” she asked, uncorking the vial. “Then smell it. Taste it. Feel the magic in it.”
She brought it to her lips—and drank.
Slow. Deliberate. Taunting.
And then—
She moaned.
Soft. Low. Sensual.
“Gods,” she whispered. “Even now, it’s better than anything else. Richer. Darker. *Stronger*.”
My breath came too fast. My skin burned. My core clenched, wet and aching, as if my body had already decided, already submitted.
But not to her.
To him.
“He never shared his blood with you,” Kael said, stepping forward, his voice dangerous. “That’s stolen. From a feeding vial. From a medical supply.”
“And you expect me to believe that?” I asked, turning to him. “You expect me to believe you never touched her? Never tasted her? Never claimed her?”
“I never claimed her,” he said, stepping closer. “I never marked her. I never let her drink from me. That blood is not mine.”
“Then prove it,” I said, stepping back. “Prove it’s not yours.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Just slashed his palm open with a dagger and let the blood drip into a silver basin.
Dark. Thick. Alive.
And nothing like the blood in the vial.
“Smell it,” he said, holding it out. “Taste it. Feel the magic in it.”
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Because the bond—oh, Gods, the bond—was screaming.
Not in warning. Not in hunger.
In truth.
His blood was different. Richer. Darker. *Stronger*. And it *knew* me. Knew the sigils on my ribs. Knew the mark on my neck. Knew the fire in my veins.
And hers—
Hers was nothing.
“You’re a liar,” I said, turning to Mirela. “You’re pathetic. You’re *nothing*.”
Her smile vanished.
And for the first time—
I saw rage in her eyes.
“You think you’re special?” she spat. “You think because you have a mark on your neck, you’re *his*? He’s used you. Played you. Let you think you’re his queen while he keeps me in his bed.”
“She’s lying,” Kael said, stepping between us. “She’s never been in my bed. Never touched me. Never—”
“Then why does he keep me close?” she asked, stepping closer. “Why does he let me wear his shirt? Why does he let me walk the halls like I belong?”
“Because you’re a pawn,” I said, stepping forward. “A tool. A distraction. And when he’s done with you—” I reached for my dagger. “—he’ll discard you like trash.”
She didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “You think you’re the only one who’s tasted him? You think you’re the only one who’s felt him? He’s had me in ways you could never imagine.”
“And yet,” I said, stepping closer, “you’re still wearing a *fake* bite mark.”
Her hand flew to her neck.
And for the first time—
I saw shame in her eyes.
Good.
Let her be ashamed.
“Get out,” I said, voice low. “Before I make you.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Just stared at me, her eyes burning with hate.
And then—
She turned.
And walked away.
I didn’t watch her go.
Just stood there, my hand still on my dagger, my breath unsteady, my body humming with the aftermath of the bond, of the lie, of the way my heart had *ached* at the thought of him with her.
“You never touched her,” I said, not looking at him.
“No,” he said. “I never touched her. Never tasted her. Never let her drink from me.”
“Then why does she have your blood?”
“Because she stole it,” he said. “From the medical wing. From a supply vial. It’s not *mine*. Not in the way that matters.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my palm to the sigil on my neck.
And let it burn.
I didn’t go to my chamber.
Didn’t sleep. Didn’t rest.
I went to the training yard.
The same one where Mirela had taunted me, where I’d screamed and slashed at the stone until my arms burned. The same one where I’d let the bond unravel me, where I’d let my body betray me, where I’d let fear take root.
Not today.
Today, I was angry.
And anger I could use.
I drew my blade—blood-tempered steel, forged in vampire fire—and started slow. Footwork. Stances. Blocks. Then faster. Spins. Cuts. Thrusts. I moved like a storm, like a predator, like the girl who’d hunted in the dark and lived. I let the rhythm take me. Let the sweat pour. Let the burn in my muscles drown out the hum in my blood.
And then—
“You’re going to need a better weapon.”
I froze, blade raised, breath steady.
Riven stood at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, dark eyes watching me. He wasn’t in uniform. Just a black tunic, leather pants, boots silent on the stone. He looked… different. Softer. Less like Kael’s shadow. More like the boy I’d grown up with.
“This one’s fine,” I said, lowering the blade.
“It’s a blood-tempered dagger,” he said, stepping closer. “Good for fighting vampires. But you’re not just fighting them.”
“No,” I said. “I’m fighting *everyone*.”
He smiled—faint, knowing. “Then you’ll need this.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a sword—long, balanced, the blade etched with runes that pulsed faintly. Were-forged steel. Forged in moonlight. Balanced for killing.
I took it.
Light. Lethal. Perfect.
“Why?” I asked, looking up. “Why give me this?”
He hesitated. Then: “Because you’re going to need it. Vexis isn’t done. Mirela isn’t done. And the court?” He shook his head. “They’ll eat you alive if you’re not ready.”
“And you?” I asked. “Are you ready?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stared at me, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, almost too softly to hear: “I’ve loved you since we were pups. But he’d die for you.”
My stomach dropped.
Before I could respond, he turned and walked away.
Leaving me with the sword.
And the truth that I wasn’t just fighting the court.
I was fighting everyone.
I stayed in the yard until dusk, until my arms burned, until my breath came in ragged gasps. Then I returned to my chamber—my new one, larger, closer to Kael’s, guarded by two silent vampires who didn’t meet my eyes.
The room was gilded, like a prison. Velvet drapes. Canopy bed. A view of the jagged spires piercing the violet sky. I didn’t care. I stripped off my clothes, tossed them into the corner, and pulled on fresh ones—black, close-fitting, made for stealth.
Then I reached into the lining of my coat and pulled out the key.
A sliver of blackened bone, no larger than my thumb, humming with dormant power. The second half of the Blood Vault key. The one my sister had hidden before she died.
I held it in my palm, feeling its pulse, its hunger. It responded to me. To my blood. To the sigils carved into my ribs.
And then—
I pressed it to the mark on my neck.
The sigil flared—silver, hot, alive. The bond surged, a deep, insistent throb that made my breath catch, my core clench, my knees weaken. And for one shattering second, I felt it—
Not just the magic.
Not just the bond.
But her.
My sister.
Her voice. Her scent. Her love.
“Find the truth,” she whispered. “And burn the liars.”
And then—
It was gone.
I dropped the key, my hand trembling.
Was it real?
Or just the bond, twisting my grief into something I wanted to hear?
I didn’t know.
But I knew one thing—
I wasn’t here to burn Kael.
I was here to burn the liars.
And if Mirela thought she could break me with a vial of stolen blood—
Then fine.
Let her try.
Because when the fire came—
I’d be the one holding the match.