The summons came at dawn.
A single scroll, sealed with black wax and the sigil of the Unseelie Court—twisted thorns wrapped around a crescent moon. It arrived in silence, slipped beneath my chamber door while I was still tangled in the aftermath of dreams I couldn’t remember. Dreams of fire. Of blood. Of a throne that burned with living flame.
I didn’t open it right away.
Just stood there, barefoot on cold stone, the weight of last night pressing down on me like a second skin. The memory of Kael’s mouth on mine. The way his fingers had torn through my clothes. The way my body had broken beneath him—again and again—until I was nothing but gasps and tears and the unbearable truth that I loved him.
I hated that truth.
Not because it wasn’t real. But because it made me weak. Because it made me hesitate. Because it made me care.
And I couldn’t afford to care.
Not when Vexis had the other half of the Blood Vault key.
Not when he was going to open the Vault tonight.
Not when he was going to destroy the proof.
Not when he was going to kill me.
I finally picked up the scroll. Broke the seal. Unrolled it.
“By order of Queen Mab, ruler of the Unseelie Court, you are summoned to the Dreaming Vale for urgent council. The matter concerns the Blood Vault and the fate of the Bloodmarked Prince. You will attend. You will bring Kael. You will come at once.”
No greeting. No courtesy. Just command.
Typical fae.
I crumpled the scroll in my fist.
The Dreaming Vale. A realm of illusions and oaths, where a single kiss could bind you for centuries and a whispered lie could rot your soul. The last place I wanted to be. The last place I wanted him to be.
But I didn’t have a choice.
Because the note mentioned the Vault.
And Kael.
And if Queen Mab knew something—something about the key, about Vexis, about the truth—then I had to hear it.
Even if it killed me.
I dressed quickly—black tunic, leather pants, boots made for silence. Slipped the key into the lining of my coat. Tucked the ledger into a hidden pocket. Took my dagger—blood-tempered steel, forged in vampire fire—and strapped it to my thigh.
Then I went to his chambers.
The door was open.
Kael stood at the window, his silhouette sharp against the violet dawn, his silver eyes burning, his fangs bared. He didn’t turn when I entered. Just said, “You got the summons.”
“You knew?” I asked.
“I felt it,” he said, turning. “The magic. The pull. The Unseelie don’t call unless they have something to gain.”
“Or something to take,” I said.
He nodded. “Then we go armed.”
“We go together,” I said. “No tricks. No secrets. No lies.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not the one who’s been lying.”
I flinched.
Because he was right.
I’d kept the ledger from him. Kept the journal. Kept the key. Kept the truth about Nyx.
And now—
Now I didn’t know what to believe.
“I didn’t know who to trust,” I said, voice low. “Not after everything.”
“And now?” he asked, stepping closer. “Do you trust me now?”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my palm to the sigil on my neck.
The bond pulsed—low, constant—but it wasn’t just magic anymore. It was truth. It was hers. It was Nyx. It was my sister. It was the fire that had burned in my veins since the night I’d walked through the obsidian gates.
And it was him.
Always him.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I know we have to go. The note said it was about the Vault. About you.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Then we go.”
We left the palace in silence, the city still cloaked in 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.
The portal to the Dreaming Vale was hidden beneath the eastern bridge, sealed behind a ring of blackened stones etched with fae runes. A guard stood at the threshold—tall, slender, eyes like polished onyx, lips painted silver. He didn’t speak as we approached. Just bowed and stepped aside, his movements too smooth, too perfect.
“No weapons,” he said, voice like silk.
I didn’t argue. Just handed over my dagger.
Kael did the same.
“No lies,” the guard said, stepping forward. “No blood. No breaking of oaths. Do so, and you don’t leave.”
“Understood,” I said.
He smiled—slow, knowing. “Then enter. And may the dreams be kind.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped through.
The world twisted.
Not in pain. Not in force.
In color.
One moment, I was in Midnight Court—stone, shadow, violet torchlight.
The next—
I was in a forest of glass.
Trees with trunks of crystal, leaves of stained light, roots that pulsed with something dark and alive. The air was thick with scent—honey and rot, roses and decay, something sweet and cloying that made my head spin. The ground beneath my boots was soft, spongy, like walking on flesh.
And the sky—
There was no sky.
Just a ceiling of shifting clouds, swirling with colors that didn’t exist—purple that burned, green that froze, gold that hurt to look at.
“Welcome,” a voice purred.
Mirela stepped from behind a tree, 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.
“I see you made it,” she said, smiling. “Though I expected you to resist. To fight. To scream.”
“And I expected you to be smarter,” I said, stepping forward. “Still wearing that lie like a badge of honor.”
Her smile faltered.
And for the first time—
I saw fear in her eyes.
Good.
Let her be afraid.
“Queen Mab awaits,” she said, turning. “Follow me.”
She didn’t look back.
Just walked, her steps silent on the fleshy ground, her scent trailing behind her—sweet, cloying, laced with something darker. Glamour. Deception. Lies.
Kael didn’t speak. Just stayed close, his presence cutting through the air like a storm. I could feel him—his heartbeat, his breath, his fury—like a second rhythm in my blood.
And the bond—
It was different here.
Stronger. Wilder. Hungrier.
It pulsed beneath my skin, a deep, insistent throb that made my breath catch, my core clench, my knees weaken. It wasn’t just magic. It was need. It was truth. It was him.
And I hated that it felt so right.
We walked for what felt like hours, though time didn’t move the same here. The forest shifted—trees melting into mist, paths twisting into spirals, the ground softening beneath our feet. Fae watched from the shadows—pale faces, hollow eyes, mouths that smiled too wide. They didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched, silent, hungry.
And then—
We reached the Vale.
A clearing in the glass forest, its center dominated by a pool of liquid silver, its surface rippling with images—faces, places, moments that hadn’t happened yet. Around it, thrones of bone and thorn, each occupied by a fae lord or lady, their eyes burning with something ancient and wrong.
And at the center—
Queen Mab.
She sat on a throne of living roots, her skin like moonlight, her hair like shadow, her eyes black voids that swallowed the light. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched us, her lips curled in a smile that wasn’t a smile.
“Blair,” she said, voice like wind through dead leaves. “Daughter of the Moonbound. Heir of the Exiled. You have come.”
“You summoned me,” I said, stepping forward. “Why?”
“Because I know,” she said. “I know about the key. I know about Vexis. I know about the Vault.”
My breath stopped.
“And?” I asked.
“And I know what he plans,” she said. “To open the Vault. To destroy the proof. To kill you.”
“Then help me stop him,” I said.
She smiled. “And what do you offer in return?”
“The truth,” I said. “About my sister. About the ritual. About Kael.”
“Truth is dangerous,” she said. “One word, and an oath is broken. One breath, and a soul is forfeit.”
“Then give me a way to stop him,” I said. “Without lies.”
She tilted her head. “There is a way. But it will cost you.”
“What?”
“A night,” she said. “One night in the Dreaming Vale. One night in his bed. One night of truth, of touch, of feeling.”
My stomach dropped.
“You’re asking me to sleep with him?”
“Not sleep,” she said, smiling. “Feel. Let the bond burn. Let the magic rise. Let the truth be known.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you leave,” she said. “And you face Vexis alone. And you die.”
I didn’t answer.
Just looked at Kael.
He didn’t flinch. Just stared at me, his silver eyes dark, unreadable.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “Because if we don’t stop him, everything burns.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded.
And then—
Queen Mab clapped her hands.
“Then it is decided,” she said. “You will stay the night. You will share a bed. You will let the bond speak. And in the morning, you will have what you need to stop Vexis.”
“And if we don’t?” I asked.
“Then you don’t leave,” she said, smiling. “And the fae always collect their debts.”
Mirela led us to a pavilion at the edge of the Vale—walls of translucent silk, a roof of woven vines, a bed of black feathers that looked soft but felt like stone. She didn’t speak. Didn’t look at us. Just bowed and left, her footsteps silent on the fleshy ground.
The bond pulsed—low, constant—but here, it was different. Sharper. Wilder. Angrier.
“This is a trap,” I said, pacing. “She’s using us. Testing us. Seeing how far we’ll go.”
“And if it stops Vexis?” Kael asked, stepping closer. “Is it worth it?”
“Worth what?” I snapped. “Sleeping with you? Letting you touch me? Letting you—”
“I didn’t say sleep,” he said, stepping closer. “I said feel.”
“And what if I don’t want to?” I asked, stepping back. “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, stepping closer. “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 don’t know how to do this,” I said, my voice breaking. “I don’t know how to stop hating you. I don’t know how to trust you. I don’t know how to—” I choked on the word. “—love you.”
He didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, closing the distance between us, his hand shooting out, gripping my wrist. “Then don’t,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t love me. Don’t trust me. Don’t believe me. Just feel me.”
And then he kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Violent.
His mouth crashed into mine, hard and demanding, his fangs scraping my lip, drawing blood. I gasped, my body arching into his, my hands flying to his chest, not to push him away—but to pull him closer. His other hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back, deepening the kiss, his tongue clashing with mine in a war of control and surrender.
The bond exploded.
Heat surged—wild, uncontrollable, consuming. My breath came in a gasp. My knees weakened. My core clenched, wet and aching, as if my body had already decided, already submitted. His scent wrapped around me like a drug. His hands—strong, possessive—gripped my hips, anchoring me, claiming me. And the world—oh, Gods, the world—burned.
I bit him.
Not in defense. Not in rage.
In claim.
My fangs sank into his lower lip, drawing blood, and he groaned, a sound so deep and primal it vibrated through my bones. He didn’t pull back. Just kissed me harder, his hands sliding under my tunic, his fingers brushing the sigils on my ribs, making them flare white-hot beneath my skin.
“You’re mine,” he growled against my mouth. “Say it.”
“No,” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my voice raw. “I’m not—”
His hand moved—fast, firm, relentless—sliding between my thighs, pressing against the heat already pooling there. I whimpered, a sound I didn’t recognize, a sound of need. His thumb brushed my clit through the fabric, and the bond screamed, a tidal wave of pleasure that made my vision blur.
“Say it,” he demanded, his breath hot against my ear. “Or I’ll make you scream it.”
My breath came too fast. My body trembled. My core clenched, wet and desperate, as if my body had already decided, already submitted.
And then—
I shoved him back.
Hard.
He stumbled, his silver eyes dark, his chest heaving, his fangs bared. Blood smeared his lip—the mark I’d left. And the bond—oh, Gods, the bond—wasn’t just a thread.
It was a chain.
Forged in blood. Sealed in magic. Unbreakable.
“You don’t get to do this,” I said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to touch me like I’m yours. You don’t get to claim me.”
“You already did,” he said, stepping closer. “The night you bit me in the archives. The night you saved my life in the crypt. The night you let me press your hand to my chest and let the court feel us.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Then hate me,” he said, closing the distance between us. “But don’t you dare pull away.”
And then he was on me.
Not gentle. Not careful.
Relentless.
His mouth crashed into mine again, his hands tearing at my clothes, ripping the tunic open, buttons scattering across the stone. I didn’t fight him. Didn’t resist. Just let him—let him strip me bare, let him press me against the shattered shelf, let him spread my thighs with his knee, let him grind against me, hard and demanding, his cock straining against his pants, the heat of him searing through the fabric.
“You want this,” he growled, his teeth scraping my neck. “You want me inside you. You want me to claim you. To mark you. To make you scream.”
“No,” I gasped, even as my hips rocked against his, seeking friction, seeking more.
“Liar,” he said, his hand sliding between my thighs, fingers slipping beneath my panties, finding me wet, ready, aching. He stroked me—slow, then fast, then furious—two fingers sliding inside, curling, pressing against that spot that made my back arch, my breath catch, my core clench around him.
“You’re so tight,” he groaned, adding a third finger, stretching me, filling me, making me whimper. “So fucking wet for me. You’ve been thinking about this. Dreaming about it. Needing it.”
“I don’t—”
He curled his fingers, pressing harder, and I screamed, my body convulsing around him, my orgasm crashing through me like a storm. He didn’t stop. Just kept stroking, kept pressing, kept claiming me, until I was trembling, sobbing, my nails digging into his shoulders.
And then—
He pulled his fingers out.
Slow. Deliberate. Taunting.
“Not yet,” he said, stepping back, his eyes dark, his chest rising and falling. “I’m not done with you.”
My breath came too fast. My body trembled. My core throbbed, empty, aching, as if my body had already decided, already submitted.
He unbuckled his belt. Unzipped his pants. Freed his cock—thick, veined, lethal—and stroked it once, twice, his thumb brushing the tip, smearing the precum across the head.
“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.
I did.
And the bond—oh, Gods, the bond—sang.
Not a warning. Not a hunger.
A recognition.
He stepped forward. Spread my thighs wider. Pressed the head of his cock against my entrance. And then—
He thrust.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
I screamed—not in pain, but in relief, in release, in the sheer, unbearable rightness of it. He filled me—completely, utterly, irrevocably—and the bond exploded, a tidal wave of power and recognition that crashed through every cell in my body. I could feel him—his pulse, his breath, his soul—as if it were my own. His skin burned under mine. His breath came fast, shallow, matching my own. His silver eyes locked onto mine, wide, wild, terrified.
And then he moved.
Slow at first. Deep. Controlled. Each thrust a punishment, a claim, a truth. And then faster. Harder. Furious. His hips slammed into mine, the shelf behind me cracking under the force, dust raining from the ceiling. His hands gripped my hips, anchoring me, possessing me. His fangs scraped my neck, drawing blood, and he groaned, a sound so deep and primal it vibrated through my bones.
“Say it,” he growled, his thrusts relentless. “Say you’re mine.”
“No,” I gasped, even as my body clenched around him, my second orgasm building, white-hot and unstoppable.
“Say it,” he demanded, thrusting harder, deeper, relentless. “Or I’ll make you scream it.”
And then—
I came.
Not a wave. Not a ripple.
A tsunami.
My body convulsed around him, my back arching, my nails digging into his shoulders, my scream echoing through the vaults. He didn’t stop. Just kept thrusting, kept claiming me, until I was sobbing, trembling, my voice breaking on his name.
And then—
He came.
With a roar that shook the stones, his fangs sinking into my neck, his cock pulsing inside me, his release flooding me, hot and thick and mine. The bond—oh, Gods, the bond—magnified, a tidal wave of power and recognition that crashed through every cell in my body. I could feel him—his pulse, his breath, his soul—as if it were my own. His skin burned under mine. His breath came fast, shallow, matching my own. His silver eyes locked onto mine, wide, wild, terrified.
And then—
He collapsed.
Not from exhaustion. Not from pleasure.
From the bond.
He dropped onto me, his body heavy, his breath ragged, his fangs still buried in my neck. The mark on his chest—the wolf’s claw—flared, then dimmed, then flared again, like it was struggling to stay alive. The sigil on my neck pulsed, silver and hot, as if the magic itself was answering his claim.
And I—
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just lay there, my body still humming with the aftermath of his touch, of his thrusts, of his claim. My tears fell—silent, hot, unstoppable—tracking down my temples, soaking into the stone.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
From grief.
For my sister.
For the years I’d lost.
For the man I’d hated who’d been innocent all along.
And for the terrifying, unbearable truth—
I didn’t hate him anymore.
I loved him.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.