The scream echoed in my skull long after it faded.
High. Piercing. Cut short. Like a blade through silk. It had ripped through the storm, through the ritual chamber, through the fragile illusion that I was still in control. And then—silence. The kind that follows violence. The kind that means someone is dead, or dying, or wishing they were.
I didn’t run to help.
Not because I didn’t care.
But because I couldn’t move.
Not with Kaelen’s hand still beneath my tunic, his fingers burning against the soft skin of my stomach. Not with my legs still wrapped around his waist, my body still arched into his, my breath still tangled with his. Not with the bond roaring between us, a live wire of heat and hunger and something I refused to name.
And then he said it.
“Next time, I won’t stop.”
His voice was low. Rough. Dangerous. Not a threat. A promise. And worse—he meant it. Not just the words. The weight behind them. The certainty. The way his eyes had darkened, his fangs had lengthened, his body had pressed against mine like he already owned me.
And the worst part?
I believed him.
I unwrapped my legs from his waist. Stepped back. Adjusted my tunic. Smoothed my circlet. Straightened my spine. All the motions of a woman in control. A warrior. A delegate.
But inside?
Inside, I was shaking.
Not from fear.
From want.
Because for one breathless, cursed moment, I hadn’t wanted to stop either.
Because for one heartbeat, I’d wanted to let him touch me. To let him kiss me. To let him claim me.
And that terrified me more than any dagger, any lie, any betrayal ever could.
—
I didn’t go to my chambers.
Didn’t return to the training hall. Didn’t seek out the library or the gardens. I walked—fast, hard, boots slamming against stone, my breath ragged, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. The Spire twisted around me, its corridors narrowing, its torches flickering like dying stars, but I didn’t care. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
Because if I stopped, I’d have to think.
And I couldn’t think. Not after what I’d done. Not after what I’d felt.
He was alive. Whole. Strong. The poison purged, his skin warm, his heartbeat steady beneath my hands. I’d healed him. With forbidden magic. With touch. With blood.
And worse—I’d kissed him.
Not the ritual bite. Not the sealing of the spell. But the kiss in the training chamber—desperate, furious, real. My lips on his, my body pressed against his, my heart pounding like it belonged to him.
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to want it.
I wasn’t supposed to feel the way his mouth moved against mine, the way his hands gripped my waist, the way his fangs grazed my tongue like a promise of pain and pleasure tangled together.
And I certainly wasn’t supposed to feel the way my body had arched into him, how my thighs had clenched, how heat had pooled low in my belly like molten gold.
It was a mistake.
A lapse. A moment of weakness. A betrayal—not of my mission, but of myself.
I turned a corner and slammed my fist into the stone wall. Pain flared up my arm, sharp and grounding. Good. I needed it. Needed to feel something real, something that wasn’t the ghost of his touch, the echo of his breath, the memory of his voice—“Next time, I won’t stop.”
I pressed my forehead to the cold stone, breathing hard. My dagger was still strapped to my calf. Still cold. Still mine. I could draw it. Could run. Could disappear into the wilds, let the Tribes fend for themselves, let the Council burn.
But I wouldn’t.
Because I wasn’t a coward.
And because I wasn’t sure I wanted to run.
—
I found myself in the west wing—a forgotten corridor lined with shuttered chambers, dust thick on the sills, the air stale with disuse. This part of the Spire was rarely visited, reserved for storage, for relics, for things the Council wanted buried.
And then I saw it.
A door, slightly ajar. Not locked. Not sealed.
Curiosity pulled me forward. Caution screamed to turn back.
I stepped inside.
The chamber was small, circular, its walls lined with ancient tapestries depicting forgotten wars, fallen kings, blood-soaked oaths. In the center stood a pedestal—black stone, veined with silver—and on it, a single object: a dagger.
Not just any dagger.
Iron. Silver-edged. Carved with runes I recognized—Maeve’s sigils. A binding blade. A soul-ripper. The kind of weapon meant to sever magical ties. To kill immortals.
My breath caught.
This was my dagger. The one I’d used in training. The one I’d left behind when I came to the Spire. The one Maeve had blessed and whispered, “Use it when the time comes.”
But I hadn’t brought it with me.
So how was it here?
I stepped closer, my pulse roaring. The air thickened, the magic in the room humming, reacting to my presence. The bond flared on my wrist, a hot pulse of warning.
And then—
“I had it brought here.”
I spun.
Kaelen stood in the doorway, tall and still, his coat open, his fangs just visible when he spoke. He didn’t look angry. Didn’t look triumphant.
He looked… tired.
“You went through my things,” I said, voice low.
“I didn’t.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Maeve sent it. With a message.”
“And what message was that?”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded slip of parchment. I snatched it from him, unrolling it with shaking hands.
The writing was Maeve’s—sharp, precise, unmistakable.
Sable,
You were never meant to save him. You were meant to kill him. The bond is a trap. The Council is a lie. Break it. Burn it. Fulfill your oath.
Or you are no daughter of mine.
The words hit like a blade.
My breath caught. My vision blurred. The dagger on the pedestal seemed to pulse, calling to me, promising power, revenge, justice.
“She thinks I failed,” I whispered.
“She thinks you’re weak,” Kaelen said. “Because you saved me.”
I turned on him. “And you think I’m not?”
“I think,” he said, stepping closer, “that you’re stronger than you know.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you hesitated.” His voice was low, rough. “I know you could have let me die. Could have walked away. Could have buried that dagger in my heart while I was weak, while I was yours to kill.”
“And I didn’t.”
“No.” He stepped closer. “You saved me.”
“I did it for the Tribes.”
“Liar.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then stop lying.” He reached for me—slow, deliberate—and this time, I didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed my wrist, pushing back my sleeve, revealing the mark beneath. “You could have used any spell. Any ritual. But you chose to bite me. To taste my blood. To seal the magic with your mouth.”
Heat flooded my veins. My pulse roared. The mark on my wrist burned.
“It was necessary,” I whispered.
“No.” His thumb pressed over the pulse point. My breath hitched. My knees weakened. “It was intimacy. It was claiming. You didn’t heal me out of duty. You did it because you care.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, “did your hands shake when you touched me? Why did your breath catch? Why did your body arch into mine when I kissed you back?”
I sucked in a breath. “You don’t get to decide what I feel.”
“I don’t.” He stepped closer, his body pressing against mine, his heat searing through my clothes. “But your body does. And it’s screaming the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That you’re not just fighting me.” His hand slid up, cupping the back of my neck, tilting my face up to his. His eyes burned into mine—dark, hungry, knowing. “You’re fighting yourself. And you’re losing.”
“Let go,” I whispered.
He didn’t.
Just held me. Warm. Solid. inescapable.
And then—
I pushed him.
Hard.
He stumbled back, surprised. I didn’t wait. Lunged. Slammed him against the wall, my hands on his chest, my body pressing against his.
“You don’t get to decide what I am,” I snarled.
“No,” he said, voice rough. “But I can see it.”
“Then see this.”
And I kissed him.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Angry. Desperate.
My lips crushed his, my teeth nipping, my tongue demanding. He groaned, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer, his body responding, his fangs lengthening, his blood roaring. The bond flared, a surge of heat and power that made the runes on the walls flare, the torches flicker, the air crackle with magic.
His mouth moved against mine—hungry, possessive, knowing. One hand slid up, tangling in my hair, holding me in place, while the other gripped my hip, pulling me against him. I could feel him—hard, ready, mine—and a whimper escaped my throat, sharp and involuntary.
He broke the kiss, just enough to speak, his breath hot against my lips. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you want this.”
“I don’t—”
He kissed me again, deeper, harder, his tongue sliding against mine, his body grinding against mine. I moaned, my hands clutching his coat, my thighs clenching around his hip.
“Say it,” he growled.
“I—”
“Say it, Sable.”
And then—
I did.
“I want you.”
The words tore from my throat, raw, broken, true.
And the world exploded.
The bond—our bond—flared like a supernova, a surge of energy that made the chamber tremble, the tapestries rip from the walls, the pedestal crack in half. The dagger clattered to the floor, forgotten. The air burned with magic, thick and sweet, like blood and storm and fire.
Kaelen pulled back, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. “You felt that,” he said, voice rough. “The bond—it changed.”
I nodded, dazed. “It’s stronger.”
“No.” He cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “It’s real. Not just fate. Not just magic. You. Me. Us.”
“I saved you for my mission,” I said, voice breaking. “Not for you.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t call me a liar.
Just looked at me.
At the way my lips were swollen. The way my breath came fast. The way my heart raced—for him.
“Then why,” he said, voice low, “did your heart race when you touched me?”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because the truth was—yes. I had saved him for my mission. At first.
But then I’d saved him because I couldn’t bear to see him die.
Because the thought of his body going cold, his eyes closing, his breath stopping—it had shattered me.
Because I’d realized, in that moment, that I didn’t want him dead.
I wanted him alive.
I wanted him mine.
And that terrified me more than any dagger, any lie, any betrayal ever could.
He leaned in, his lips brushing mine—soft this time. Gentle. A promise.
And then—
I pulled away.
Not fast. Not angry.
Just… done.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“You already did.”
“I can’t want you.”
“Too late.” He stepped back, letting me go, but his eyes held mine—dark, intense, knowing. “You already do.”
I turned and walked out, my steps steady, my spine straight.
But inside?
Inside, I was screaming.
Because he was right.
I did want him.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
—
I didn’t sleep that night.
I sat by the window of my chambers, staring out at the frozen peaks, the mark on my wrist pulsing like a second heart. The dagger from the chamber lay on the desk, untouched, unclaimed. Maeve’s message sat beside it, the words burning in my mind.
You are no daughter of mine.
Maybe I wasn’t.
Maybe I’d stopped being her daughter the moment I chose to save him.
Maybe I’d become something else.
Something new.
I pressed my palm to the glass, my breath fogging the surface. The wind howled outside, a sound like mourning.
And then—
A knock.
Three taps.
My breath caught.
“Come in,” I said, voice steady.
The door opened.
Kaelen stepped inside, dressed in black as always, his coat unbuttoned, his hair slightly tousled. He didn’t speak. Just walked to the center of the room and stopped.
“You’re not in your chambers,” I said.
“Neither are you asleep.”
“I don’t need your permission to be awake.”
“No.” He stepped closer. “But you do need to understand what happened today.”
“I stopped a beta from going feral. I upheld Council law. What’s there to understand?”
“You used witch magic,” he said. “But not just any magic. You used emotion to fuel it. Empathy. Conviction. That’s rare. Even among pure-blood witches.”
“I’m not just a witch.”
“No.” His eyes darkened. “You’re something else.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal. Old. Worn. The cover was marked with a symbol I didn’t recognize—a spiral with three points, like a triskelion.
“This belonged to your mother,” he said, holding it out.
I froze.
“What?”
“She was more than a fae diplomat,” he said. “She was a null witch. One of the last. A witch who could break bonds. Undo spells. Shatter curses.”
My breath caught.
“That’s impossible. Null magic was wiped out centuries ago.”
“Not wiped out,” he said. “Hidden. Suppressed. Because it was too powerful. Too dangerous.”
He flipped open the journal, revealing pages filled with intricate sigils, notes in a delicate hand—her hand. And then, a sketch.
Me.
Young. Smiling. My hair long, my eyes bright. And beneath it, a single line:
My daughter will carry the gift. She will break what I could not.
I staggered back, my heart pounding. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He closed the journal. “You think your magic is just witchcraft? That your ability to calm that beta was just empathy? It wasn’t. It was power. Latent. Untrained. But real.”
“And you have this… why?”
“Because I tried to save her,” he said, voice low, raw. “That night. When they attacked. I fought them. I failed. But before she died, she gave me this. Told me to keep it safe. To give it to you… when the time was right.”
My vision blurred.
All these years, I’d believed he was the monster. The killer. The one who’d stood over her body and done nothing.
And now—
He was telling me he’d tried to save her?
That he’d protected her legacy?
That he’d kept this—this proof of who I was—for me?
“Why?” I whispered. “Why tell me now?”
“Because you’re stronger than you know,” he said. “And the Council will come for you. Malrik. Lyria. They’ll use your hybrid blood as a weapon. But if you understand your power—if you claim it—you can fight back.”
“And what do you get out of this?”
He stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the pull of the bond tightening between us. My skin prickled. My breath shortened.
“I get you,” he said. “Not as a pawn. Not as a weapon. But as an equal.”
My pulse roared.
“You don’t get to decide what I am.”
“No,” he said. “But I can help you see it.”
He reached for me—slow, deliberate—and this time, I didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed my wrist, pushing back my sleeve, revealing the mark beneath.
“This bond,” he said, “isn’t just fate. It’s a key. It’s awakening something in you. Something your mother wanted you to have.”
“And if I don’t want it?”
“Then you’ll spend the rest of your life fighting yourself.” He stepped closer, his body pressing against mine, his heat searing through my clothes. “You can lie to everyone. You can even lie to me. But you can’t lie to this.”
His hand slid up, cupping the back of my neck, tilting my face up to his. His eyes burned into mine—dark, hungry, knowing.
“You’re not just my mate,” he whispered. “You’re my equal.”
I should have fought. Should have shoved him away. Should have drawn my dagger and made him bleed.
But I didn’t.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure I was the hunter.
Maybe I was the prize.
And maybe—just maybe—I was starting to want to be.
He let me go, stepping back, leaving me standing there, breathless, trembling, ruined.
“Sleep, Sable,” he said, voice calm. “Tomorrow, we train.”
I didn’t answer.
I just watched him go.
And when the door clicked shut, I pressed my palm to the mark on my wrist, feeling it pulse beneath my skin.
He’s alive.
I closed my eyes.
And I’m not sure if I want to kill him… or kiss him.