The emergency session was called for dawn.
That gave me six hours.
Six hours to prepare. To arm myself. To decide whether I was walking into the Chamber of Echoes as Parker Voss—the avenger, the daughter of a murdered witch, the woman who had come to burn the Council to the ground—or as Kael’s queen, marked and bound, already half-lost to the bond that pulsed beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.
I didn’t go to my room.
I couldn’t. Not with the scent of him still clinging to me—smoke, frost, storm—like a brand. Not with the memory of his kiss still burning on my lips, not with the phantom pressure of his fangs grazing my lower lip, not with the way my body had arched into his in that shadowed alcove, desperate, hungry, *needing.*
I went to the archives.
Again.
The iron gate groaned as I pushed it open, the wards humming beneath my feet like a warning. The archivist wasn’t there. Good. The fewer witnesses, the better. I moved through the shelves like a ghost, my boots silent on the stone, my fingers brushing the spines of ancient grimoires, sealed dossiers, forbidden texts. I didn’t need them tonight.
I needed the truth.
The real trial transcript. The maintenance log. The execution order. Maeve’s journal. All of it was tucked into a hidden compartment in my coat, pressed against my ribs like a second heart. But I needed more. I needed leverage. I needed something that would make them *burn.*
I found it in the Blood Contracts section—deep in the vault, behind a ward-locked door that required a High Arbiter’s sigil to open. I didn’t have one.
But Kael did.
And he’d left it on my desk that morning—engraved silver, cold and heavy in my palm, stamped with the twin sigils of our bond. A key. A test. A trap.
I used it.
The door hissed open, revealing a narrow chamber lined with iron shelves. Each held a row of vials—crimson, black, gold—labeled with names, dates, species. Blood contracts. Binding agreements sealed with a taste, a drop, a shared vein. Some were ancient, the ink faded, the glass clouded with age. Others were fresh, the labels crisp, the blood still swirling like liquid fire.
I scanned the rows, my pulse steady, my breath slow. I wasn’t looking for just any contract.
I was looking for *his.*
And then I found it.
Ravel, Lord of House Vaelis. Contract: Blood Alliance with House Druun. Date: 1141. Status: Active.
One year before my mother’s execution.
One year before the forged evidence, the altered transcript, the order to “neutralize” me.
And House Druun—
—was a Seelie bloodline. Known for glamour, manipulation, and political assassinations.
My fingers trembled as I pulled the vial from the shelf. The glass was cold, the blood inside thick and dark, swirling with a faint violet pulse. I didn’t need to read the fine print to know what this meant.
Ravel hadn’t acted alone.
He’d had help. An alliance. A *conspiracy.*
And if he’d shared blood with a Seelie noble, that meant he’d given them power over him. A psychic link. A vulnerability.
One I could exploit.
I tucked the vial into my coat, my magic humming, restless, *ready.* The emergency session was coming.
And I was going to make them pay.
I left the archives, moving through the Spire like a shadow. The corridors were quieter now, the usual hum of activity dulled by the tension in the air. The attack at the gala had shaken them. The mark on my neck had terrified them. And the whispers—
—the whispers were everywhere.
“She’s compromised.”
“The bond has clouded her judgment.”
“She’s no longer fit to serve.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, my head high, my spine straight, the weight of the truth pressing against my ribs like armor.
And then—
—I saw *her.*
Lira stood at the end of the corridor, her crimson gown swirling like blood in water, her red eyes blazing. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched me, her lips curled in a slow, venomous smile.
I kept walking.
She didn’t stop me. Just let me pass, her scent—blood and roses—filling the air behind me like a curse.
Good.
Let her watch.
Let her fear.
Because when dawn came, I wasn’t just going to expose Ravel.
I was going to destroy him.
The Chamber of Echoes was already full when I arrived.
The twelve Council seats rose in a crescent around the central dais, each occupied by a representative of the four species. The werewolf Alphas sat stiff-backed, their scents sharp with suspicion. The vampire elders watched with cold, calculating eyes. The Fae envoy—same Seelie noble from the emergency session—traced a finger along her lips as I passed. And at the head of it all—
—Kael.
He stood behind the High Arbiter’s podium, his coat immaculate, his expression unreadable. But his gaze—gold-flecked, wolf-bright, *hungry*—locked onto mine the second I entered. And the bond—
It *pulsed.*
Not with pain. Not with heat.
With *anticipation.*
I took my place beside him, not as an advisor. Not as a neutral envoy.
As his equal.
“You’re late,” he murmured, voice low.
“I was gathering evidence,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Real evidence. Not whispers. Not lies.”
His lips twitched—just once. “Then let’s see it.”
The Fae envoy rose, her voice like poisoned honey. “We are here to address the growing threat posed by the soul bond between High Arbiter Kael Virell and Parker Voss. A bond that has compromised judgment, destabilized power, and led to the unauthorized marking of a Council member.”
A ripple went through the chamber. A werewolf Alpha snarled. A vampire elder hissed.
“Unauthorized?” I said, stepping forward. “The bond was *ignited* in this very hall. In front of you all. And the mark?” I touched the side of my neck, where Kael’s fangs had grazed me. “That was an act of defense. An assassin dropped from the rafters. I stepped into the path of the blade. Kael reacted to protect me. If that’s a crime, then charge him. But don’t pretend it was anything but instinct.”
“Instinct or possession?” the Fae noble purred. “The bond is a weapon. A hybrid using a witch to consolidate power.”
“Then let me prove it’s not.” I reached into my coat and pulled out the maintenance log—the one that proved Ravel had disabled the wards the night of my mother’s execution. “You want proof of manipulation? Here it is. Lord Ravel tampered with the warding system the night my mother was killed. Why? Because he needed to alter the trial transcript. To plant forged evidence. To frame her.”
The chamber stilled.
Ravel didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head, like a predator considering its prey. “And you expect us to believe a single, unverified document? A log that could have been forged by *you*?”
“No.” I reached into my coat again, pulling out the trial transcript—the real one, the one that proved my mother had tried to expose the forgery. “I expect you to *read* it. To see the truth. To hear my mother’s voice as she tried to stop you.”
I began to read.
“Elara Voss: ‘The correspondence is a forgery. I was delivering it to the Council as evidence of a setup.’”
“Ravel: ‘You expect us to believe that?’”
“Elara: ‘I expect you to *read* it. The ink is fresh. The seal is broken. It was never sent. And the handwriting—look at the flourish on the ‘E.’ It’s not mine. It’s *yours.*’”
The chamber was silent now, the weight of the words pressing down like stone.
And then—
—I dropped the final bomb.
“And if you still doubt me,” I said, pulling out the blood contract vial, “then ask Lord Ravel why he shares a binding alliance with House Druun—a Seelie bloodline known for political assassinations and forged evidence.”
Ravel’s eyes narrowed. “That contract is private. Sacred.”
“Not anymore.” I held the vial up, the dark blood swirling inside. “Because if you shared blood with them, then they have power over you. A psychic link. A *vulnerability.* And if they helped you frame my mother, then they’re just as guilty as you are.”
“Enough.” Kael’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. He stepped down from the podium, his boots echoing against the stone. “The evidence is real. The forgery is proven. And if anyone”—his gaze swept the chamber—“attempts to sever the bond, they will answer to me.”
“You cannot protect her forever,” Ravel said. “The bond is a flaw. A weakness. And weakness must be purged.”
“Then try,” I snapped. “Sever it. And watch us both die screaming.”
The Council murmured. The Fae envoy’s smile faltered. Even Ravel hesitated.
They knew the truth.
The bond was reciprocal. My death was his. And his power—his control—depended on mine.
“This session is adjourned,” Kael said. “Until further notice.”
He turned to me. “It’s over. For now.”
I didn’t answer. Just tucked the documents back into my coat and walked out, my boots echoing against the stone, my mark burning beneath my collarbone.
The emergency session had been a victory.
But the war had just begun.
I didn’t go to my room. I couldn’t. Not with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, not with the scent of him still in my lungs, not with the way my magic hummed, restless, *waiting.*
I took the northern passage—the one that led to the ruins of the old temple, half-collapsed and overgrown with ivy, its shattered spires clawing at the moonlit sky. The wind howled through the broken arches, carrying the scent of damp earth and old magic. I stepped inside, the stone cold beneath my boots, the air thick with the weight of forgotten prayers.
And then—
—I wasn’t alone.
“You always run,” Kael said, stepping from the shadows.
I spun, sigil-stone already in hand. “I don’t run. I *strategize.*”
“You ran from the kiss.”
“I didn’t run. I *left.*”
“Same thing.” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You felt it, didn’t you? The way our magic harmonized. The way your body answered to mine.”
“It was the bond,” I said, backing away. “Adrenaline. Magic resonance. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Liar.” He closed the distance in one stride, caging me against a crumbling pillar, his hands braced on either side of my head. “You felt it. The truth. The way your breath caught when I touched you. The way your hips pressed into mine. The way you *kissed me back.*”
My pulse jumped.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No.” His voice dropped to a growl. “You hate that you *want* me. That your mission means nothing compared to the way I make you feel.”
“You don’t make me feel anything.”
“Then why is your pulse racing?” He pressed two fingers to the side of my neck, his touch searing. “Why is your breath shallow? Why is your magic *dancing* beneath your skin?”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said, his voice a velvet threat. “But you’re not going to. Because you can’t. Not when every part of you *knows* the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “That you’re not just my bondmate.”
His breath was hot on my neck.
“You’re my *queen.*”
“Don’t,” I hissed, shoving him. But he didn’t move. Just tightened his grip, his body pressing into mine, his heat flooding my senses.
“Don’t you *dare* use that word.”
“Why not?” He nipped my earlobe, just enough to draw a gasp. “You are. The Unseelie Storm Throne is yours. Your mother didn’t just protect the Fae—she *led* them. And you?” His hand slid down, gripping my hip, pulling me against him. “You’re her heir. And I will *not* let anyone take that from you. Not Ravel. Not the Council. Not even *you.*”
My breath caught.
“You don’t know that,” I whispered.
“I do.” He reached into his coat, pulling out the silver locket—my mother’s locket. “She gave this to me. The night before they killed her. She said, *‘Protect her. No matter what.’*”
My hands trembled.
“She knew,” he said. “She knew you’d come back. She knew the bond would find you. And she knew—”
“That you’d save me,” I finished, voice breaking.
He nodded. “And I will. Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
Silence.
The wind howled. The ruins groaned. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the archway, his face grim. “We have a problem.”
Kael didn’t move. Didn’t look away from me. “What is it?”
“Lira.” Dain’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Kael. “She’s telling everyone. About the bond. About the ritual. About… *this.*”
Kael finally turned. “Let her.”
“It’s too late.” Dain stepped inside, lowering his voice. “The Council knows. They’re calling an emergency session. They’re saying the bond is a threat. That it needs to be severed.”
My blood ran cold.
“Let them try,” Kael said, voice deadly calm. “And when they fail, I’ll remind them who holds the thirteenth seat.”
Dain nodded, then left.
Kael turned back to me. “You’re not losing me, Parker.”
“I don’t *have* you,” I said, backing toward the door.
“You do.” He stepped forward. “And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
I turned and walked out, my heart pounding, my mark burning, my mind screaming one thing over and over—
He touched me. And I didn’t want him to stop.