The mark on my neck had sealed, but the fire beneath my skin hadn’t.
It pulsed with every breath, every heartbeat, every step I took through the Obsidian Spire’s winding corridors. Kael’s bite. His claim. A symbol of surrender I hadn’t given willingly—yet my body had accepted it like a long-lost truth. And worse, it *burned* with power. Not pain. Not shame. *Recognition.* As if my blood magic had been waiting for this moment, for *him,* to awaken something deep in my veins.
I’d spent the night in my room, pacing, training, channeling the restless energy into sigil work until my fingers bled. I’d tried to focus on the mission—on Ravel, on the forged evidence, on the blood contract I’d stolen from the archives. But my mind kept circling back to the ritual. To Kael’s hands on my bare skin. To the way my body had arched into his touch, betraying me with its hunger. To the way Dain had stood in the doorway, his wolf-gold eyes wide, his expression stunned—like he’d seen something sacred. Something forbidden.
And now, as dawn bled into the sky and the Spire stirred with the quiet hum of waking power, I could still feel it—the ghost of Kael’s breath on my neck, the weight of his body against mine, the raw, unspoken *need* that had passed between us before Dain interrupted.
I hadn’t wanted him to stop.
The thought slithered through me like a curse, cold and undeniable.
I tightened my grip on the sigil-stone at my belt and turned down the eastern corridor—the one that led to the private chambers of the vampire nobles. I wasn’t supposed to be here. The wing was restricted, guarded by Ravel’s men, their scents sharp with blood and arrogance. But I didn’t care. I needed answers. I needed to know how deep the rot went. And if Lira was as much a pawn as Maeve claimed, then she was the one who’d lead me to the truth.
The guards at the entrance didn’t stop me.
They *couldn’t.* Kael’s sigil on my coat was a key to every door in the Spire, and they knew better than to challenge the High Arbiter’s bondmate—especially one who’d just survived an assassin’s blade at the gala. They stepped aside, their eyes down, their fangs retracted in submission.
Good.
Let them fear me.
Lira’s chamber was at the end of the hall, its door carved from black oak, inlaid with silver sigils that pulsed faintly with dark magic. I didn’t knock. I turned the handle and walked in.
The room was a shrine to excess—velvet drapes, blood-red silk sheets, chandeliers dripping with rubies. The air was thick with the scent of roses and decay, of old blood and older secrets. Lira lay on the bed, propped up on silk pillows, her crimson gown pooling around her like spilled wine. She didn’t startle. Didn’t sit up. Just smiled, slow and venomous, as I stepped inside.
“Parker,” she purred. “Come to finish what you started?”
“I came for the truth,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Not another fight.”
“Truth?” She laughed, sharp and cruel. “You don’t want truth. You want *justification.* To believe that Kael didn’t use you. That he doesn’t *own* you. That you’re not just a means to an end.”
“He didn’t mark me to own me,” I snapped. “It was an accident.”
“Was it?” She sat up slowly, the gown slipping off one shoulder. “Or did he finally give in to what he’s been craving? The taste of your blood? The way your body arches into his touch? The way you *scream* when he—”
I didn’t let her finish.
My magic flared—crimson light spiraling around my hand—and a pulse of energy slammed into the wall beside her head, cracking the stone. She didn’t flinch. Just smiled, her red eyes gleaming.
“Careful,” she said. “You’re not the only one who can play this game.”
“Then play it,” I said, stepping closer. “Tell me why you’re really here. Why you wear his shirt. Why you claim he spent the night with you. Why you’re so desperate to make me doubt him.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“That he promised me his mark.” She reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a silver pendant—a twin to the locket Kael had shown me. But this one wasn’t empty.
She opened it.
Inside was a scar.
Not a portrait. Not a lock of hair.
A *scar.*
Fresh. Pink. Still healing.
And shaped like a sigil.
My breath stopped.
It was the same mark that burned beneath my collarbone. The same twin sigil that flared to life when Kael touched me. The same bond that had ignited in the Chamber of Veins.
But this one—
This one was *hers.*
“He gave it to me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with something I couldn’t name. “Years ago. Before you came back. Before the bond found you. He said I was his. That I’d be his queen. That he’d protect me.”
My blood turned to ice.
“You’re lying,” I said, voice low.
“Am I?” She stood, stepping off the bed, the pendant clutched in her hand. “You think you’re special? That your bond is fated? That he *chose* you?” She laughed, sharp and broken. “He didn’t choose you. The bond *forced* him. And before it did, he chose *me.*”
“He wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he?” She stepped closer, her scent—blood and roses—filling the air. “You think you know him? You think that *bond* gives you some kind of claim?” She lifted the pendant, pressing it to her chest, right over her heart. “I have his mark. I have his promise. And I have the truth—he *wanted* me. He *craved* me. He *burned* for me. And when he’s done with you—when your magic stops stabilizing his wretched hybrid body—he’ll come crawling back.”
My magic flared—uncontrolled, raw. The chandeliers above us trembled. The glass in the windows cracked. The wards hummed, reacting to the surge.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, voice shaking.
“Don’t I?” She circled me slowly, her red eyes gleaming. “You think you’re his queen? You’re a weapon. A tool. A temporary fix. He doesn’t *desire* you. He doesn’t *crave* you. He doesn’t *burn* for you like he did for me.”
“He doesn’t need you,” I hissed.
“No.” She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the hunger in her eyes. Not for blood. For *power.* For *hurt.* “But he *wanted* me. And he’ll want me again. Because you?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re just a means to an end.”
My breath came fast. My heart pounded. My magic surged, wild and uncontrolled, pressing against my skin like it wanted to tear free.
And then—
—the door burst open.
Kael stood in the archway, backlit by the torchlight of the corridor. Tall. Impossibly still. His coat was gone, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his jaw set in that cold, unreadable line. His eyes—gold-flecked, wolf-bright—locked onto mine.
And then they dropped to Lira.
“Get out,” he said, voice flat.
Lira didn’t flinch. Just smiled, slow and venomous. “Good morning, Kael. Did you sleep well?”
“I said *get out.*”
She turned to me, her red eyes gleaming. “You hear that, little witch? He’s not even denying it.” Then, to Kael: “I’ll be in my chambers. If you need… *comfort.*”
She brushed past him, the pendant still clutched in her hand, and disappeared into the corridor.
Silence.
The fire in the hearth flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The wards hummed, settling. But the tension—
—the tension was worse than before.
Kael stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He didn’t look at me. Just walked to the table, picked up a scroll, and unrolled it with sharp, angry movements.
“You let her wear your shirt,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer.
“You let her *lie* about you.”
Still nothing.
“Did you sleep with her?” The words tore out of me, raw, unbidden. “Did you *feed* from her? Did you—”
“No.”
One word. Cold. Final.
But it wasn’t enough.
“Then why?” I demanded, stepping forward. “Why let her do this? Why let her humiliate me? Why let her *use* you to hurt me?”
He finally looked at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “Because it doesn’t matter what she says.”
“It matters to *me.*”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You think I don’t know what she’s doing? You think I don’t see the game?” He reached out, not touching me, but his fingers hovering near my mark. “She wants you to doubt. To hate. To pull away. Because if you do—”
“You die.”
“And so do you.” He stepped even closer, until his breath brushed my skin. “But that’s not why I stopped her.”
“Then why?”
“Because you’re *mine.*” His voice dropped to a growl. “And I don’t share.”
Heat flooded my face. Not from anger. From something deeper. Something hotter.
“You don’t own me,” I whispered.
“No.” His hand lifted, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “But you want me to.”
My breath caught.
“You want me to claim you. To mark you. To *burn* for you the way I did for no one else.” His voice was rough, dangerous. “You feel it. The bond. The pull. The way your magic answers to mine. The way your body arches into my touch.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Liar.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “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, voice low. “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.*”
I shoved him—hard—using every ounce of strength I had. He didn’t fight it. Let me push him back, let me create space, let me gasp for air.
“Don’t,” I hissed. “Don’t you *dare* use that word.”
“Why not?” He straightened, his expression unreadable. “You are. The Unseelie Storm Throne is yours. Your mother didn’t just protect the Fae—she *led* them. And you?” He stepped forward again. “You’re her heir. And I will *not* let anyone take that from you. Not Ravel. Not Lira. Not even *you.*”
My breath stopped.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve known since the moment I saw you.” He reached into his coat, pulling out a small, silver locket. “Your mother 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 fire crackled. The wards hummed. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And then—
—the door burst open.
Dain stood in the archway, his face grim. “Kael. 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.