The moment my palm left his chest, the world tilted.
Not the Spire. Not the stone beneath my knees. But *me.* My blood—my magic—had poured into him like a river breaking its banks, and now the well was dry. Hollow. Cold. I swayed, vision blurring at the edges, the torchlight stretching into long, wavering streaks across the corridor. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one scraping my throat like glass.
I had known blood magic came with a cost.
Maeve had warned me a hundred times. “Magic drawn from pain is power, but power demands payment. Blood for blood. Life for life.” I’d nodded, dismissed it as old-witch superstition. I’d bled before—slit my palm to fuel a sigil, drawn blood from my wrist to summon a binding. It hurt. It weakened me. But I always recovered.
This was different.
This wasn’t just a spell. This was a *transfer.* A merging. I hadn’t just given Kael my magic—I’d given him a piece of my *life.* And now, sitting on the cold stone floor with his blood on my hands and his scent—smoke, frost, storm—filling my lungs, I felt it.
The emptiness.
Like something vital had been carved out of me, and only a raw, aching void remained.
“Parker.”
His voice was rough, still edged with the remnants of the wolf, but clear. Present. *Alive.* He reached for me, his hand trembling as it brushed my arm. “Look at me.”
I didn’t want to. I didn’t want him to see me like this—weak, trembling, barely able to hold myself upright. I’d just saved his life. I’d just proven I was more than vengeance, more than rage, more than the girl who watched her mother burn. And now I was falling apart.
But I looked.
His gold-flecked eyes—wolf-bright, vampire-sharp—held mine, searching. Not with hunger. Not with possession. With something worse.
With *fear.*
“You’re fading,” he said, voice low.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He moved too fast for someone who’d just been seconds from turning feral. One moment he was on his knees. The next, he was lifting me, his arms sliding beneath me, his body pressing me against his chest. I tried to push him away, but my hands were weak, my magic a distant echo.
“Put me down,” I snapped, voice slurring. “I can walk.”
“No, you can’t.” He started down the corridor, his boots echoing against the stone. “And you won’t.”
I didn’t argue. Couldn’t. My head lolled against his shoulder, the world spinning in slow, nauseating circles. The torches flickered. The wards hummed. The scent of blood—mine, his, old and new—clung to the air like a shroud.
“Dain,” Kael said without turning. “Secure the corridor. No one enters.”
“Yes, sir.” Dain’s voice was tight, controlled. “The Council’s demanding an explanation. Ravel’s already calling for an emergency session.”
“Let him wait.” Kael didn’t slow. “And tell Maeve to meet us in my chambers. Now.”
“Understood.”
I wanted to protest. To tell him I didn’t need Maeve. That I didn’t need *him.* That I could handle this. But the words wouldn’t form. My body was lead. My mind, fog.
And then—
—we were in his chambers.
The heavy oak doors swung shut behind us, sealing us in. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The balcony overlooked the northern cliffs, the wind howling through the stones. And on the bed—
—*her.*
Lira.
She sat on the edge of the black silk sheets, one leg bent, the other stretched out, her bare foot dangling off the edge. She wore nothing but a man’s shirt—*Kael’s* shirt. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows, the buttons undone just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her breasts, the pale column of her throat. Her hair fanned out like spilled ink, and her red eyes gleamed as she turned her head toward us.
“Parker,” she purred. “How… *dramatic* of you.”
My blood, what little was left, turned to ice.
Kael didn’t pause. Didn’t flinch. Just carried me past her, toward the bed. “Get out,” he said, voice flat.
Lira didn’t move. Just smiled, slow and venomous. “You said I could wait.”
“I changed my mind.”
She stood slowly, the shirt slipping off one shoulder. “And here I thought you wanted me.”
“I don’t.” He laid me on the bed, his movements careful, almost gentle, before turning to face her. “And if you’re not out of this room in ten seconds, I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons.”
She laughed, sharp and cruel, but stepped back, the shirt barely covering her thighs. “Fine. But don’t pretend this is about *her.* You’re just using her to stabilize your wretched hybrid body. And when you’re done—”
“Get. Out.”
She didn’t argue. Just turned and stalked away, the door clicking shut behind her.
Silence.
The fire crackled. The wards hummed. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
“You let her wear your shirt,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“To test you,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand hovered over mine, not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him. “To see how far you’d go. How much you’d fight. How much you’d *care.*”
“You’re a bastard.”
“Yes.” He reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “But I’m *your* bastard.”
My breath caught.
And then—
—Maeve was there.
She stepped through the door like a ghost, her hood pulled low, her staff tapping against the stone. Her storm-gray eyes—so like mine—flicked to Kael, then to me, then to the blood still drying on my palm.
“You used blood magic,” she said, voice quiet.
“To stabilize him,” I said, forcing the words out. “He was—”
“I know what he was,” Maeve snapped. “And I know what *you* are now.” She turned to Kael. “You let her do this?”
“She didn’t *let* me do anything,” I said, voice rising. “I chose it.”
“You chose it because you’re reckless,” Maeve said, kneeling beside the bed. Her fingers brushed my wrist, checking my pulse. “Because you think love is weakness. Because you’d rather die than admit you need someone.”
“I didn’t do it for *love,*” I hissed. “I did it because I *hate* him. Because I couldn’t let him turn into a monster.”
Maeve didn’t flinch. Just pulled a vial from her sleeve—dark glass, sealed with black wax. “This will help. Not heal. Not restore. But help.”
She uncorked it, pressing the rim to my lips. The liquid inside was thick, black, smelling of iron and old earth. I tried to turn my head, but Kael’s hand was there, gentle but unyielding, holding me in place.
“Drink it,” he said.
“No.”
“Parker.” His voice dropped, rough. “You’re dying.”
My breath stopped.
“Not slowly,” Maeve said. “Not dramatically. But yes. You’re dying. Blood magic drawn from life force doesn’t just weaken. It *consumes.* And you gave him too much.”
I looked at her. “Then let me.”
“No.” Kael’s voice was a growl. “You don’t get to die. Not like this. Not for me.”
“I don’t *want* to die for you,” I whispered. “I want to die *after* I burn the Council to the ground.”
Maeve’s eyes softened. “Then drink.”
I did.
The liquid burned going down, like swallowing fire. It spread through my veins, not healing, not restoring, but *anchoring.* Like roots digging into dry soil. My vision cleared. My breath steadied. The emptiness in my chest didn’t vanish—but it no longer felt like it would swallow me whole.
“It won’t last,” Maeve said, corking the vial. “Not long. Next time, it might be your life.”
“Then I’ll pay it,” I said, closing my eyes.
Silence.
When I opened them again, Kael was still there. Watching me. His hand hadn’t moved from mine. His thumb traced the edge of my palm, over the still-bleeding cut.
“Why?” he asked, voice low. “Why save me? After everything?”
“Because I hate you too much to let you die,” I said, repeating the words like a shield.
“Liar.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You saved me because you *need* me. Because without me, the bond fractures. Because without me, *you* fall apart.”
“I don’t need you.”
“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 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 didn’t answer with words.
He answered with touch.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and he pulled me toward him—slow, deliberate, giving me time to pull away.
But I didn’t.
Our lips met—just a brush at first. A test. A spark.
And then—
—the bond *roared.*
Heat. Light. Memory.
Flashes—my mother’s face, whispering, *“Protect her.”* The Chamber of Veins, her body arching into mine. The archives, her magic dancing beneath her skin as she held the truth in her hands.
And then—
Feeling.
His lips, soft and warm, parting beneath mine. His hands, no longer pushing, but *pulling,* gripping my coat, dragging me closer. His breath, hot and shallow, mingling with mine. The way his body pressed into mine, desperate, hungry, *needing.*
I deepened the kiss, my fangs grazing his lower lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. His magic flared—crimson light spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us.
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the archway, his face grim. “We have a problem.”
Kael broke the kiss, but didn’t let me go. His forehead rested against mine, his breath hot on my skin, his blood on my lips.
“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 didn’t move. “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, my voice trembling.
“You do.” He stepped closer. “And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
Just 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.
But this time—
This time, I didn’t run far.
I went to the balcony. The wind howled through the stones, carrying the scent of the moors, of rain, of old magic. I leaned against the railing, my palms flat on the cold stone, my breath coming in slow, steady waves.
Behind me, the door opened.
He didn’t speak. Just stepped beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the power in his stillness, the way his scent filled my lungs.
“You should rest,” he said.
“I’m not tired.”
“Liar.”
I didn’t answer.
“Maeve’s right,” he said. “Next time, it might be your life.”
“Then I’ll pay it.”
“No.” He turned to face me, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “You don’t get to die for me. Not like this. Not ever.”
“I don’t *want* to die for you,” I whispered. “I want to live *after* I burn the Council to the ground.”
“Then do it.” His voice dropped, rough. “Burn it. But do it *with* me. Not against me. Not alone.”
My breath caught.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said. “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 didn’t shove him.
Didn’t slap him.
Didn’t run.
Just closed my eyes.
And for the first time in ten years—
I let myself believe it.
The wind howled. The Spire groaned. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And I knew—
The war wasn’t over.
But I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
And that was enough.