The scent of blood was thick in the air—his blood, my blood, old magic and older pain—but it didn’t repulse me. It anchored me.
Kael stood before me in the aftermath of the Blood Court, his chest still bare where my palm had pressed, his wounds sealed but not forgotten. The gashes from Vossen’s claws had closed under the surge of my magic, the deep bite on his shoulder knitted shut, but the marks remained—raised, angry lines across hard muscle, like scars already writing themselves into history. His breathing was steady now, no longer ragged from the fight, but I could still feel the echo of it in the bond. The strain. The sacrifice. The way he’d taken every blow for me without hesitation.
And I had healed him.
Not just with blood magic. Not just with power. But with *choice.*
He hadn’t asked. I hadn’t been ordered. I’d simply stepped into the ring, sliced my palm, and given him what he needed—my strength, my life, my trust. And in that moment, as my blood mingled with his, as the bond flared white-hot and the sigils on our skin pulsed in unison, I hadn’t felt like a weapon. I hadn’t felt like vengeance incarnate.
I’d felt like a woman.
And that terrified me more than any trial.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, voice rough, his fingers brushing the edge of my still-bleeding palm. “I would’ve healed on my own.”
“Liar,” I said, pulling my hand back, though I didn’t step away. “You were losing too much blood. The wolf was fighting to surface. The vampire was draining. You were *faltering.*”
He didn’t deny it. Just watched me, his gold-flecked eyes sharp, searching. “You could’ve died.”
“So could you.” I turned, walking toward the edge of the Blood Court arena. The torches had dimmed, the Council had fled, and only Dain remained, standing like a sentinel in the archway, his expression unreadable. “And I’m not letting you die. Not after everything. Not after Maeve. Not after my mother.”
“It’s not just about them,” he said, following me. “It’s about *us.*”
I stopped. Turned. “There is no *us.* There’s a bond. A mission. A war. That’s all.”
“Liar.” He stepped closer, caging me against the stone wall, his body pressing into mine, his heat flooding my senses. “You felt it. When your blood flowed into me. When your magic answered to mine. When your breath caught and your pulse jumped and your body *arched* into mine.”
My breath *did* catch.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “But you’re not going to. Because you can’t. Not when every part of you *knows* the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” I whispered, though I already knew.
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 ruins, 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 said. “She’s gone. And Ravel—he’s moving. He’s calling the packs. He’s saying the bond is a threat. That it needs to be severed—by force.”
My blood ran cold.
“Let him 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 healing chambers—a quiet wing of the Spire, hidden beneath the northern towers, where the air was thick with the scent of herbs and old magic. The walls were lined with shelves of vials, salves, and dried roots. The floor was stone, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. And in the center—
—a low bed, draped in white linen, waiting.
I didn’t light the torches. Didn’t need to. My magic flared in my palms, crimson light spiraling like a living thing, guiding me forward. I sat on the edge of the bed, my boots cold against the stone, my hands trembling. The cut on my palm had sealed, but the ache remained—the echo of blood given, of life shared, of power surrendered.
And then—
—he was there.
Kael stepped into the chamber like a shadow, his coat gone, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his jaw set in that cold, unreadable line. His eyes—gold-flecked, wolf-bright—locked onto mine.
“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” he said.
“I’m not alone.”
“You were.”
“And now I’m not.” I didn’t move. Just sat there, watching him. “You followed me.”
“Of course I did.” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You gave me your blood. Your magic. Your *life.* Did you think I’d let you walk away without seeing you healed?”
“I don’t need healing.”
“Liar.” He reached for my hand, his fingers brushing the still-tender cut. “You’re pale. Your pulse is weak. Your magic is drained. You gave too much.”
“I gave what I had to.”
“And I won’t let you do it again.” He pulled a vial from his coat—dark glass, sealed with black wax. “Maeve’s last gift. A restorative. Not a cure. Not a replacement. But it’ll help.”
I looked at him. “You kept it.”
“I kept everything she gave me.” He uncorked the vial, pressing the rim to my lips. “Drink.”
I hesitated.
“Parker.” His voice dropped, rough. “You’re fading.”
I drank.
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,” he said, corking the vial. “Not long. Next time, it might be your life.”
“Then I’ll pay it,” I said, closing my eyes.
He didn’t argue. Just sat beside me, his shoulder pressing into mine, his heat flooding my senses. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
“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 said. “She’s gone. And Ravel—he’s moving. He’s calling the packs. He’s saying the bond is a threat. That it needs to be severed—by force.”
My blood ran cold.
“Let him 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.