The healing chambers were silent after Dain left, the torchlight flickering like dying stars against the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of crushed moonpetal, old magic, and blood—mine, his, ours. My shoulder throbbed beneath the fresh stitches, my side burned with every breath, and the bond pulsed beneath my collarbone like a second heartbeat, raw and alive, humming with something deeper than magic.
Something real.
Kael still held me, his hand cupping my face, his gold-flecked eyes locked onto mine. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Just stared at me like I was a revelation, like I was the only truth in a world of lies. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, slow, deliberate, reverent. And I didn’t pull away.
I couldn’t.
Because for the first time in ten years, I wasn’t fighting.
Wasn’t running.
Wasn’t pretending.
I was just… here. With him. In this moment. In this breath. In this fragile, trembling peace that had somehow survived the storm.
“You’re trembling,” he said, voice low, rough.
“So are you.”
He didn’t deny it. Just exhaled, his breath warm against my skin, his forehead resting against mine. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I almost did.” His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer, until there was no space between us—only heat, only breath, only the pulse of the bond. “When the wards flared. When you stepped in front of that blade. When you bled for me—”
“I’d do it again.”
“I know.” He pressed his lips to my temple, his fangs grazing my skin, not to claim, not to mark—but to *promise.* “And that’s what terrifies me.”
I didn’t answer.
Just leaned into him, my body softening, my breath steadying, my hands sliding up his chest to frame his face. His skin was warm, scarred, *real.* Not a monster. Not a ruler. Not the High Arbiter.
Just Kael.
The man who had stood in the shadows as they burned my mother.
The hybrid who had risen to power while I vanished into the human world.
The one who had whispered, *“I’m sorry,”* when no one else had.
And now—
Now he was holding me like I belonged here.
Like I belonged to *him.*
And for the first time, I didn’t hate that thought.
“You came here to destroy me,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “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 doorway, 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.
That night, I didn’t go to my chambers.
Nor did he.
We walked in silence through the Spire, side by side, our boots echoing against the stone, our hands brushing with every step. No words. No pretense. Just presence. The bond hummed between us, not with urgency, not with heat, but with quiet strength, like a hearth fire after a storm.
And then—
—we reached his rooms.
Not the grand chambers where Lira had worn his shirt, where the scent of her manipulation still clung to the air.
But the private suite—the one few knew existed. Hidden behind a ward-etched door, tucked into the northern tower, overlooking the moors. A place of stone and shadow, of firelight and silence. A place that felt… safe.
Kael didn’t speak as he opened the door. Just stepped aside, letting me enter first.
The room was warm, lit by a low fire in the hearth, the scent of sandalwood and storm in the air. A wide bed stood in the center, draped in black silk, the covers turned down. A single dagger rested on the nightstand. His coat hung over a chair. Boots by the door. A book left open on the table—ancient, leather-bound, the pages filled with his precise, angular script.
It wasn’t a throne room.
It was a home.
And I realized—
I had never seen him here.
Never seen *this* version of him.
Not the ruler. Not the warrior. Not the hybrid.
Just a man.
And he was letting me in.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said, voice low, rough. “You can go to your chambers. Rest. Heal.”
“I’m not leaving.”
He didn’t argue. Just closed the door, the wards clicking into place behind him. Then he turned, his gold-flecked eyes searching mine. “You’re hurt.”
“So are you.”
“I’ll live.”
“Liar.” I stepped closer, my fingers lifting to the buttons of his tunic. “Let me see.”
He didn’t stop me.
Just stood there, still as stone, as I unfastened the fabric, as I slid it from his shoulders, as I revealed the network of scars, the fresh burns, the silver-seared gash along his ribs.
My breath caught.
Not from horror.
From *recognition.*
These weren’t just wounds.
They were a history.
A life.
A man who had fought alone for too long.
And now—
Now he was letting me see it.
My fingers brushed the worst of the damage, light, careful. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. Just exhaled, low and slow, his eyes closing.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Not as much as watching you bleed.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my palm flat against the injury, letting my magic flow—crimson light spiraling, healing, *binding.* The bond flared in response, gold and crimson weaving together like threads of fate. His breath caught. His hand covered mine, holding it in place.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You’re already drained.”
“And you’re still poisoned.” I didn’t pull away. “So shut up and let me heal you.”
He didn’t argue.
Just closed his eyes, his head tilting back, his throat exposed. I could see his pulse there, rapid, uneven. And then—
—his free hand lifted, brushing the edge of my jaw. “Why do you keep saving me?”
“Because I hate you too much to let you die.”
“Liar.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “You save me because you *need* me. Because without me, the bond fractures. Because without me—”
“I fall apart,” I whispered, finishing the sentence. “Yes. Maybe. But that’s not the only reason.”
“Then what is?”
I didn’t answer with words.
Just leaned in and kissed him.
Not soft. Not gentle. Not a thank you.
A *claim.*
My lips crashed into his, hard and hungry, my fangs grazing his lower lip just enough to draw blood. His magic flared—crimson light spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The bond *roared,* heat flooding my veins, light exploding behind my eyes.
And then—
—he lifted me.
Not roughly. Not possessively.
But *carefully.*
His arms slid beneath my knees, his other hand cradling my back, and he carried me to the bed, laying me down with a tenderness that made my chest ache. He didn’t climb on top of me. Didn’t cage me. Just knelt beside me, his hand brushing the mark beneath my collarbone, his eyes searching mine.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, voice raw.
“You won’t.”
“I don’t want to rush this.”
“Then don’t.” I reached for him, my fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. “Just… stay.”
He didn’t move. Just watched me, his breath unsteady, his fangs retracted, his claws sheathed.
And then—
—he kissed me.
Slowly. Gently. Reverently.
Like I was something precious. Something sacred. Something *his.*
And I let him.
Let his lips trace mine. Let his hands slide up my sides, beneath my tunic, over the curve of my ribs. Let his breath warm my skin, his scent fill my lungs, his magic harmonize with mine.
And then—
—I pulled him down.
Not roughly. Not desperately.
But *finally.*
His body met mine, solid, warm, *real.* His chest pressed to mine, his hips settling between my thighs, his breath catching as I arched into him.
“Parker,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
“I’m here.” I framed his face, my thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
He didn’t speak.
Just kissed me again—deeper, hungrier, more certain.
And I kissed him back.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of duty.
Not because of war.
But because I *wanted* to.
Because I *needed* to.
Because for the first time in ten years—
I wasn’t fighting.
I was *choosing.*
His hands moved slowly, reverently, undressing me with a care that made my breath hitch. The tunic. The trousers. The dagger at my belt. Each piece removed like a vow, like a promise, like a surrender.
And when I was bare, he didn’t stare.
He didn’t devour.
He just… *looked.*
His gold-flecked eyes traced every line, every scar, every curve, like he was memorizing me. And then—
—he lowered his head.
Not to my mouth.
But to my collarbone.
To the mark.
And he kissed it.
Soft. Slow. Reverent.
And the bond—
It *ignited.*
Not with fire.
Not with magic.
With *truth.*
And I knew—
This wasn’t just surrender.
It wasn’t just desire.
It wasn’t just fate.
This was *love.*
And I wasn’t afraid of it anymore.
“I’m yours,” I breathed, my hands tangling in his hair.
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me again—deep, slow, endless.
And the world fell away.
The war.
The lies.
The vengeance.
It all faded, until there was only this.
Only us.
Only the bond.
Only the truth.
And as his body covered mine, as his hands claimed me, as his mouth whispered my name like a prayer—
I didn’t fight.
I didn’t run.
I just…
Let go.
The fire snapped shut, plunging the room into near darkness. Only the faint glow of the wards and the bond lit the space, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.
And then—
—he whispered.
So soft I almost missed it.
“I love you,” he said.
And for the first time in ten years—
I believed that, too.