The Chamber of Veins was not a place of healing. It was a place of reckoning.
Carved from black basalt deep beneath the Obsidian Spire, its walls pulsed with embedded sigils that throbbed like slow, dark hearts. The air was thick with the scent of iron and old magic, damp stone and something deeper—something alive. Veins of molten silver ran through the floor and ceiling, branching like arteries, feeding the ancient wards that kept the bond from tearing us apart.
I stood just inside the archway, arms crossed, spine rigid. My dress—still the one I’d worn to the Council Hall—clung to me, too tight, too formal for this raw, primal space. Kael stood opposite me, silent, his coat shed, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He wore only a black undershirt, the fabric stretched across shoulders that looked carved from war and winter. His jaw was set. His eyes—gold-flecked, wolf-bright—watched me with a stillness that made my skin crawl.
“You said proximity would be enough,” I said, voice sharp. “Distance. Shared rooms. That’s what you promised.”
He didn’t flinch. “I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because it wouldn’t work.” He stepped forward, boots echoing in the cavernous silence. “The bond is too strong. Too deep. It’s not just magic—it’s blood. It’s memory. It’s *life.* And if we don’t stabilize it properly, it will consume you.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.” His voice dropped, low, dangerous. “You felt the pain when it activated. That was just the spark. Without full contact—skin to skin, magic to magic—the dissonance will build. Within days, you’ll be unable to walk. Within a week, your magic will turn on you. And then?” He took another step. “Then you’ll die screaming, and I’ll feel every second of it.”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From the way his voice curled around the words—*I’ll feel every second of it.* Like it mattered. Like *I* mattered.
But I couldn’t afford that thought. Couldn’t afford the flicker of warmth it sent through my chest. I was here for justice. For vengeance. Not for… whatever this was.
“There has to be another way,” I said, forcing steel into my tone.
“There isn’t.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a folded parchment—ancient, brittle, sealed with black wax. “The Ritual of Twin Sigils. It’s the only method recognized by the Council. And it requires full physical contact. For one hour. No barriers. No clothing between us.”
My stomach dropped.
“You’re joking.”
“I’ve never been more serious.” He held out the parchment. “Read it yourself.”
I snatched it from his hand, unrolling it with sharp, angry movements. The script was old—pre-Council, maybe—written in a flowing, blood-dark ink. I scanned the lines, my pulse quickening with each word.
“The bond of twin sigils demands unity of flesh, breath, and spirit. The bearers shall stand bare before one another, skin to skin, heart to heart. The magic shall flow, the marks shall glow, and the bond shall be sealed in truth.”
My throat tightened.
It was real. Not just some hybrid superstition. Not some power play. This was law. Ancient. Binding.
“And if we don’t do it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“The bond will destabilize,” he said. “It will burn through your magic like acid. It will twist your thoughts, your emotions. You’ll become erratic. Violent. And eventually—”
“I’ll die.”
He nodded. “And I’ll follow. The bond is reciprocal. Your death is mine.”
I looked up at him, searching his face for deception, for cruelty, for the monster I’d built in my mind over ten years. But all I saw was something else—something cold, yes, but also… weary. Burdened.
“Why should I believe you?” I whispered.
“Because I have no reason to lie.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “If I wanted you dead, I could’ve had you executed the moment you stepped into the Council Hall. If I wanted to humiliate you, I could’ve stripped you bare in front of the entire Council. But I didn’t.”
“You put me under your protection,” I said. “You gave me access to the archives.”
“Because I need you alive,” he said. “And because your mission—your mother’s truth—matters to me too.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to survive.” He reached for the hem of his undershirt. “Now take off your dress.”
My breath stopped.
“Excuse me?”
“The ritual requires full skin contact,” he said, voice flat. “Every inch. No exceptions.”
“You first.”
He didn’t argue. With one smooth motion, he pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
And I forgot how to breathe.
His chest was a map of scars—old, silvery lines crisscrossing hard muscle, some deep, some thin, all telling stories of battles I didn’t know. A jagged mark ran from his collarbone down to his ribs—fang marks, maybe. Or a blade. His skin was pale, but not sickly—more like moonlight on stone. And there, just above his heart, was the sigil.
Dark. Twisted. Glowing faintly with that same gold light I’d seen on my own skin.
My mark burned in response.
“Your turn,” he said, voice rough.
I didn’t move.
My hands trembled at my sides. This wasn’t just about survival. This was exposure. Vulnerability. Power stripped away, layer by layer. And he—this man who had watched my mother die, who had ruled in silence while her name was dragged through filth—was asking me to stand naked before him.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “But you’re still going to do it.”
My fingers found the clasp at the back of my dress. Slow. Deliberate. I unhooked it, then slid the straps down my shoulders. The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me in only my underclothes—black lace, practical, designed for movement, not seduction.
But it didn’t matter. Not when his eyes darkened, when his breath hitched, when the air between us crackled like a storm about to break.
“More,” he said.
I swallowed. Then, with shaking hands, I unhooked my bra and let it fall. Slid my panties down. Stepped out of them.
Bare.
Exposed.
And the bond—
It *roared.*
Heat surged through my veins, a wildfire igniting under my skin. My mark flared, bright and hot, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. And his—his sigil glowed in answer, golden light spreading across his chest like liquid fire.
“Step forward,” he said, voice thick.
I didn’t want to. But my body moved anyway, drawn by something deeper than will, deeper than hate.
We stood inches apart now. Naked. Breathing the same air. His scent—smoke, frost, storm—filled my lungs. My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve alight. I could feel the heat of him, the power in his stillness, the way his gaze traced the curve of my collarbone, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips.
“Turn around,” he said.
“What?”
“The ritual requires contact along the spine. You need to face away from me.”
I hesitated. Turning my back to him felt like surrender. Like trust.
But I did it.
The cool air kissed my bare back, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hand when it finally touched me.
He pressed his palm flat between my shoulder blades, and the world *exploded.*
Fire. Light. Memory.
I saw flashes—my mother’s face, her hands covered in blood, whispering, *“Protect her.”* A younger Kael, barely more than a boy, standing in the shadows of the Council Hall, watching as flames consumed her. A sigil burning into skin. A vow made in silence.
And then—
Feeling.
His hand on my back. The rough calluses of his fingers. The heat of his palm searing into my spine. The way my body arched into his touch, betraying me, craving more.
“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice rough in my ear.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped.
“This is just the beginning,” he said. “The bond is syncing. Our magic—it’s merging.”
I could feel it. My blood magic, usually a sharp, controlled thing, was wild now, surging, responding to his presence like a starving thing. And his—his power, dark and deep, like the earth beneath the Spire, flowed into me, through me, harmonizing with my own.
The chamber pulsed. The silver veins in the walls flared, lighting the space in flickering, ethereal glow. The sigils on our skin burned brighter, the gold light spreading, connecting us like twin stars in a dark sky.
“Stay still,” he said, his other hand sliding to my hip, pulling me back against him.
I gasped.
His body was hard against mine—muscle and heat and power. His chest pressed to my back, his breath warm on my neck. One hand on my spine, the other on my hip, holding me in place, grounding me.
And the bond—
It wasn’t just stabilizing.
It was *awakening.*
Desire, hot and sudden, coiled low in my belly. My skin burned where he touched me. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. And worst of all—my magic, my control, my *resolve*—was crumbling.
“This isn’t supposed to happen,” I whispered, voice trembling.
“It’s part of the ritual,” he said, his voice strained. “The bond doesn’t just link us. It *binds* us. Emotion. Magic. Desire.”
“I don’t desire you.”
“Liar,” he growled, his hand tightening on my hip. “Your body knows the truth. Your magic answers to mine. And your heart—”
“Is mine,” I snapped, trying to pull away. But he held me fast.
“No,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “It’s ours.”
The chamber trembled. The silver veins flared white-hot. Our marks burned, pulsing in unison, and for one terrifying, exquisite moment, I felt it—
Not just the bond.
But *him.*
His loneliness. His rage. His need. His fear of losing control, of turning feral, of dying alone.
And beneath it all—
A longing so deep it ached.
For me.
“Kael—” I started, but the word broke in my throat.
Then—
The door opened.
We both froze.
Dain stood in the archway, his wolf-gold eyes wide, his expression stunned. He took in the scene—the glowing sigils, our naked bodies pressed together, my back to Kael’s chest, his hands on me—and for a long, unbearable second, no one moved.
Then he stepped back.
“I—” he started. “I didn’t know—”
“Get out,” Kael snarled, his voice a feral thing.
Dain didn’t argue. He shut the door behind him.
Silence.
And then—
Kael’s arms tightened around me. His breath was hot on my neck. His voice, when he spoke, was low, raw.
“Don’t pull away.”
“I have to,” I whispered.
“No. Not yet. The ritual isn’t complete. If we break contact now, it’ll be worse than before.”
I closed my eyes. Fought the tears. Fought the heat. Fought the terrifying, undeniable truth that was rising inside me—
That I didn’t want to pull away.
That for the first time in ten years—
I didn’t feel alone.
And that scared me more than anything.
We stood like that for what felt like hours, though the silver veins told me only minutes had passed. The bond hummed between us, steady now, no longer a storm but a deep, resonant current. My magic settled. My breath slowed. And his hands—still on my spine, on my hip—felt less like a claim and more like… shelter.
When the ritual finally ended—the sigils dimming, the chamber quieting—he was the one who let go.
He stepped back, giving me space. I turned to face him, my skin still humming, my body still aching with something I couldn’t name.
He picked up his shirt, pulled it over his head without a word. Then he handed me my dress.
“It’s done,” he said. “The bond is stable. For now.”
I dressed in silence, my fingers fumbling with the clasp. When I was covered again, I looked at him.
“This changes nothing,” I said.
He met my gaze, his expression unreadable.
“It changes everything,” he said.
And I knew he was right.
Because as I walked out of the Chamber of Veins, the mark on my collarbone still warm, one thought echoed in my mind—
He touched me. And I didn’t want him to stop.