The walk back to my quarters felt like a gauntlet.
Every corridor of the Obsidian Spire seemed to narrow as I passed, the black stone pressing in, the ancient wards humming beneath my feet like a warning. My skin still buzzed from the ritual, the echo of Kael’s touch lingering like a brand between my shoulder blades. I could still feel the heat of his palm, the pressure of his fingers on my hip, the way my body had arched into him—betraying me, betraying everything I’d sworn to protect.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. Pain. I needed pain. It was the only thing that ever grounded me, the only thing that reminded me who I was.
Parker Voss. Daughter of Elara. Avenger.
Not some trembling witch who melted at the touch of the man who’d let her mother die.
But the truth was, he hadn’t let her die.
He’d been seventeen.
The words echoed in my mind, uninvited. I’d seen the flicker in his eyes when he said it—real pain, real helplessness. Not the cold indifference I’d imagined for ten years. And then there was the file he’d given me: *Ravel framed her.*
Lord Ravel.
The name sent a spike of ice through my veins. I’d heard it whispered in the human world, in the hidden corners where supernaturals traded secrets like currency. A Pureblood vampire. Ruthless. Power-hungry. And now—my mother’s true killer.
Kael had given me that truth. Not because he cared. Not because he felt guilt. But because the bond demanded I survive. Because if I died, he would too.
Self-preservation.
That’s what he’d called it.
And maybe it was. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d handed me a weapon.
I reached my room—small, austere, with a narrow bed and a single window that looked out over the mist-laced moors. No luxuries. No indulgences. Just stone, steel, and silence. Exactly how I wanted it.
I locked the door behind me, then pressed my back against it, breathing hard. My mark pulsed faintly beneath my collarbone, a constant reminder of what had happened in the Chamber of Veins. What *was* happening.
I stripped off my dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor, and stepped into the adjoining washroom. The mirror above the basin showed a woman I barely recognized—hair tangled, eyes shadowed, lips still slightly parted from the shock of sensation. I turned away, splashing cold water on my face, scrubbing at my skin like I could wash away the memory of his hands on me.
It didn’t work.
I dried my face, then pulled on a simple black tunic and trousers—practical, dark, easy to move in. My weapons were hidden in the folds: a silver dagger at my thigh, a vial of blood-charm poison in my sleeve, a sigil-stone in my pocket that could summon a burst of flame if needed.
I was ready.
For what, I wasn’t sure.
But I knew one thing: Kael had given me access to the archives. And I intended to use it.
The Council Archives were housed in the eastern wing of the Spire, deep beneath the surface, guarded by wards and werewolf sentries. Few were allowed inside. Fewer still were trusted with unrestricted access.
And yet, here I was—Parker Voss, infiltrator, avenger—walking through the iron gates with a key stamped with Kael’s personal sigil.
The archivist, a stooped old vampire with milky eyes and fingers like claws, looked up as I entered. “You’re the new advisor,” he rasped.
“Elise Renner,” I corrected, keeping my voice cool. “Neutral envoy. Temporary assignment.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded and gestured to the rows of towering shelves, crammed with scrolls, grimoires, and sealed dossiers. “Non-classified records only. No access to execution logs, blood contracts, or sealed testimonies.”
“Understood,” I said, though we both knew Kael’s sigil overruled his rules.
I moved slowly, scanning the labels, my pulse steady. I wasn’t looking for anything obvious. No “Elara Voss” file sitting on a shelf. Ravel would’ve hidden the truth too well for that. But he couldn’t erase everything. Not if he wanted the lie to hold.
I needed discrepancies. Gaps. Inconsistencies.
I started with the public records—the Council minutes from the year of my mother’s trial. The air was thick with dust and old magic, the silence broken only by the rustle of parchment and the occasional creak of stone. I pulled down a heavy ledger, flipping through the entries.
Year 1142. Session 47. Motion to investigate Fae incursion in the Northern Territories. Voted down. Motion to censure Elara Voss for unauthorized ritual activity. Passed unanimously.
My jaw tightened.
“Unauthorized ritual activity.” That was the official charge. Not treason. Not conspiracy. Just… disobedience.
But I knew the truth. The real charge—the one that had sent her to the pyre—was whispered in the next entry.
Session 48. Emergency tribunal. Elara Voss accused of conspiring with the Unseelie Court to overthrow the Council. Evidence presented: intercepted correspondence, testimony from Lord Ravel. Sentence: execution by fire. Carried out at dawn.
I flipped to the next page, searching for the evidence.
Nothing.
No correspondence. No transcripts. No proof.
Just a single line: “Evidence sealed under Order 9.”
Of course.
Ravel had buried it. But he couldn’t bury the fact that it existed.
I kept searching, moving to the personnel files. My mother’s dossier was thin—basic biographical data, coven affiliation, magical classification. Bloodline: Shadow and Storm. Status: Deceased. Cause of death: Execution.
And then, at the bottom:
Daughter: Parker Voss. Age: 9. Status: Missing. Presumed dead.
My breath caught.
They thought I was dead.
But someone had known I wasn’t. Someone had made sure I vanished. Someone had protected me.
And that someone—
“Looking for something?”
I froze.
The voice was smooth, feminine, laced with amusement. I turned slowly.
She stood in the archway, silhouetted by the dim light. Tall. Slender. Dressed in a silk gown the color of dried blood, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was black as midnight, cascading in waves over one shoulder, and her eyes—
Her eyes were red. Not the dull crimson of aging vampires. Not the flickering ember of the newly turned.
These were *hungry* eyes.
“Lira,” I said, recognizing her from the Council Hall. One of the Blood Houses. A noble. And, according to the whispers, Kael’s former lover.
She smiled, revealing the tips of her fangs. “You know my name. How flattering.”
“I know a lot of things,” I said, closing the file and sliding it back into place. “Most of them dangerous.”
She stepped forward, heels clicking against the stone. “So do I. For instance—I know you’re not Elise Renner. I know you’re Parker Voss. And I know you’ve been assigned as Kael’s *advisor.*” She drew out the word like it was obscene. “How… cozy.”
“It’s temporary,” I said, keeping my voice level. “And none of your business.”
“Oh, but it is.” She circled me slowly, like a predator testing its prey. “You see, Kael and I… we have history. We’ve shared blood. Shared beds. Shared *secrets.*”
My stomach twisted.
“And now you’re here,” she continued, “pretending to be someone you’re not, crawling into his confidence, into his *life*—”
“I’m not pretending,” I snapped. “And I don’t care about your history.”
“Don’t you?” She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint metallic tang of blood on her breath. “Because I do. And I know what he likes. What he *needs.*”
Her hand lifted, trailing a single finger down her own neck, stopping just above her pulse. “He likes it when I let him feed. When I arch into his bite. When I *scream.*”
My magic flared.
Not on purpose. Not even consciously. But the image—Kael’s mouth on her neck, his fangs sinking in, her body trembling beneath him—sent a surge of raw, jealous fury through my veins.
The glass vial on the nearby shelf shattered.
Lira smiled. “Ah. So you *do* care.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “The bond—”
“The *bond*?” She laughed, sharp and cruel. “You think that’s real? You think he *wants* you? He’s using you, little witch. The bond is a weakness. A flaw. And he’s clinging to you because you *stabilize* him. Not because he desires you. Not because he loves you.”
“He doesn’t have to love me,” I said, my voice low. “He just has to tell me the truth.”
“And has he?” She stepped closer. “Has he told you about the night he came to my chambers? The way he whispered my name as he drank from me? The way he *begged* for more?”
“Shut up.”
“Or what? You’ll attack me? In the archives? With witnesses?” Her smile turned venomous. “Go ahead. Try. And see how fast Kael throws you into the dungeons when he finds out you assaulted a noble.”
I clenched my jaw, my fingers twitching at my sides. She was right. I couldn’t touch her. Not here. Not now.
But I could remember.
And I would.
“You’re nothing to him,” she whispered. “A tool. A vessel. A temporary fix. And when he’s done with you—when the bond no longer serves him—he’ll discard you. Just like he did with me.”
“Then why are you still here?” I asked, cold. “If he discarded you, why do you linger? Why do you *care*?”
Her smile faltered. Just for a second. But I saw it.
She cared.
And that made her dangerous.
“I care,” she said slowly, “because I know what he’s capable of. And I won’t let some half-starved witch with a grudge take what’s *mine.*”
“He was never yours,” I said. “And he’ll never be yours again.”
She lunged.
Not physically. But magically. A pulse of dark energy slammed into me, throwing me back against the shelves. Books tumbled, scrolls unspooled, dust filled the air.
I hit the ground hard, rolling to my feet just as she raised her hand again.
But I was faster.
I flicked my wrist, and the sigil-stone in my pocket flared. Fire erupted in a controlled burst, not at her, but at the floor between us. The ancient wards reacted instantly, sealing the corridor with a barrier of shimmering light.
“No magic in the archives,” I said, breathing hard. “You break the rules, you answer to the Council.”
She hissed, but didn’t press forward. “This isn’t over.”
“No,” I agreed. “It’s just beginning.”
She turned and stalked away, her gown swirling like blood in water.
I waited until she was gone, then let myself slump against the shelf, my heart pounding. My mark throbbed, not with pain, but with something else—something hot, possessive, almost… protective.
Was the bond reacting to her threat?
Or was it me?
I didn’t have time to wonder. I needed proof. Real proof. Not whispers. Not assumptions. Something I could use to tear Ravel down.
I went back to the files, digging deeper. Restricted sections. Sealed testimonies. Blood contracts.
And then—
I found it.
A single folder, tucked behind a false panel in the lower shelf. No label. No stamp. Just a plain leather cover, worn with age.
I opened it.
Inside: a stack of papers. Handwritten. My mother’s handwriting.
My breath stopped.
And at the top, in bold, official script:
Execution Order: Elara Voss
My hands trembled as I turned the page.
The order was signed by the Council—twelve names, including Kael’s father, the previous High Arbiter. But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.
It was the addendum.
“Evidence to be destroyed post-execution. Daughter to be located and neutralized. No survivors.”
No survivors.
They hadn’t just wanted my mother dead.
They’d wanted *me* dead too.
And someone—someone powerful—had disobeyed.
Someone had hidden me. Protected me. Let me live.
But who?
I flipped through the rest of the file. Notes. Diagrams. A partial list of coven members. And then—
A name.
Maeve.
My mentor. My only ally in this fortress.
She’d known. She’d *helped* me.
And now—
Now I had proof.
Not just that my mother was innocent.
But that the Council had tried to erase me.
I closed the folder, clutching it to my chest. My magic hummed, restless, eager. I could use this. I could expose them. I could burn them all.
But then—
The door opened.
I spun, ready to fight, ready to run—
But it was only Dain.
The werewolf Beta stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His gaze dropped to the folder in my hands.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said quietly.
“I have clearance,” I said, straightening.
“Not for that.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “That file is sealed under Order 9. Access is punishable by death.”
“Then I guess I’m already dead,” I said, lifting my chin.
He studied me for a long moment. Then sighed. “You’re not like the others.”
“No,” I agreed. “I’m not.”
“Kael sees it too.”
“Kael sees what he wants to see.”
“No.” Dain shook his head. “He sees *you.* The real you. Not the mask. Not the mission. You.”
My breath caught.
“And it scares him,” Dain continued. “Because he’s spent his life controlling everything. And now—”
“Now he’s bound to me,” I finished.
“Yes. But it’s more than that.” He stepped closer. “He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only truth in a world of lies.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Because the worst part?
I knew exactly what he meant.
Because I’d seen it too.
In the Chamber of Veins. In the infirmary. In the Council Hall.
Kael looked at me like I was something real. Something worth saving.
And that terrified me more than any vampire, any lie, any memory of fire and screams.
“You should go,” Dain said softly. “Before someone else finds you.”
I nodded, tucking the folder into my coat. “Thank you.”
He didn’t respond. Just held the door open as I passed.
Back in my room, I locked the door and placed the folder under my pillow. My hands still trembled. My mark still burned.
I had proof.
But I didn’t feel victorious.
I felt… unmoored.
Because the mission was clear. The enemy was named. The truth was in my hands.
And yet—
When I closed my eyes, I didn’t see my mother’s face.
I saw Kael’s.
His hands on me. His voice in my ear. His body pressed to mine.
And the terrifying, undeniable truth I could no longer ignore—
I wanted him to touch me again.