The healing chambers were silent—too silent. Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace, but the thick, suffocating kind that follows loss. The kind that clings to bloodstained stone and lingers in the scent of burnt magic. Kael lay on the cot, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths, his skin pale as moonlight, his fangs retracted, his claws sheathed but trembling. The wound across his ribs—seared shut with Seelie magic—still pulsed with a sickly silver light, resisting my blood, my power, the bond itself. I sat beside him, my hand pressed to his chest, my magic flaring in steady pulses, feeding him, holding him, refusing to let go.
“You’re not supposed to be the one bleeding,” he murmured, voice rough, cracked like old parchment. His gold-flecked eyes flickered open, hazy with pain, but still sharp enough to find mine. “That was my job.”
“Shut up,” I said, pressing my palm harder, forcing more of my blood into his veins. Crimson light spiraled from my fingertips, weaving through the silver, fighting it, pushing it back. “You don’t get to die on me now. Not after everything.”
He didn’t argue. Just exhaled, his body sinking deeper into the cot, his fingers twitching toward mine. I caught them, laced them with my own, and held on like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning.
The bond pulsed between us—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, not with fire, not with magic, but with something deeper. Need. Not just mine. His. Ours. It had screamed when he fell. Not in warning. In agony. Like a limb torn from the body. Like a heart ripped from the chest. And when I jumped after him, it hadn’t been bravery. It had been instinct. Survival. The bond had demanded it. My soul had answered.
And now, it wouldn’t let him go.
Dain stood in the archway, his wolf-gold eyes sharp, his posture tense. Lira was beside him, her red eyes reflecting the torchlight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wasn’t bound anymore. No silver cord. No chains. But she still moved like a prisoner—hesitant, watchful, like she expected a blade at any moment.
“The Council is demanding answers,” Dain said, voice low. “They say the battle was a massacre. That you’ve destabilized the balance.”
“Let them talk,” I said, not looking up. “Let them scream. Let them beg. I don’t care. He’s not dying for their politics.”
“And if they come for him?” Lira asked, her voice quiet.
My head snapped up. My fangs elongated. My claws tore free of their sheaths. “Then they’ll burn before they touch him.”
Dead silence.
Dain didn’t flinch. Just nodded, then stepped aside. Lira lingered, her gaze flickering between Kael and me, like she was trying to understand how two people so broken could become something unbreakable.
Maybe she never would.
Maybe I wouldn’t either.
The hours passed like centuries. I didn’t leave. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Just stayed beside him, feeding him my blood, my magic, my will. The healers came and went—vampire sages, witch elders, even a rogue Fae with eyes like stormclouds—but none could do what the bond could. None could reach the place where his soul was fraying, where the hybrid duality threatened to tear him apart.
Only I could.
And so I did.
I pressed my lips to his forehead, then his jaw, then the mark beneath his collarbone. It flared—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath the skin—then dimmed, like a heartbeat steadying. I whispered to him, not with words, but with memory. With truth. With the things I’d never said.
I came here to destroy you.
But I was wrong.
You weren’t my enemy.
You were my salvation.
And then—
—he stirred.
Not just a twitch. Not just a breath.
A shift.
His body arched, his fangs elongating, his claws tearing free, but not in pain. In power. In recognition. The silver light in his wound cracked, then shattered, dissolving into smoke. The bond roared—gold and crimson and white exploding from us, binding us, claiming us. The wards hummed. The Spire groaned. And then—
—he opened his eyes.
Clear. Gold-flecked. Alive.
“You’re still here,” he said, voice rough, but strong.
“You thought I’d leave?” I asked, my hand still pressed to his chest, my magic still flowing.
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I almost did.” He reached up, his fingers brushing the edge of my jaw, the mark beneath my collarbone flaring beneath his touch. “When I fell. When the bond went silent. When you jumped after me—”
“I’d do it again,” I said, cutting him off. “A thousand times. A million. I’d burn the world before I let you die alone.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me down, his mouth on my neck, his fangs grazing my skin, not to claim, not to mark—but to promise.
And the bond—
It pulsed.
Not with warning.
With power.
We didn’t speak as the healers worked, as they cleaned his wounds, as they reinforced the wards around the chamber. The boy came—small, pale, his silver-white hair catching the torchlight, his twin-moon eyes wide. He didn’t speak. Just reached for Kael, his small hand brushing his father’s wrist. The bond flared—gold and crimson and white spiraling around us, binding us, claiming us. And then—
—he smiled.
Not with fear.
Not with anger.
With recognition.
“He’s not just a child,” I said, stepping beside Kael, my hand lifting to the small of his back. “He’s a legacy. A future. A promise.”
“And he’s ours,” Kael said, his voice low, rough with emotion. “Not because the bond demands it. Not because the magic forces it. But because we want to.”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for a moonpetal from the vase beside the cot. It glowed in my palm, its silver edges catching the light, its inner light pulsing like a heartbeat. I didn’t crush it. Didn’t throw it. Just held it—like a vow, like a truth, like a beginning.
“This isn’t just about vengeance,” I said, turning to him. “It’s about legacy. About who we are. About who we become.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into a fierce embrace, his mouth on my neck, his fangs grazing my skin, not to claim, not to mark—but to promise.
And the bond—
It pulsed.
Not with warning.
With future.
We didn’t return to our chambers that night. We stayed in the healing chambers, wrapped in each other, the boy asleep between us, his small hand clutching mine. The stars shifted above us. The moon dipped below the horizon. And when dawn came, we didn’t speak.
We didn’t need to.
We just stood, hand in hand, and walked back through the Spire, our scents mingling, our magic harmonizing, our hearts beating as one.
Dain was waiting.
He stood at the threshold, his wolf-gold eyes sharp, his posture tense. Lira was beside him, her red eyes reflecting the torchlight, her wrists no longer bound. She didn’t speak. Just watched me, studied me, like she was trying to understand how I’d walked into a death trap for a man I’d once sworn to destroy.
Maybe she never would.
Maybe I wouldn’t either.
“The Council is calling for you,” Dain said, stepping forward. “They want answers. They want oaths. They want—”
“They can wait,” I said, stepping past him, my storm-gray eyes blazing. “We’ve bled for them. We’ve fought for them. We’ve died for them. And if they want more—” I turned, my hand lifting to the sigil beneath my collarbone. “—then they’ll get it in fire.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded, then stepped aside.
Lira lingered. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said, voice quiet.
“I’m not,” I said, stepping forward, my hand lifting to the boy’s shoulder. “I haven’t been for a long time.”
She didn’t answer.
Just bowed her head, then vanished into the shadows.
And then—
—Kael caged me beside him, his body pressing into mine, his breath hot on my neck. “You came here to destroy me,” he murmured, 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?” I whispered, though I already knew.
“That you’re not just my bondmate.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “You’re my queen. And I’m not letting go.”
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.
Then I opened them.
And I led.
The war wasn’t over.
But I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
And now, neither was he.
And that was enough.