The emergency session was supposed to be about the attack. About the rogue vampires. About the Seelie manipulation. That’s what the Council messengers had announced, their voices echoing through the stone corridors like funeral bells.
But the moment I stepped into the Chamber of Echoes—its obsidian walls lined with mirrors that reflected not our faces, but our darkest secrets—I knew the truth.
This wasn’t about the attack.
This was about *us.*
Twelve Council seats rose in a crescent around the central dais, each occupied by a representative of the four species. The werewolf Alphas sat stiff-backed, their scents sharp with suspicion. The vampire elders watched with cold, calculating eyes. The Fae envoy, a Seelie noble with skin like polished alabaster and a smile that didn’t reach her hollow eyes, traced a finger along her lips as I passed. And at the head of it all—
—Kael.
He stood behind the High Arbiter’s podium, his coat immaculate, his expression unreadable. But his gaze—gold-flecked, wolf-bright, *hungry*—locked onto mine the second I entered. And the bond—
It *pulsed.*
Not with pain. Not with heat.
With *memory.*
The kiss.
The way his lips had crashed into mine in the aftermath of battle. The way my body had arched into his, my hands gripping his coat, my magic spiraling around us like a living thing. The taste of his fangs on my lip, the scent of smoke and frost and storm flooding my senses, the way my pulse had thundered in time with his.
I hadn’t pulled away because I wanted to.
I’d pulled away because I *couldn’t stop.*
And now, standing in front of the Council, under the weight of twelve pairs of eyes, I could still feel it—his mouth on mine, his hand in my hair, the low growl in his chest that had vibrated through my bones.
“Parker Voss,” the Fae envoy purred, breaking the silence. “Daughter of a traitor. Survivor of a purge. And now—” Her gaze flicked to Kael. “The High Arbiter’s *consort.*”
A ripple went through the chamber. A werewolf Alpha snarled. A vampire elder hissed. Even Dain, standing at Kael’s side, tensed.
“I am no one’s consort,” I said, voice steady. “I am an envoy. An advisor. Nothing more.”
“Then explain this.” The Fae noble flicked her wrist, and a shimmering image bloomed in the air between us.
Me.
Kael.
Our lips fused together in the ruined hall, blood magic swirling around us like a crimson storm.
The chamber erupted.
“That bond is a weapon,” one of the werewolves growled. “A hybrid using a witch to consolidate power.”
“It destabilizes the balance,” a vampire elder added. “The High Arbiter is compromised.”
“The soul bond must be severed,” the Fae envoy declared. “For the safety of us all.”
My blood turned to ice.
Sever the bond.
They might as well have said, *Kill me.*
Because that’s what it would do. Kael had warned me. The bond wasn’t just magic. It was life. Blood. Memory. To sever it would be agony. It would burn through my magic, twist my mind, and leave me a hollow shell before I finally died.
And Kael—
He’d break.
“The bond is *mine,*” Kael said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “And I will not allow it to be questioned, let alone severed, by those who fear what they do not understand.”
“You are not impartial,” the Fae envoy said. “Your judgment is clouded. Your power—amplified by hers.”
“Then let her prove it.” The voice came from the shadows at the back of the chamber. Lord Ravel stepped forward, his crimson robes trailing behind him like a river of blood. His face was smooth, ageless, but his eyes—
—his eyes were ancient. Cold. *Hungry.*
“Let her prove,” he continued, “that she is not using the bond to manipulate you. That she is not here to finish what her mother started—to destroy the Council from within.”
“I’m not my mother,” I said, stepping forward. “And I’m not here to destroy the Council. I’m here to *expose* it.”
“With what?” Ravel smiled, slow and venomous. “More lies? More witchcraft?”
“With this.” I reached into my coat and pulled out the maintenance log—the one that proved he’d disabled the wards the night of my mother’s execution. “You altered the trial transcript. You forged the evidence. You *framed* her.”
The chamber stilled.
Ravel didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head, like a predator considering its prey. “And you expect us to believe a single, unverified document? A log that could have been forged by *you*?”
“It’s not just the log,” I said. “It’s the truth. And I have more.” I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing the edge of the trial transcript—the real one, the one that proved my mother had tried to expose the forgery. “I have the real trial record. I have the proof that—”
“Enough.” Kael’s voice was low, dangerous. He stepped down from the podium, his boots echoing against the stone. “The bond stands. The evidence will be reviewed. And if anyone”—his gaze swept the chamber—“attempts to sever it, they will answer to me.”
“You cannot protect her forever,” Ravel said. “The bond is a flaw. A weakness. And weakness must be purged.”
“Then try,” I snapped. “Sever it. And watch us both die screaming.”
The Council murmured. The Fae envoy’s smile faltered. Even Ravel hesitated.
They knew the truth.
The bond was reciprocal. My death was his. And his power—his control—depended on mine.
Kael turned to me. “It’s over. For now.”
I didn’t answer. Just tucked the documents back into my coat and walked out, my boots echoing against the stone, my mark burning beneath my collarbone.
The emergency session had been a failure.
But the war had just begun.
I didn’t go to my room. I couldn’t. Not with the Council’s eyes on me, not with Ravel’s voice still echoing in my skull, not with the memory of Kael’s kiss burning through my veins. I needed air. Space. Silence.
I took the northern passage—the one that led to the ruins of the old temple, half-collapsed and overgrown with ivy, its shattered spires clawing at the moonlit sky. The wind howled through the broken arches, carrying the scent of damp earth and old magic. I stepped inside, the stone cold beneath my boots, the air thick with the weight of forgotten prayers.
And then—
—I wasn’t alone.
“You always run,” Kael said, stepping from the shadows.
I spun, sigil-stone already in hand. “I don’t run. I *strategize.*”
“You ran from the kiss.”
“I didn’t run. I *left.*”
“Same thing.” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You felt it, didn’t you? The way our magic harmonized. The way your body answered to mine.”
“It was the bond,” I said, backing away. “Adrenaline. Magic resonance. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Liar.” He closed the distance in one stride, caging me against a crumbling pillar, his hands braced on either side of my head. “You felt it. The truth. The way your breath caught when I touched you. The way your hips pressed into mine. The way you *kissed me back.*”
My pulse jumped.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No.” His voice dropped to a growl. “You hate that you *want* me. That your mission means nothing compared to the way I make you feel.”
“You don’t make me feel anything.”
“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, his 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 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.*”
“Don’t,” I hissed, shoving him. But he didn’t move. Just tightened his grip, his body pressing into mine, his heat flooding my senses.
“Don’t you *dare* use that word.”
“Why not?” He nipped my earlobe, just enough to draw a gasp. “You are. The Unseelie Storm Throne is yours. Your mother didn’t just protect the Fae—she *led* them. And you?” His hand slid down, gripping my hip, pulling me against him. “You’re her heir. And I will *not* let anyone take that from you. Not Ravel. Not the Council. Not even *you.*”
My breath caught.
“You don’t know that,” I whispered.
“I do.” He reached into his coat, pulling out the silver locket—my mother’s locket. “She gave this to me. The night before they killed her. She said, *‘Protect her. No matter what.’*”
My hands trembled.
“She knew,” he said. “She knew you’d come back. She knew the bond would find you. And she knew—”
“That you’d save me,” I finished, voice breaking.
He nodded. “And I will. Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
Silence.
The wind howled. The ruins groaned. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the archway, his face grim. “We have a problem.”
Kael didn’t move. Didn’t look away from me. “What is it?”
“Lira.” Dain’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Kael. “She’s telling everyone. About the bond. About the ritual. About… *this.*”
Kael finally turned. “Let her.”
“It’s too late.” Dain stepped inside, lowering his voice. “The Council knows. They’re calling an emergency session. They’re saying the bond is a threat. That it needs to be severed.”
My blood ran cold.
“Let them 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, backing toward the door.
“You do.” He stepped forward. “And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
I 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 that was hours ago.
Now, standing in the ruins, the moon high above, the wind howling through the broken arches, I wasn’t running.
I was *waiting.*
And when Kael stepped into the temple, his coat billowing behind him, his eyes blazing with something dark and desperate, I didn’t move.
“You came back,” he said.
“I didn’t run,” I said. “I *stayed.*”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Lira.” He said the name like a challenge. “You think I slept with her. That I fed from her. That I *wanted* her.”
“You let her wear your shirt.”
“To test you.”
“You *what?*”
“I wanted to see how far you’d go,” he said, stepping closer. “How much you’d fight. How much you’d *care.*”
My breath caught.
“And you do.” He reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “You care. You *want* me. And you hate yourself for it.”
“I don’t—”
“Liar.” He caged me against the pillar, his body pressing into mine, his heat flooding my senses. “You want me as much as I want you.”
“No—”
“You *do.*” His voice dropped to a growl. “You feel it. The bond. The pull. The way your magic answers to mine. The way your body arches into my touch.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No.” He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “You hate that you *love* me.”
And then—
—he kissed me.
Not like before. Not a brush. Not a test.
A *claim.*
His mouth crashed into mine, fierce, possessive, *desperate.* His hands tangled in my hair, holding me in place as his tongue swept past my lips, tasting, devouring, *owning.* I gasped, my body arching into his, my hands flying to his chest—
Not to push.
To *pull.*
My magic flared—crimson light spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The bond *roared,* a flood of heat and memory and sensation so intense it made my knees buckle. He caught me, lifting me, pressing me against the crumbling altar, his body hard against mine, his mouth never leaving mine.
And then—
—I bit him.
My fangs—witch fangs, sharp and sudden—sank into his lower lip, drawing blood. His groan vibrated through my bones, his grip tightening, his hips grinding against mine. Blood magic surged, a wild, uncontrollable thing, spiraling around us like a storm.
And then—
—I pulled back.
Gasping. Shaking. *Trembling.*
He didn’t let go. Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hot on my skin, his blood on my lips.
“Run all you want,” he murmured. “The bond always finds you.”
And I did.
I ran.
Because the worst part wasn’t the kiss.
Wasn’t the blood.
Wasn’t the magic.
It was the truth I could no longer deny—
I wanted him to chase me.