The kiss in the Council chamber had changed everything.
Not because it was the first time I’d kissed Kaelen willingly—though it was. Not because it had silenced Selene, not because it had proven the bond was real, not because it had made the High Witch whisper, *“The bond is complete,”* like we’d just rewritten the laws of magic.
No.
It changed everything because, for the first time since I’d walked into the Moonfire Hall, I hadn’t been afraid.
Not of him.
Not of the bond.
Not of the curse.
Not even of myself.
I’d kissed him because I wanted to. Because the truth of us—raw, unfiltered, undeniable—had burned through every lie, every fear, every wall I’d built between us. And when our lips met, when the bond flared like a wildfire in my veins, when the Council gasped and Selene’s smile faltered—I hadn’t felt power.
I’d felt peace.
And it terrified me.
Because peace meant surrender. And surrender meant I was no longer here to destroy him.
I was here to save him.
Now, two days later, I sat in the fortress library, sunlight streaming through the narrow stained-glass windows, painting the stone floor in fractured colors. The book in my lap—*Thorned Blood: The Legacy of the Northern Alphas*—was open to a page about blood pacts, but I wasn’t reading. My fingers traced the edge of the page, my mind still in the Council chamber, still tangled in the aftermath of that kiss.
Kaelen hadn’t left my side since we returned. Not that night. Not the next morning. He’d stayed in my chamber, his presence a quiet, steady weight, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he looked away. He hadn’t touched me—not beyond a brush of his fingers against mine, a hand on the small of my back as we walked. But he’d watched me. Studied me. Like he was memorizing the way I breathed, the way I tilted my head when I thought, the way my fangs ached when I was nervous.
And gods, I was nervous.
Not because of him.
But because of what I was starting to feel.
The bite mark on my neck had faded, just as Dr. Vale said it would—three days of slow, steady lightening until it was nothing but a faint pink scar, barely visible beneath my collar. But the memory of it? That hadn’t faded. The shame. The rage. The betrayal. And worse—the way my body had responded when I thought Kaelen had marked me. Not with horror.
With relief.
As if a part of me had been waiting for it.
I closed the book, setting it aside. The library was quiet, the only sound the rustle of pages as a witch in the far corner copied sigils onto parchment. The air smelled of old paper, ink, and something faintly metallic—magic, lingering in the stones. I should have been working. Should have been searching for the original blood pact scroll, the one that could break the curse. Should have been planning my next move.
But I couldn’t.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Selene.
Not in her crimson velvet gown, not smirking at me in the Council chamber. But in the safehouse. In my dreams.
I’d remembered it last night.
Not the fever. Not the storm. Not even the kiss.
The dream.
It had started like the others—Kaelen’s hands on my skin, his mouth on my neck, his voice whispering my name. But then the voice had changed. Smoother. Softer. Feminine.
“You’re his now,” she’d said. “You’ve always been his. And he’ll never let you go.”
And then she’d bitten me.
Not hard. Not deep. Just enough to draw blood, just enough to make me cry out, just enough to make the bond flare like a live wire in my veins.
And in the dream, I’d believed it.
Believed that Kaelen had claimed me. That I was his. That the curse was broken. That I was safe.
And when I woke, the mark had been real.
But the memory?
That had been a lie.
A knock at the door.
“Come in,” I said, not looking up.
The door opened. I knew it was him before he spoke. Knew it from the heat of his presence, the storm in his scent, the way my pulse jumped, traitorous and unrelenting.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, stepping inside.
I didn’t answer.
He crossed the room in three strides, his boots silent on the stone. He didn’t sit. Just stood in front of me, his gold eyes sharp, his expression unreadable. “You haven’t slept. Haven’t eaten. You’re not training. You’re not reading. You’re just… sitting.”
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“About what?”
“The dream,” I whispered.
He stilled. “The one in the safehouse?”
I nodded. “It wasn’t real. Not the way I thought. Selene was in it. She made me believe you’d marked me. She used Fae magic to simulate the claiming.”
He didn’t look surprised. Just nodded, slow and grim. “I suspected. The bond wouldn’t claim you without your consent. Not fully. Not like that.”
“But it felt real,” I said, my voice breaking. “The bite. The pain. The way my body—”
“—responded,” he finished. “Because the bond feeds on truth. On desire. On need. And you do want me. Even if you’re afraid to say it.”
I looked up. “And you? Do you want me? Or is this just about the bond? About the curse? About keeping me alive so I don’t start a war?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I want you. Not because of the magic. Not because of the blood. Because of you. The way you fight. The way you think. The way you look at me like I’m a challenge, not a king.”
My breath hitched.
“I don’t care about the curse,” he said. “I don’t care about the bond. I don’t care about the war. I care about you. And if you told me to walk away, I would. But not because I don’t want you.
Because I want you too much to let you destroy yourself trying to destroy me.”
Tears burned my eyes.
He reached out, just once, and brushed his thumb over my cheek. The sigil on his wrist flared, warm and bright. “You’re not a weapon, Garnet. You’re not a pawn. You’re not a curse. You’re mine. And I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”
Then he turned and left.
I sat there, trembling, my fingers touching the spot where his thumb had been.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight the truth.
I wanted him.
Not just to break the curse.
Not just to survive.
But because he saw me. Not as a Hollow witch. Not as a cursed hybrid. Not as a weapon.
As me.
I stayed in the library until dusk, until the light faded and the torches flickered to life. Then I stood, closing the book, and walked to the shelves. I wasn’t looking for answers about blood pacts. I was looking for something else.
Fae magic.
Glamours. Illusions. Dream manipulation. I ran my fingers along the spines, pulling out a slim volume bound in black leather—*Whispers in the Veil: Fae Arts of Deception*. I opened it, scanning the pages until I found what I was looking for.
Dream-Weaving: A rare Fae ability that allows the caster to enter a target’s dreams and alter their memories, perceptions, or emotions. Most effective during states of vulnerability—fever, exhaustion, bond fever. Leaves no physical trace, but may cause lingering emotional residue.
My breath caught.
That was it. That was how Selene had done it. She’d used Dream-Weaving to make me believe Kaelen had marked me. To make me doubt him. To make me hate him.
And it had worked.
Until it hadn’t.
I closed the book, clutching it to my chest. I needed to know more. Needed to know how to defend against it. Needed to know if she could do it again.
And then I felt it.
A flicker at the edge of my mind. Like a shadow passing through a room. Like a whisper in a language I didn’t understand.
I froze.
The bond flared—just once, a sharp pulse of warning.
And then I saw her.
Selene.
Not in the flesh. Not in the library. But in my mind.
Her voice, smooth as silk, curled through my thoughts: “You think you’ve won? You think the bond is safe? He’ll never love you the way I do. He’ll never want you the way I do. And when the next fever comes… he’ll take you. Whether you want him to or not.”
I gasped, dropping the book.
The vision shattered. The library snapped back into focus. My heart pounded. My breath came in ragged gasps. I looked around—no one was there. The witch in the corner was still copying sigils, her head down, her quill scratching across parchment.
But I’d felt it.
Her presence. Her voice. Her magic.
She was still in my head.
And she wasn’t done.
I ran.
Not to my chamber. Not to the great hall. Not to Kaelen.
To the armory.
I didn’t know why. Didn’t question it. Just moved, my boots pounding against the stone, my breath coming fast. The armory was empty, the torches flickering, the weapons silent in their racks. I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. I went straight to the far wall, where the old ceremonial daggers were displayed—antique blades with jeweled hilts, never used in battle.
And there, tucked behind a row of scabbards, was a small, silver mirror.
Not glass. Not crystal. Silver. Polished to a mirror finish, its frame etched with runes of protection and truth.
I pulled it out, my hands trembling. I didn’t know why it was here. Didn’t know who had put it here. But I knew what it was.
A Fae truth mirror.
Used to reveal illusions. To expose glamours. To show what was real.
I held it up.
And looked into my own eyes.
At first, nothing.
Then—
A flicker.
Just at the edge of my vision. A shadow. A shape. A face.
Selene.
Not in the mirror. But on it. Like a film over the surface, like a veil between me and my reflection. Her crimson hair, her pale skin, her dark, knowing eyes. She smiled—slow, cruel, triumphant.
“You can’t hide from me,” she whispered, her voice echoing in my mind. “I’m in your dreams. I’m in your thoughts. I’m in your blood.”
I dropped the mirror.
It clattered to the floor, the runes glowing faintly. I backed away, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My fangs ached. My skin burned. The bond flared, not with desire, but with warning.
She was still in my head.
And she wasn’t just watching.
She was waiting.
For the next fever. For the next storm. For the next moment of weakness.
And when it came?
She’d make me believe anything.
I sank to the floor, my back against the wall, my arms wrapped around my knees. I should have gone to Kaelen. Should have told him. Should have let him protect me.
But I didn’t.
Because I was afraid.
Not of Selene.
Not of the magic.
But of what I’d do when the fever came again.
Would I believe her?
Would I turn on him?
Would I destroy the one thing I’d finally started to trust?
The door opened.
I didn’t look up.
“Garnet.”
Kaelen’s voice. Low. Urgent.
I still didn’t move.
He stepped inside, his boots silent on the stone. I could feel him—his heat, his scent, the way my pulse jumped when he was near. He didn’t speak. Just knelt in front of me, his gold eyes searching mine.
“What happened?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
Just pointed to the mirror on the floor.
He picked it up, studied it, then looked at me. “A Fae truth mirror. Used to expose illusions.”
“She’s still in my head,” I whispered. “Selene. She’s using Dream-Weaving. She was in my thoughts just now. In the library. She said… she said you’d take me when the next fever comes.”
His jaw clenched. “She’s lying.”
“But what if I believe her?” I asked, my voice breaking. “What if the fever comes again, and I think you’ve betrayed me? What if I try to kill you?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll stop you. Not with force. Not with chains. With truth.”
“And if I don’t listen?”
“Then I’ll make you,” he said. “By holding you. By touching you. By reminding you of what’s real. And if that’s not enough?”
He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “Then I’ll kiss you until you remember.”
Tears burned my eyes.
He reached out, just once, and brushed his thumb over my cheek. The sigil on his wrist flared, warm and bright. “You’re not alone, Garnet. Not in your mind. Not in your dreams. Not in your blood. I’m here. And I’m not letting go.”
And then he did it.
He pulled me into his arms, holding me like I was something fragile, something precious. I didn’t fight. Didn’t pull away. Just leaned into him, my face buried in his neck, my breath fogging the collar of his shirt.
And for the first time since I’d walked into this fortress, I let myself believe it.
That I wasn’t here to destroy him.
I was here to save him.
From her.
From the lie.
From me.
And maybe—just maybe—I was saving myself too.