The Council Chamber still smelled of scorched stone and spilled blood.
I stood frozen in place, my hand finally free from Kaelen’s—but the echo of his touch lingered like a brand. My palm tingled, phantom heat pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The runes on the obsidian strip had dimmed, but their afterglow painted the marble in shifting indigo and crimson, like a wound that wouldn’t close.
Behind me, the chamber erupted into chaos. Cassian’s voice cut through the din, sharp and furious. “This bond is unnatural! The ritual was meant to be symbolic—*not fated*!”
“Fate doesn’t consult the Council, Lord Cassian,” came a smooth, melodic reply. The Summer Fae diplomat, Lysara, stepped forward, her gown shimmering with illusion—now gold, now green, now the color of twilight. “It simply *is*.” She smiled, eyes glinting. “And how poetic. The last heir of the Eclipse, bound to the vampire king. The Council will be *ravenous* for the story.”
My stomach twisted.
They were already spinning it. Not as a political farce. Not as a failed ritual. But as a *romance*. A prophecy. A scandal.
And I was the punchline.
I turned, slow, deliberate, my boots silent on the shattered glass. Kaelen hadn’t moved. He stood at his pedestal, one hand still resting on the stone, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those molten gold irises—flicked to me. Just once. A silent challenge.
Then he turned and walked away, his cloak sweeping over the broken chandelier shards like a tide of shadow.
I didn’t wait for permission. I didn’t bow. I turned on my heel and strode toward the arched exit, my spine rigid, my breath controlled. Let them whisper. Let them speculate. I wasn’t bound to him in truth. Not yet. Not *really*. The bond was magic—raw, reactive—but it could be broken. I’d spent years studying forbidden spells, blood rites, dimensional fractures. If the Eclipse Coven had once bent time, I could unravel a cursed handclasp.
I just needed time.
And space.
And to get the hell out of this city before they locked me in a gilded cage.
The moment I passed beneath the arch, a figure stepped into my path.
Tall. Lean. Cloaked in gray, not black. His hair was silver-white, pulled back in a tight braid, his eyes a pale, unsettling violet. He moved like smoke—silent, precise. No fangs. No vampire pallor. But the way he held himself—coiled, dangerous—told me everything.
Half-fae. Half-vampire. A hybrid. And Kaelen’s shadow.
“Indigo Vale,” he said, voice low, neutral. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I didn’t stop walking. “Move.”
He didn’t. Just tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle. “Silas Vex. Lieutenant of the Nocturne Dominion. By order of the Council and the High Sovereign, you are to be escorted to the D’Vire residence for the duration of the Accord.”
My steps faltered. “Excuse me?”
“The binding ritual requires proximity,” he said, as if reciting policy. “For the first seventy-two hours, the bonded pair must remain within one hundred feet of each other. It’s to stabilize the magic. Prevent… rupture.”
“Rupture?” I snapped. “You mean *explosion*.”
“If the bond is rejected, yes. The magic could tear through both of you. Or worse—trigger a backlash that destabilizes the ley lines beneath the city.” He paused. “Casualties would be… extensive.”
I stared at him. “You’re telling me I have to *live* with him?”
“Temporarily. Until the bond settles.”
“And if I refuse?”
His violet eyes didn’t waver. “Then you’ll be detained. For the safety of the Accord.”
I clenched my jaw. This wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was. I was supposed to infiltrate, gather evidence, expose Kaelen, and vanish. Not be *chained* to him by some archaic magical clause.
But I couldn’t fight the entire Council. Not yet. Not without the Sigil. Without proof.
“Fine,” I bit out. “But I’m not sharing a *bed* with him.”
“You won’t have to,” Silas said, already turning. “There are two chambers. And guards at every door.”
“How reassuring.”
He didn’t answer. Just led the way through the winding corridors of the Accord’s undercity—a labyrinth of black marble and enchanted glass, lit by floating orbs of cold fire. The deeper we went, the heavier the air became, thick with magic and the faint metallic tang of blood. This wasn’t just a political hub. It was a fortress. A prison.
After ten silent minutes, we reached a set of double doors carved with the D’Vire crest—a serpent coiled around a dagger. Silas pressed a hand to the stone, and the doors groaned open.
Inside was not what I expected.
No opulent throne room. No blood-red drapes. Just a vast, minimalist space—high ceilings, obsidian floors, walls lined with ancient books and weapons. A fire burned low in a stone hearth, casting long shadows. And in the center, a long table covered in maps, scrolls, and a single silver case.
My breath caught.
The case.
It was the same one from the old coven records. The one that held artifacts too dangerous to display. Too powerful to lose.
And if my mother’s journal was still intact—
“Your quarters are through there,” Silas said, nodding toward a corridor to the left. “His are to the right. The bond will alert you if you stray too far. Don’t test it.”
“Or what?” I challenged. “Will it shock me like a dog on a leash?”
“Worse,” he said quietly. “It’ll make you *feel* him. His pain. His hunger. His *desire*.”
I stiffened.
He turned to leave. Then paused. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t touch the silver case.”
My pulse spiked. “Why not?”
“Because it’s warded. And because,” he added, glancing at me, “it belongs to her. And he’s kept it sealed for two hundred years.”
My mother.
He still had it.
Before I could respond, Silas was gone, the doors closing behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Alone.
I exhaled, slow, forcing my shoulders to relax. Then I moved—fast. To the table. To the case.
It was cold to the touch. Silver, etched with Eclipse runes—*protection, memory, bloodline*. I traced them with my fingertips, whispering the activation phrase under my breath.
Nothing.
The wards were strong. Stronger than I expected. And if Kaelen hadn’t opened it in two centuries—
Footsteps.
I spun.
Kaelen stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall’s dim light. He’d shed his cloak, revealing a black tunic that clung to his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His arms were corded with muscle, a thin scar running from wrist to forearm—old, healed, but deep.
“I told you not to touch that,” he said, voice low.
“And I told you I came here to bury you,” I shot back. “Yet here we are.”
He stepped inside, the door closing behind him. “You think I wanted this?”
“I think you’re very good at pretending innocence.”
“You felt the bond,” he said, moving closer. “You saw the memory. I was *there*, Indigo. I was at her side when she died. I *tried* to stop it.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I was *held back*.” His voice was raw now. “Bound by magic. Watched her fall. And you—” He stepped into my space, so close I could feel the cold radiating from his skin. “You’ve spent your life hating me for something I couldn’t prevent.”
I refused to back down. “And you’ve spent two centuries doing *nothing* to clear your name.”
“Because the real killer is still out there,” he growled. “And if I move too fast, he’ll vanish. Just like he did that night.”
I searched his face. For lies. For guilt. But all I saw was something worse—regret. Real, aching, *alive*.
And then—
A jolt.
Sharp. Searing.
From my palm to my core.
I gasped, staggering back. The bond—*reacting*. My skin burned where his had touched me. My breath came fast. My pulse roared in my ears.
And then—
His hand shot out, catching my wrist.
“Don’t,” I snapped, trying to pull away.
But the contact—
Fire.
Not pain. Not magic.
*Heat.*
Low. Deep. *Hungry.*
My body arched toward him, traitorous, desperate. My nipples tightened. My thighs clenched. The Mark of the Eclipse—hidden beneath my collar—flared to life, a pulse of warmth against my skin.
Kaelen’s eyes darkened. His pupils dilated. He felt it too. The pull. The *want*.
“You feel it,” he whispered, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I don’t—”
“Liar,” he cut in, voice rough. “Your pulse is racing. Your scent—*goddess*—you’re *aroused*.”
I slapped his hand away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But my voice trembled.
He smirked. Slow. Dangerous. “The bond knows the truth. And it’s *hungry*.”
“Then starve it,” I spat, turning toward the corridor. “I’m going to my room.”
“You can’t run from it, Indigo,” he called after me. “Not from the bond. Not from *me*.”
I didn’t answer. Just walked faster, my boots echoing in the silence.
My chamber was cold. Minimal. A bed, a wardrobe, a washbasin. No windows. No escape.
I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing hard.
My skin still burned. My core still ached. The bond pulsed beneath my ribs, a second heartbeat, *his* rhythm.
This wasn’t just magic.
This was *possession*.
I stripped off my gloves, my jacket, my blouse—anything that touched him, anything that carried his scent. I threw them into a corner, then paced, fists clenched.
I needed a plan. A way out. A way to break this before it broke *me*.
But before I could think, the door creaked open.
“Mira?” I whispered.
My handmaiden slipped inside, her dark hair pulled into a tight braid, her eyes wide with worry. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I said, exhaling. “Just… bound.”
She closed the door and moved to me, pressing a small vial into my palm. “Truth serum. Just like you asked.”
I nodded. “Did you find anything else?”
“Not yet. But the wards—Indigo, they’re *reacting* to you.”
“What do you mean?”
She reached up, gently pulling down the collar of my blouse. “Look.”
There, just above my collarbone—the Mark of the Eclipse.
It was glowing.
Faint. Flickering. Like a candle in the wind.
“It’s never done that before,” I breathed.
“Because it’s *awakening*,” Mira said, voice hushed. “The bond—it’s not just tying you to him. It’s waking *you* up.”
I stared at the mark. My mother’s magic. My birthright.
And now—
It was *alive*.
“We need to move fast,” I said, tucking the vial into my pocket. “Before they realize what’s happening.”
“Before *he* realizes,” Mira corrected.
I nodded.
But as I turned back to the room, I caught my reflection in the polished obsidian wall.
And for one terrifying second—
I didn’t see the avenger.
I didn’t see the infiltrator.
I saw a woman whose skin still burned from a vampire’s touch.
Whose body still *ached* for his.
Whose heart—
Whose heart wasn’t sure if it wanted to destroy him…
Or *keep* him.
And then—
A knock.
Soft. Deliberate.
From the other side of the door.
“Indigo,” Kaelen’s voice came through, smooth, controlled. “We need to sign the Binding Contract. Now.”
Mira’s eyes widened. “Don’t go.”
But I already knew.
I couldn’t refuse.
Not without consequences.
Not without proving him right.
I straightened my spine. “Tell me when the serum’s ready.”
Then I opened the door.
And stepped back into the fire.
Kaelen stood in the center of the main chamber, a single sheet of parchment laid out on the table. Inked in blood-red script: *The Oath of Accord. One touch. One fate. Bound in magic, bound in blood, bound in name.*
Two quills rested beside it. One silver. One obsidian.
“Sign,” he said, not looking up.
“Or what?” I challenged, stepping forward.
“Or the bond destabilizes. Or the Council declares you in violation. Or,” he added, finally meeting my gaze, “I drag you back here myself.”
I picked up the silver quill. “Threats don’t work on me.”
“Good,” he said, taking the obsidian one. “Because I don’t make threats. I make *promises*.”
We leaned over the contract at the same time.
And then—
Our hands brushed.
Just a flicker. A whisper of skin.
But the spark—
Electric.
White-hot.
My breath hitched. My knees weakened. The quill trembled in my grip.
Across from me, Kaelen stilled. His jaw clenched. His fangs—just the tips—peeked through his lips.
“You felt that,” he murmured.
I didn’t answer. Just signed—*Indigo Vale*—in sharp, angry strokes.
But as I pulled back, the parchment *glowed*.
The ink swirled, merging, forming a single sigil—a serpent and a crescent moon, intertwined.
And then—
The bond *pulled*.
Like a leash. Like a tether. Like a heartbeat not my own.
And I knew—
This wasn’t just a contract.
This was a claim.
And whether I wanted it or not—
I was marked.