The silence after she spoke was deeper than the void between stars.
Not empty. Not still. But charged—like the air after lightning, thick with the scent of ozone and old magic, with the echo of something sacred. She lay beneath me, her body warm despite the cold stone of my chambers, her skin flushed, her breath ragged, her pulse fluttering like a moth against my lips. The mating mark—unbitten, unclaimed by fang, yet real—glowed faintly beneath her collar, a pulse of indigo light that matched the rhythm of her breath.
And her words—
“You’re already marked.”
They didn’t sting.
They burned.
Not with anger. Not with defiance.
With truth.
I didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Just pressed my forehead to hers, my fangs still buried in the soft flesh of her neck, my blood mingling with hers, sealing the bond not in ritual, but in choice. The act had been consensual. The claiming had been mutual. And the mark—though I hadn’t placed it with tooth or spell—was now etched into her skin, a sigil of serpent and crescent moon, glowing faintly, hers, mine, ours.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push me away. Just lifted a hand, trembling, and touched the twin punctures on her neck—my mark, my vow, my surrender. Then her fingers moved to my chest, brushing the crescent-shaped scar just above my heart—the wound I’d taken two centuries ago, the night her mother died, the night I’d sworn I’d never love again.
“You’re marked too,” she whispered, voice raw. “Not by me. But by her.”
I closed my eyes.
She didn’t know the half of it.
That scar wasn’t just from a blade.
It was from the bond breaking. From the moment I’d failed to save her mother. From the night I’d sworn I’d never let anyone close enough to hurt me again.
And now—
Now I was lying here, blood in her veins, her in my bed, her in my soul, and I wasn’t afraid.
I was ruined.
And I didn’t want to be saved.
—
We didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Just dozed—tangled in each other, skin on skin, breath on breath—until the first pale light of dawn bled through the enchanted glass. The Black Sigil pulsed beneath her ribs, a second heartbeat, steady and deep, resonating with the ley lines beneath the city. The mating mark still glowed, but softer now, not with possession, not with claim.
Promise.
I watched her—really watched her—for the first time since the night we met. Her face was relaxed, her lips slightly parted, her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks. She looked younger. Not vulnerable. Not weak. But whole. Like something inside her had finally settled, like she’d stopped running.
And I—
I had never wanted anything more.
Not power. Not vengeance. Not the throne.
Just this.
Her.
And I would burn the world to keep her.
—
She stirred as the sun rose, her body shifting against mine, her leg sliding between mine, her breath warm against my chest. My fangs bared instinctively, the bond flaring, low and insistent, not with desire, but with need. She didn’t pull away. Just pressed closer, her hand splaying over my heart, her fingers brushing the scar.
“You’re awake,” she murmured.
“I never slept,” I said, voice rough.
She lifted her head, those dark eyes locking onto mine. “Why not?”
“Because I was afraid,” I said. “That if I closed my eyes, you’d be gone.”
She stilled.
Then—
She kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
But hard—her mouth crashing into mine, her fangs grazing my bottom lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. I growled, rolling her beneath me, my body pressing into hers, my hands fisting in her hair. The bond flared, white-hot, blinding, ours. She gasped, arching into me, her legs tightening around my waist, her hips grinding against mine, seeking friction, seeking more.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
The door.
We broke apart, gasping, swollen-lipped, blood on our mouths. The mating mark pulsed, a live wire fused to her spine.
“Kaelen,” came Silas’s voice, muffled. “It’s urgent.”
I exhaled, long and slow, then pressed my forehead to hers. “Later,” I murmured. “This isn’t over.”
“It never is,” she said, smiling.
I stood, pulling on my tunic, my body still humming with the aftermath of her touch. She didn’t move, just watched me from the bed, her hair tangled, her skin flushed, her lips swollen. The Black Sigil pulsed beneath her ribs, a second heartbeat, hers, mine, ours.
I opened the door just enough to speak. Silas stood in the corridor, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“Cassian’s calling another emergency session,” he said, voice low. “He’s bringing new evidence. Claims he has proof the bond is *forced*. That you used the blood oath to control her.”
My fangs bared.
“Let him try,” I said, voice cold. “The Council saw. The magic spoke. She’s mine.”
“And if he demands a separation test?” Silas asked. “To prove the bond isn’t dependent?”
I stilled.
Then—
“It won’t come to that,” I said. “Because I won’t let her go.”
Silas studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, testing—then nodded. “Then be ready. He’s not done.”
I closed the door.
Turned back to her.
She was already sitting up, pulling on her tunic, her movements slow, deliberate. The mating mark still glowed, but there was something different in her eyes—something softer. Warmer. Awake.
“We have to go,” she said, voice low.
“You should rest,” I said. “After everything.”
“I’m not tired,” she said, standing. “I’m awake.”
I smiled—just once, faint, dangerous. “Then stay with me. Not in my bed. Not yet. But in my chambers. Where I can protect you. Where I can feel you.”
“You don’t get to decide what I do,” she whispered.
“No,” I agreed. “But the bond does.”
And then—
She reached for my hand.
And laced her fingers with mine.
The bond didn’t flare.
It sang.
—
The Council Hall was already half-full when we arrived.
Chandeliers of frozen moonlight hung above, casting long shadows across the black marble. The twelve thrones loomed in a semicircle, each marked with the sigil of its species. Vampires in velvet and silver. Werewolves in furs and bone. Fae in illusion-woven silk. Witches in ink-stained linen.
And at the center—Cassian.
He sat in his throne, back straight, hands resting on the armrests, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those ancient, dead eyes—flicked to me the moment I entered. To our joined hands. To the mating mark, now clearly visible above the collar of her blouse.
He knew.
And he was smiling.
Indigo didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just kept walking, her boots clicking once, twice, three times on the stone. My hand was still in hers, my grip firm, my presence a storm at her side.
We took our seats—side by side, per Council decree. The bond pulsed between us, low and insistent, feeding on the tension, on the hatred, on the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
“Representatives,” Cassian began, voice oily, smooth, “we gather under emergency decree. Last night, the High Sovereign and the Eclipse Heir consummated their bond—”
A gasp rippled through the chamber.
“—and in doing so, sealed a union that may not be of their own will. The blood oath—public, witnessed—was a test of loyalty. But what if it was also a tool of control? What if the bond, though fated, has been *manipulated*? What if she—” He turned, those dead eyes locking onto Indigo. “—is not acting of her own free will?”
My pulse spiked.
“You dare—” I began, voice a whip.
“I dare,” Cassian cut in. “Because the Council has a right to know. Is this woman truly free? Or is she under the High Sovereign’s thrall?”
The chamber erupted.
Voices. Shouts. Demands for proof.
And then—
He raised a hand.
“There is a way,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “A test. A *public* test. The bond must be proven not in passion, not in blood, but in *separation*. For one full day, the High Sovereign and the Eclipse Heir must remain apart. No contact. No magic. No bond. And when the sun rises again—” He paused. “—we will see if the bond holds. If it is truly fated. Or if it is merely… *dependence*.”
My stomach dropped.
Indigo tensed beside me, her hand curling into a fist.
“You’re asking for torture,” I said, voice cold.
“I’m asking for truth,” Cassian replied, smiling. “And if the bond is real, then one day apart should mean nothing.”
“It’s not that simple,” Indigo said, standing. “The bond isn’t just magic. It’s *us*. And you can’t test that in a cage.”
“Then prove it,” Cassian said. “By enduring it.”
The chamber fell silent.
All eyes turned to us.
And then—
She looked at me.
Not with fear. Not with doubt.
But with trust.
And I—
I nodded.
Once.
A silent promise. A silent strength.
“Very well,” I said, standing. “I accept.”
—
The separation began at dusk.
They took her first—two Dominion guards, faces impassive, hands gloved. She didn’t resist. Just turned to me, those dark eyes locking onto mine, and said, “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I said, voice rough. “You won’t be.”
She smiled—just once, faint, dangerous. “Neither will you.”
And then she was gone.
They locked her in the eastern wing—a chamber warded against magic, warded against escape, warded against *me*. No windows. No doors. Just stone and silence.
And I—
I was left in my study, the fire low, the shadows long, the scent of her still clinging to the air—indigo and iron, midnight and fire.
And then—
It started.
Not with pain.
Not with fever.
But with emptiness.
Like something inside me had been ripped out, like the bond—the tether, the claim, the truth—had been severed. My chest ached. My lungs refused to fill. My pulse stuttered, not with fear, but with loss.
I pressed a hand to my heart, where the scar burned, where the bond had once hummed, where she had once been.
And then—
The visions came.
Not memories. Not magic.
Illusions.
I saw her—bloodied, broken, lying in a pool of her own magic. I saw Cassian standing over her, fangs bared, voice a whisper—“You should have killed her when you had the chance.” I saw her mother—pale, lifeless, the blade in her back, my name on her lips.
“No,” I whispered, staggering back. “Not real. Not real.”
But it felt real. Too real. The scent of blood. The sound of her scream. The way her body had gone still.
And then—
Her voice.
Not from the illusion.
From her.
“Kaelen.”
Just a whisper. Just a breath.
But it cut through the noise, through the chaos, through the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
I closed my eyes.
Reached deep—into the well of my magic, into the blood of my ancestors, into the bond that tied me to her. I felt it—still there. Faint. Frayed. But real.
And then—
I *pulled*.
Not with force.
Not with rage.
But with *need*.
For truth.
For justice.
For her.
The air stilled.
Not a breath. Not a whisper. Not a heartbeat.
And then—
Time snapped back.
I was on my knees, hands pressed to the floor, fangs bared, sweat dripping down my temples. The fire had gone out. The shadows were thick. And the bond—
It was still there.
But it was hurting.
—
The hours passed like centuries.
I didn’t eat. Didn’t drink. Didn’t move. Just knelt there, in the dark, in the silence, in the *emptiness*. The visions came and went—her dying, her hating me, her leaving me. I fought them. Beat them back with centuries of discipline. But the ache—the *need*—only grew.
And then—
At midnight, it hit.
Not a vision.
Not a memory.
But pain.
White-hot, blinding, inescapable. It ripped through me—my chest, my spine, my throat—like the bond was tearing me apart from the inside. I gasped, doubling over, my fangs sinking into my own arm to keep from screaming. Blood—dark, ancient—dripped onto the stone, sizzling where it met the wards.
And then—
Her voice.
Again.
“Kaelen.”
Not a whisper.
A scream.
And I knew—
She was feeling it too.
—
I don’t know how long I lasted.
Minutes? Hours? Days?
Time lost meaning. The world blurred. The pain was all that existed—sharp, relentless, real. I crawled to the door, my body weak, my magic fading, my fangs bared. I pounded on the wood, once, twice, three times—
“Let me go,” I growled. “Let me to her.”
No answer.
Just silence.
And then—
Footsteps.
Silas appeared in the corridor, his half-fae features shadowed in the dim light, his expression unreadable.
“You’re breaking,” he said.
“So are you,” I said, voice raw. “You can feel it too. The bond. The pain. The *need*.”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, testing—then nodded. “She’s worse.”
My breath caught.
“They’ve warded her chamber. No magic. No contact. But the bond—” He hesitated. “—it’s killing her.”
I didn’t speak.
Just moved.
Faster than thought, faster than shadow, I was at his throat, fangs bared, hands like claws. “Open the door,” I snarled. “Or I’ll tear this place apart.”
He didn’t fight. Just met my gaze, steady, unyielding. “I can’t. The wards—”
“Then break them,” I said, voice rough. “Or so help me, I’ll burn this city to ash.”
He stilled.
Then—
He nodded.
And then—
He stepped aside.
“You’ll have to do it yourself,” he said. “But know this—once you cross that threshold, there’s no going back. The Council will see. Cassian will know. And the war will begin.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Just moved.
Down the corridor. Past the silver case. Past the double doors of my private wing. To the eastern wing.
And then—
I saw her.
Through the enchanted glass.
She was on the floor, curled in on herself, her body trembling, her hands clutching her chest, her lips moving—“Kaelen… Kaelen… Kaelen…”
The bond screamed.
Not with need.
With hurt.
I didn’t think.
Just acted.
I slammed my shoulder into the door—once, twice, three times—until the wards cracked, until the wood splintered, until the lock gave way.
And then—
I was inside.
I dropped to my knees beside her, pulling her into my arms, her body cold, her breath shallow, her pulse fluttering like a dying bird.
“I’m here,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m here.”
She didn’t speak. Just turned her face into my chest, her fingers fisting in my tunic, her body trembling.
And then—
The bond erupted.
Not with fire.
Not with pain.
But with relief.
Warm. Alive. Ours.
And as she fell asleep in my arms, her breathing steady, her body warm, I knew—
They could lock us in cages.
They could ward us with spells.
They could tear us apart.
But they would never break us.
Because we weren’t just bound by magic.
We were bound by love.
And I would never let her go.
Not ever.