The ritual chamber was silent when I stepped through the wall.
Not peaceful. Not still. But waiting—like the air before a storm, thick with the scent of venom and old magic. The silver runes etched into the floor pulsed faintly, their light dimmed but not dead, like a heart beating beneath ice. In the center of the circle, the pedestal stood empty. The vial—my blood, my magic, the weapon Cassian had stolen from me—was gone.
But he’d been here.
I could feel it. His presence clung to the stone like a stain, his magic laced with arrogance and rot. He thought he’d won. Thought he’d broken me. Thought he could frame me, kill me, and make Kaelen watch while he burned my name to ash.
He was wrong.
I stepped into the circle, bare feet pressing against the cold stone, the Black Sigil pulsing beneath my ribs like a war drum. The mating mark—still glowing beneath my collar—throbbed in time with my pulse, not with pain now, but with purpose. I wasn’t just Eclipse.
I was revenge.
I reached down, pressed my palm to the center of the sigil, and let the power rise—not in a surge, not in a blast, but in a whisper. A thread of indigo light slipped through the runes, not breaking them, not challenging them, but reading them. And then—
I saw it.
The path.
Not written in ink. Not carved in stone.
But in magic.
Cassian had taken the vial to the Obsidian Pit—the prison beneath the Council Hall, warded to drain magic, to silence voices, to break even the strongest will. He was going to perform the ritual there. In front of the Council. In front of Kaelen. In front of the world.
And he was going to make me die on my knees.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just stepped out of the circle, turned, and walked—fast, silent, hunting—through the winding corridors of the residence, past the silver case, past the double doors of Kaelen’s private wing, toward the heart of the Dominion.
And then—
The alarms wailed.
Not from the gates. Not from the city.
From below.
The Obsidian Pit had been breached.
Or activated.
Either way—
I was out of time.
—
The descent was a nightmare of stone and shadow.
A narrow staircase spiraled down into the earth, the walls slick with damp, the air thick with the scent of iron and decay. No torches. No light. Just the faint pulse of the Black Sigil beneath my ribs, guiding me, pulling me toward the truth. My breath came fast, shallow, my body still weak from the bond-sickness, but I didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. Just kept moving—down, down, down—until the stairs ended and the tunnel opened into a vast, circular chamber.
The Obsidian Pit.
A prison built from black stone, its walls etched with runes designed to drain magic, to silence voices, to break even the strongest will. Chains hung from the ceiling, their links heavy with centuries of suffering. The floor was smooth, polished by time and blood, the center marked with a ritual circle—black stone, blood-red sigils, mine.
And in the center of it—
Cassian.
He stood with his back to me, the vial in one hand, a silver dagger in the other. His velvet coat was open, his fangs bared, his voice a low chant in the ancient tongue of the Nocturne Dominion. The air thickened. The runes flared. And then—
He turned.
Those ancient, dead eyes locked onto mine. And he smiled.
“I knew you’d come,” he said, voice smooth, oily. “The bond. The blood. The need. You can’t resist it. You’re just like your mother—driven by emotion, blinded by love, too weak to see the truth.”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone.
“You don’t have to die,” he said, holding up the vial. “You can walk away. Live. Forget. Let me take your place at Kaelen’s side.”
“You killed her,” I said, voice low, steady. “You framed Kaelen. You tried to destroy me. And now you think I’ll just walk away?”
“I think you’re smart,” he said. “And survival is the highest form of wisdom.”
“Then you don’t know me at all,” I said.
And then—
I moved.
Not with magic. Not with speed.
But with truth.
I stepped into the circle, my bare feet pressing against the sigils, the Black Sigil roaring in my chest, the mating mark burning like a brand. The runes flared—not to drain me, but to recognize me. I was Eclipse. I was blood. I was power.
And I was not afraid.
“You don’t belong here,” Cassian snarled, raising the dagger. “You’re a half-blood abomination. A stain on our kind.”
“And you’re a murderer,” I said, stepping closer. “A liar. A coward. And you’re going to pay for what you did.”
He lunged.
Fast. Silent. deadly.
The dagger flashed toward my heart—but I was faster. I caught his wrist, twisted, disarmed him with a single, clean motion. The blade clattered to the stone. He snarled, fangs bared, and swung at me with his free hand—but I ducked, stepped inside his guard, and drove my knee into his gut.
He staggered.
And I didn’t stop.
I slammed my elbow into his jaw, sent him stumbling back, then grabbed the vial from his hand and crushed it in my fist. Glass and blood and magic exploded across the floor, but I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my palm to the mess and pulled.
My blood answered.
My magic surged.
And then—
I stopped time.
Not for a second.
Not for a breath.
But for eternity.
The chamber froze—torchlight mid-flicker, dust suspended in air, the echo of my scream hanging in the silence. And in that stillness—
I saw it.
The truth.
Not just Cassian’s lies.
Not just his crimes.
But everything.
My mother’s death. Kaelen’s grief. The bond. The mark. The fate.
And I—
I wasn’t afraid.
Because I was Eclipse.
And I would not be denied.
—
Time snapped back.
The chamber erupted—magic, fire, truth—and then—
He moved.
Not fast. Not strong.
But desperate.
Cassian lunged for the dagger, but I was faster. I kicked it away, then slammed my foot into his chest, sending him sprawling onto the stone. He gasped, fangs bared, eyes wide with fury—and then, with a flick of his wrist, he summoned a blade from the shadows.
Not silver.
Not steel.
But obsidian—black, jagged, laced with venom.
He slashed at me—once, twice, three times—but I dodged, danced back, my body still weak but my mind sharp. He wasn’t just fighting me.
He was fighting the truth.
And he was losing.
“You think you’re special?” he spat, circling me. “You think your blood makes you pure? You’re nothing. A mistake. A half-blood.”
“And you’re a relic,” I said, stepping forward. “A dying breed clinging to power you don’t deserve.”
He snarled and lunged—
And I let him.
I stepped into the strike, twisted at the last second, and drove my elbow into his spine. He grunted, stumbled—but I didn’t stop. I spun, grabbed his arm, and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees.
“Say it,” I hissed, pressing my knee into his back, my hand fisted in his hair. “Say you killed her. Say you framed Kaelen. Say you’re the one who’s weak.”
He laughed—low, broken, but real. “You want the truth? Fine. I killed her. I watched her die. I made Kaelen believe it was his fault. And now—” He turned his head, those dead eyes locking onto mine. “—I’ll make you die too.”
And then—
He bit me.
Not on the neck.
Not to claim.
But on the shoulder—deep, venomous, poisonous.
I screamed—raw, guttural, mine—and shoved him away, stumbling back, my hand flying to the wound. Blood. Black. Thick. The venom already spreading, burning through my veins like acid.
Cassian rose, fangs bared, blood on his lips. “You don’t get to win,” he snarled. “You don’t get to have him. You don’t get to be her.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my palm to the wound, let the Black Sigil rise—not to heal, not to fight, but to see.
And then—
I did.
Not with my eyes.
With my soul.
The memory unfolded—my mother, standing in the ritual chamber, the blade in her back, Cassian’s hand on the hilt, Kaelen on his knees, screaming her name. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t afraid. She was protecting him. Protecting the bond. Protecting me.
And as she died—
She whispered one word.
Indigo.
—
I didn’t cry.
Didn’t scream.
Just stepped forward.
The venom burned. The wound bled. My body trembled.
But I was awake.
“You don’t get to take her from me,” I said, voice low, steady. “You don’t get to take anything from me.”
He raised the obsidian blade—
And I stopped time.
Again.
Not for a second.
Not for breath.
But for truth.
The chamber froze. Cassian’s snarl caught mid-sneer. The torchlight hung in the air. And I—
I stepped forward.
Pressed my palm to his chest.
And let the Black Sigil sing.
Not to kill.
Not to destroy.
But to reveal.
The memory played—not for him, but for the world. For the Council. For Kaelen. For her. Cassian, standing over her body. Kaelen, broken. Me, unborn, my mother’s last breath carrying my name.
And then—
Time snapped back.
The chamber erupted.
Not with fire.
Not with blood.
But with light.
The runes flared—indigo, not black—shattering the wards, cracking the stone, rewriting the prison. Cassian screamed—raw, guttural, his—and collapsed, clutching his head, the memory burning through his mind.
And then—
The door burst open.
Guards. Dominion. Council. They flooded in, fangs bared, weapons drawn, eyes wide with shock. At the front—Kaelen.
His face was pale. His eyes—molten gold—locked onto mine. He took one step, then another, his boots clicking on the stone, his presence a storm no one could escape.
“Indigo—” His voice was raw, not with anger, but with something deeper. Fear.
“I’m not dying,” I said, voice steady. “Not today.”
He didn’t answer. Just moved—fast, silent, relentless—and caught me as my legs gave out. The venom was spreading. My vision blurred. My breath came in gasps.
“Hold on,” he growled, lifting me, one arm under my thighs, the other at my back. “Just hold on.”
I pressed my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—cold fire, old blood, something darker, richer—and let him carry me.
“I saw her,” I whispered. “I saw my mother.”
He stilled.
Then—
“Tell me,” he said, voice rough.
“She loved you,” I said. “Not like that. But as a brother. As a friend. And she died protecting you.”
His breath caught.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
But hard—his mouth crashing into mine, his fangs grazing my bottom lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. I tried to pull away, but he held me, relentless, his tongue sliding against mine, claiming, consuming.
And then—
The bond erupted.
Fire ripped through me, not pain, but pleasure—white-hot, blinding, inescapable. My knees buckled. My hands fisted in his tunic. My body pressed into his, desperate, needy.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. “Say it,” he demanded, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
“I—”
“Say it,” he growled.
And then—
I did.
Not because I was broken.
Not because I was weak.
But because it was true.
“I’m yours,” I whispered.
He stilled.
Then—
He kissed me again.
Slow. Deep. Ours.
And when he pulled back, his voice was rough with something like reverence. “And I’m yours.”
—
They took me from him.
Not gently. Not kindly.
But with force.
“She’s contaminated,” one of the Council guards said. “The venom. The magic. She’s a threat.”
“She’s mine,” Kaelen snarled, fangs bared. “And you will not touch her.”
“The Council’s orders,” the guard said. “She’s to be held in the Pit until the venom is purged. Until she’s deemed safe.”
“She’s already safe,” he growled. “She’s Eclipse. She’s my bondmate. She’s—”
“A half-blood,” another voice cut in.
Cassian.
He stood in the doorway, blood on his face, his coat torn, but his smile—oh, his smile was alive. Sharp. Hungry. Victorious.
“And she just unleashed forbidden magic in a sacred prison,” he said. “She’s not a victim. She’s a criminal. And she will be tried.”
The guards moved.
Kaelen fought.
But there were too many.
They pried me from his arms, dragged me back into the chamber, slammed the door shut. I screamed his name—once, twice, three times—but the wards flared, the magic surged, and then—
Darkness.
Not sleep.
Not peace.
But nothing.
And I—
I was alone.
Again.
—
When I woke, I was chained.
Not silver. Not iron.
But obsidian—cold, draining, laced with venom. My wrists, my ankles, my chest—bound to the stone wall, my body hanging just above the floor. The mating mark still glowed beneath my collar, faint but unbroken, pulsing in time with my pulse. The Black Sigil still hummed beneath my ribs, muffled but not dead.
And the wound—
It burned.
Not just with venom.
But with truth.
I had seen her.
My mother.
And I had seen the truth.
Kaelen hadn’t killed her.
Cassian had.
And now—
Now I had to survive long enough to make the world see it too.
—
The door opened.
Not with a creak.
Not with a groan.
But with silence.
Cassian stepped inside, backlit by the dim torchlight of the corridor. He wore black velvet, the D’Vire crest etched into a silver brooch at his throat—*Kaelen’s* crest, stolen, twisted. His hair was silver-white, his eyes ancient, dead, but his smile—oh, his smile was *alive*. Sharp. Hungry. Victorious.
“Comfortable?” he asked, stepping closer.
I didn’t answer. Just lifted my head, those dark eyes locking onto his. The mating mark pulsed, faint but insistent, a whisper of warmth in the cold.
“You’re strong,” he said. “I’ll give you that. But strength isn’t power. And power isn’t truth.” He crouched in front of me, close enough that I could smell the venom on his breath. “And the truth is—no one believes you. Not Kaelen. Not the Council. Not even *yourself*.”
“They will,” I said, voice rough.
He smiled. “No. They won’t. Because by the time the trial begins, you’ll be dead. And I’ll be the one standing beside him. The one who saved him. The one who *protected* him.”
“And what about my mother?” I asked. “What about the truth?”
“Truth is a weapon,” he said, standing. “And I’ve already won.”
He turned.
Walked to the door.
“Enjoy your last moments,” he said, hand on the latch. “They’ll be over soon.”
And then—
He was gone.
The door locked.
The wards flared.
And I was alone again.
But not for long.
Because I had seen the truth.
And I would not be silenced.
Not again.
Not ever.