The first thing I noticed when they dragged me into the Council Hall was the silence.
Not the usual hush of protocol or the tense stillness before a verdict. This was different—thick, weighted, like the air before a storm breaks. Every eye turned as the guards flanked me, their grip tight on my arms, my wrists still raw from the obsidian chains. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t lower my gaze. Just walked, barefoot on the cold black marble, my back straight, my breath steady, the mating mark pulsing beneath my collar like a second heartbeat.
The chamber loomed above me—twelve thrones in a semicircle, each carved from a different stone, 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 the collar of my blouse. To the faint, indigo glow beneath the fabric.
He knew.
And he was smiling.
I didn’t look away. Just kept walking, my boots clicking once, twice, three times on the stone. The Black Sigil still pulsed beneath my ribs, a second heartbeat, steady and deep, resonating with the ley lines beneath the city. And then—
I saw him.
Kaelen.
He stood at the edge of the dais, his silhouette sharp against the flickering torchlight. His cloak was gone, his tunic open at the throat, his fangs just visible when he turned his head. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched me—those molten gold eyes locking onto mine, the bond singing 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.
And I—
I didn’t look away.
Because I wasn’t afraid.
Not of the Council.
Not of Cassian.
Not even of the venom still burning in my veins.
I was Eclipse.
And I had seen the truth.
—
They seated me at the center of the dais—on a low stone bench, carved with runes designed to suppress magic, to silence voices, to break even the strongest will. The guards stepped back, but their presence lingered, like shadows clinging to my skin. Cassian rose, his velvet coat rustling, his voice oily, smooth.
“Representatives,” he began, “we gather under emergency decree. Indigo of the Eclipse Coven stands accused of treason, sorcery, and assault upon the Supernatural Council. She unleashed forbidden magic within the Obsidian Pit, breached sacred wards, and attacked a Council Elder in cold blood.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
“She is not of pure blood,” he continued, “but a half-blood abomination—witch and vampire, neither and both. And she has used her unnatural heritage to manipulate the High Sovereign, to twist the fated bond into a weapon of control.”
My pulse spiked.
“Liar,” I said, voice low, steady.
He turned, those dead eyes locking onto mine. “You deny it?”
“I deny *you*,” I said, standing. “I deny your lies. I deny your poison. I deny the murder of my mother and the framing of a man who tried to save her.”
The chamber stilled.
“And what proof do you have of this… *accusation*?” asked the witch representative, her cracked obsidian eyes narrowing.
“Proof?” I repeated. “I have the truth. I have the memory. I have the blood.” I pressed a hand to the wound on my shoulder—still tender, still healing—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 memory.
Not just in my mind.
But in the air.
A ripple of indigo light spread across the chamber, silent, unseen by anyone but me. The scent of old magic, of iron and storm, curled around me. And then—
It was there.
Not a vision.
Not an illusion.
But truth.
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.
The memory played—not for me, but for the Council. For the world. For her. Cassian’s snarl caught mid-sneer. The torchlight hung in the air. And I—
I stepped forward.
Pressed my palm to the center of the sigil on the floor.
And let the Black Sigil sing.
Not to kill.
Not to destroy.
But to reveal.
The runes flared—indigo, not black—shattering the wards, cracking the stone, rewriting the chamber. Cassian screamed—raw, guttural, his—and collapsed, clutching his head, the memory burning through his mind.
And then—
It was over.
The light faded. The chamber stilled. The Council stared—shocked, silent, seeing.
And I—
I didn’t flinch.
Just held my ground.
“That,” I said, voice low, steady, “is the truth.”
—
Cassian rose slowly, blood on his lip, his coat torn, but his smile—oh, his smile was alive. Sharp. Hungry. Victorious.
“A trick,” he said, voice smooth. “A glamoured illusion. You think you can fool us with parlor tricks? You’re not Eclipse. You’re a fraud. A half-blood who stole the Sigil and twisted the bond to serve her own ends.”
“Then why does the mark glow?” asked the werewolf Alpha, his voice deep, rough. He stood from his throne, his fur-lined cloak shifting as he stepped forward. “Why does the Black Sigil answer to her? Why does the bond *sing* when they’re near?”
“Because she’s manipulated it,” Cassian snapped. “Because she’s used forbidden magic to bind him—”
“No,” Kaelen said, stepping forward. His voice cut through the noise like a blade. “She didn’t bind me. I chose her. Not because of magic. Not because of fate. But because she’s *true*.”
The chamber fell silent.
Every eye turned to him.
Even Cassian’s breath hitched.
“You would risk your throne for her?” Cassian asked, voice low, dangerous.
“I would burn it to ash,” Kaelen said, stepping down from the dais, his boots striking the stone once, twice, three times. “I would tear this city apart. I would die a thousand deaths. Because she’s not just my bondmate. She’s my equal. My justice. My *truth*.”
And then—
He reached for me.
Not with magic.
Not with force.
But with need.
His hand found mine, fingers lacing, the bond singing between us, a second heartbeat, ours. The mating mark flared, not with possession, not with claim.
Love.
And I—
I didn’t pull away.
Just let him hold me.
Because I wasn’t just Eclipse.
I was his.
—
Cassian didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “Then let the Council decide. Let them see the evidence. Let them weigh the truth.”
“There is no evidence,” I said. “Only lies. Only poison. Only your fear of a woman who won’t be silenced.”
“Then let us hear from a witness,” he said, turning. “Lira Nox—step forward.”
My breath caught.
She glided into the chamber like smoke, wearing a gown the color of spilled blood, her hair loose, her eyes sharp with amusement. She didn’t go to her seat. Didn’t bow. Didn’t acknowledge the Council.
She walked straight to the center of the chamber.
And then—
She turned.
And smiled.
“Representatives,” she began, voice like velvet and poison, “I come before you not as a rival. Not as a schemer. But as a witness.”
The chamber stilled.
“I come to speak of truth. Of loyalty. Of a bond that was broken not by magic—but by betrayal.”
Kaelen’s fangs bared.
I tensed beside him, my hand curling into a fist.
“Two centuries ago,” Lira continued, “I stood at the side of the High Sovereign. I fought beside him. I bled for him. And in the darkest night of his grief, when the woman he loved was taken from him—” She paused, her gaze flicking to Kaelen, then to me. “—I was the one who held him. The one who whispered his name in the dark. The one who let him feed from me, not in passion—but in pain.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
“And he marked me,” she said, turning her head, offering the Council a better view of the bite on her throat. “Not as a lover. Not as a conquest. But as a promise. A vow that he would never be alone again.”
“Liar,” I hissed.
“Am I?” Lira smiled. “Then why hasn’t he marked you? Why hasn’t he claimed you? Why hasn’t he—”
“Because I choose her,” Kaelen said, stepping forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
The chamber fell silent.
Every eye turned to him.
Even Cassian’s breath hitched.
“You,” Kaelen continued, stepping forward, “were nothing to me. A moment of weakness. A distraction. A lie you’ve worn like a crown for two centuries.” He turned to the Council. “She was never marked. The bite was self-defense. The ring was forged. And the so-called vow—” His voice dropped, rough, dangerous—“was a lie. And I will not let her stand here and defile the truth.”
Lira didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “Then prove it.”
“I don’t have to,” Kaelen said. “Because the bond is real. The mark is real. And she—” He turned, his gaze locking onto mine, “—is mine.”
The chamber erupted.
Voices. Shouts. Demands for proof.
And then—
Cassian stood.
“There is a way,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “A test. A public test. The High Sovereign must prove his loyalty. Not to the Council. Not to the Dominion. But to the woman he claims as his bondmate.”
My pulse spiked.
“What kind of test?” Kaelen asked, voice cold.
“A simple one,” Cassian said, smiling. “A blood oath. Public. In front of us all. And when the ritual is complete—” He paused. “—we will see if the bond holds. If it is truly fated. Or if it is merely… convenience.”
I stared at him.
It wasn’t just a test.
It was a trap.
A public spectacle. A humiliation. A chance to expose Kaelen, to discredit him, to make him fail in front of the entire Council.
And if he refused—
He was weak. A fraud. A coward.
But if he succeeded—
He was a threat. A target. A man who had to be destroyed.
Indigo didn’t speak. Just held his gaze, those dark eyes searching, testing.
And then—
She nodded.
Once.
A silent promise. A silent strength.
Kaelen turned back to Cassian.
“Very well,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “I accept.”
—
The ritual chamber was prepared in minutes.
A vast, circular space beneath the Council Hall, the ceiling enchanted to mimic the night sky. The full moon hung low, its light silver and cold, casting long shadows across the marble floor. A silver bowl sat in the center, filled with dark liquid—blood, old and potent, drawn from the High Sovereign’s veins.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the dais, stripped to the waist, his chest bare, his fangs just visible when he turned his head. Indigo stood across from him, her back straight, her hands at her sides. The mating mark still glowed faintly beneath her collar, a pulse of indigo light that matched the rhythm of her breath.
The Council watched in silence.
And I—
I stood in the shadows, heart pounding, hands clenched at my sides.
Because I could feel it.
The magic.
It wasn’t just in them.
It was in me.
And it was awake.
—
“Begin,” Cassian said.
Kaelen didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand, a silver dagger appearing in his grip. With a single, clean motion, he sliced across his palm. Blood—dark, rich, ancient—dripped into the bowl, sizzling as it met the surface.
Then he offered his hand to Indigo.
She didn’t flinch. Just took it, her fingers lacing with his, the bond singing between them, a second heartbeat, theirs.
And then—
It happened.
Not with sound. Not with light.
But with pressure.
The wards—etched into the stone, woven into the air—surged. A pulse of indigo light rippled outward, silent, unseen by anyone but me. The air thickened. The scent of old magic, of iron and storm, curled around me. And then—
I felt it.
Not just in my chest.
In my hands.
I looked down.
And saw it.
A faint, glowing sigil—crescent moon, just like the one on the robe—etched into my skin, pulsing with power.
And I—
I wasn’t afraid.
I wasn’t confused.
I was awake.
And I knew—
This wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.