The first time the blood moon touched me, it didn’t rise.
It awoke.
Not in the sky. Not in the heavens. But in my blood.
I felt it the moment I stepped onto the balcony—barefoot on cold stone, the mating mark on my neck pulsing with quiet fire, the chain coiled around my wrist warm and alive. The Midnight Accord hummed beneath me—wards low, ley lines steady, the city breathing in the hush before the storm. But the air—
It was charged.
Not with frost. Not with silence. Not even with the honeyed warmth of the Summer Court’s glamour. But with something older. Something deeper. Something that thrummed in my veins like a second heartbeat, like a drumbeat from the edge of time.
And then—
A single pulse.
Not from the moon. Not from the sky.
From within.
The Black Sigil beneath my ribs flared—indigo and silver, slow and sure, awake. The ring on my finger—black stone veined with indigo—glowed faintly, its weight both familiar and sacred. The key to the northern gate, tucked into my belt, pulsed in time with the bond. And the mating mark—
It burned.
Not with pain. Not with possession.
But with need.
And for one breathless second, I *saw* it.
A man—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—standing beneath a blood moon, his hand outstretched, his voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”*
And then—
He looked up.
Not at me.
But through me.
And he said—
“The bond is not yours to break.”
And then—
The vision snapped.
I gasped, stumbling back, my hand flying to my chest, the Black Sigil pulsing beneath my ribs. The pulse faded—gone, like it had never been. But the heat remained. Deep. Rooted. Real.
And I—
I wasn’t just Indigo.
I was hers.
And he was mine.
—
I didn’t tell Kaelen.
Not yet.
He was in the war room—maps spread across the table, his molten gold eyes scanning the ley lines, his fangs bared in concentration. The wound at his side had healed, but the venom’s shadow still lingered in his blood, a whisper of weakness he refused to admit. He had stood between me and the Prince’s blade. Again. Without hesitation. Without sound. Just a flicker of pain in his eyes before he’d pulled me closer, his fangs grazing my throat, just a whisper of pressure, a promise.
And I’d said, “Always.”
But now—
Now something else was coming.
Something hotter.
Something fiercer.
And far more ancient.
So I kept it to myself.
Just me.
And the magic.
—
The Council had passed the third law—the Seal of Summer now rested beside the Seal of Winter at the center of the dais, pulsing with warm light, a silent witness to balance. The northern gate remained open—no longer a wound, but a bridge. The Summer Court had not attacked. Had not spoken. But they had appeared. And in their warmth, they had changed everything.
But the blood moon—
It didn’t believe in warmth.
It believed in truth.
And it wasn’t here to seduce.
It was here to claim.
—
The pulse returned that night.
Not in the war room. Not in the throne chamber. But in my blood.
I was lying in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, the mating mark glowing faintly against my skin. Kaelen was beside me, his body a wall of cool strength, his breath steady, his fangs just visible in the moonlight. I should have been asleep. Should have been safe. Should have been still.
But then—
It came.
A surge—deep in my core, in my bones, in my soul. The Black Sigil flared beneath my ribs, not with indigo, not with silver, but with carmine—the color of blood, of fire, of the moon above. The chain around my wrist coiled tighter, warm and alive, a serpent made of memory. The ring on my finger burned—just a whisper, just a spark—but it was there.
And then—
I saw it.
The man—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—standing beneath a blood moon, his hand outstretched, his voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”*
And then—
He stepped forward.
“The bond is not yours to break,” he said, voice smooth, deep, dripping with ancient power. “It is yours to awaken.”
“And if I don’t?” I asked, voice steady.
He didn’t flinch. Just raised his hand—and the moon burned.
Not with fire. Not with light.
But with truth.
The dream snapped.
I woke gasping, my hand flying to my chest—no mark, no chain, but the heat remained. Deep. Rooted. Real.
And I—
I wasn’t just dreaming.
I was called.
—
I didn’t go to the seers.
Not again.
They had already warned me. Already told me what was coming. And I couldn’t keep asking for answers I wasn’t ready to hear.
So I went to the archives.
Not to search. Not to hide.
But to fight.
I pulled down every grimoire bound in bone, unrolled every scroll sealed in silver, pried open every case of black iron. The scent of old paper, of ink and magic, clung to my skin. My fingers trembled as I turned pages, my breath shallow, my heart pounding. I wasn’t looking for a spell. Not for a weapon. Not for a way to break the chain.
I was looking for him.
And then—
I found it.
Not in a book. Not in a scroll.
But in a mirror.
It stood in the corner of the chamber—tall, framed in black stone, its surface cracked, its reflection distorted. I hadn’t noticed it before. But now—
Now it called to me.
I stepped closer, my boots soft on the stone, my breath shallow. The mirror didn’t show me. Not my face. Not my body. But a man—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—standing beneath a blood moon, his hand outstretched, his voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”*
And then—
He looked up.
Not at me.
But through me.
And he said—
“The bond is not yours to break.”
I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my palm to the glass.
And the world burned.
Not with fire. Not with pain.
But with memory.
Not mine.
But his.
A man—standing beneath a blood moon, his hand outstretched, his voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”* A woman—pale as moonlight, her hair like spun silver, her eyes two frozen lakes—raising her hand. And then—
He stepped forward.
“The bond is not yours to break,” he said. “It is yours to awaken.”
The vision snapped.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping, my hand pressed to my chest, the Black Sigil pulsing like a second heartbeat. The mirror cracked further, a web of frost spreading across its surface. And then—
It shattered.
Not with sound. Not with force.
But with silence.
And I—
I wasn’t just Indigo.
I was awake.
—
I didn’t go to Kaelen.
Not yet.
But I didn’t have to.
He came to me.
Standing in the corridor outside the archives, his tunic open at the throat, his fangs just visible when he turned his head. His molten gold eyes locked onto mine, not with suspicion, not with anger, but with something deeper.
Recognition.
“You’ve seen him,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “The Blood Moon King. He’s coming.”
He didn’t question. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then reached for my hand. Not to take it. But to press his palm to mine, his fingers brushing the mating mark.
“He was a warrior,” he said. “Not a king. Not a ruler. But a man who tried to awaken what had been silenced. He tried to break the Eclipse. He tried to silence the truth.” He looked up, those golden eyes locking onto mine. “And now he’s back.”
“And if he breaks the bond?” I asked.
“Then we fight,” he said. “Not just for the throne. Not just for the balance. But for us.”
My breath caught.
And then—
He stepped closer.
Pressed his forehead to mine.
And whispered—
“You’re not alone.”
—
The next day, I went to the ritual chamber.
Not to hide. Not to flee.
But to challenge.
I laid my palm on the stone, the Black Sigil flaring beneath my ribs, and whispered the incantation Mira had taught me—words in a language older than the coven, older than the Dominion.
“Veritas sanguis. Veritas vinculum. Veritas cor.”
Truth in blood. Truth in bond. Truth in heart.
The sigils flared—indigo and silver, pulsing faster, brighter. The air thickened. The scent of old magic, of iron and storm, curled around me. And then—
A whisper.
Not loud. Not commanding.
But everywhere.
“You dare?” it said, smooth, deep, dripping with ancient power. “You dare awaken what was sealed? You dare defy the blood moon?”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone. “The truth isn’t yours to silence,” I said. “It’s mine to awaken.”
The whisper grew louder. The sigils trembled. And then—
A shape.
Not solid. Not real.
But there.
The Blood Moon King.
He stood before me, tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—his face half-hidden in shadow, his fingers brushing a sigil carved into black stone. He looked at me, really looked at me, and for one breathless second, I saw it.
Recognition.
“You are not ready,” he said, voice deep, sharp, his.
“Then make me ready,” I said, stepping forward. “Or break me. But know this—I will not kneel.”
He didn’t speak. Just raised his hand.
And the chamber burned.
Not with fire.
Not with frost.
But with blood.
The sigils dimmed. The torchlight flickered. The ley lines beneath the city stilled.
And then—
He vanished.
Not in smoke. Not in fire.
But in carmine.
A single drop of blood drifted down, landing on my wrist—warm, sharp, laced with something older than war.
And then—
The chamber cooled.
The sigils flared. The torchlight burned. The ley lines pulsed.
And the bond—
It was still there.
Warm. Alive. Mine.
—
I didn’t go to Kaelen.
Not yet.
But I didn’t have to.
He found me.
Standing in the corridor outside the ritual chamber, my breath shallow, my eyes wide, my hand pressed to the mating mark. He didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, his boots soft on the stone, his cloak bending light around him. His molten gold eyes locked onto mine, not with suspicion, not with anger, but with something deeper.
Recognition.
“You’ve seen him,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “The Blood Moon King. He’s coming.”
He didn’t question. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then reached for my hand. Not to take it. But to press his palm to mine, his fingers brushing the mating mark.
“Then we prepare,” he said. “Not just for war. But for truth.”
My breath caught.
And then—
He stepped closer.
Pressed his forehead to mine.
And whispered—
“You’re not alone.”
—
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I found the letter.
Not on the desk. Not in the drawer.
But tucked beneath the pillow, the paper thin, the ink smudged. No name. No seal. Just a single line:
The Blood Moon is rising.
I didn’t speak. Just handed it to Kaelen.
He read it once. Then again. Then set it down on the nightstand.
“Then let it rise,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “We’ve faced worse.”
And as I fell asleep in his embrace, the mating mark glowing like a brand, the Black Sigil pulsing beneath my ribs, the chain warm around my wrist, the key heavy in my hand, the new sigil warm against my chest, I knew—
This wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
And I would not be silenced.
Not again.
Not ever.