The Council Chamber is colder than stone.
Not in temperature—though the air here always carries the chill of ancient magic and older grudges—but in intent. The obsidian doors groan shut behind us, sealing Zara and me inside with the five thrones hovering above the dais, their occupants watching like vultures circling carrion.
The Fae Queen lounges, bare feet propped on the armrest, her emerald eyes sharp with amusement. The Vampire Sovereign sits rigid, crimson gaze fixed on the silver sigil etched into the floor—the Bonding Circle. The Human Liaison fidgets, sweat beading on his temple. Garrik, the Elder Pack representative, leans forward, nostrils flaring as he scents the air. And then there’s him.
Lord Vexis.
He smiles as we enter, slow and serpentine, his long coat whispering against the stone. “Ah. The bonded pair. How… predictable.”
I don’t respond. My hand tightens around Zara’s wrist—just above the pulse, where the bond hums strongest. She doesn’t pull away. Not anymore. Not since the fire. Not since I marked her.
The mark burns beneath her tunic, a crescent of heat just below her collarbone. Public. Unmistakable. A claim. A truth. And now, they want to test it.
The High Oracle rises, her voice echoing through the chamber. “By the laws of the Dark Council, when a fated bond is contested, a ritual of judgment shall be performed. Blood, magic, and scent shall align—or the claim shall be nullified.”
Her gaze lands on Zara. “Lady Selene Vey. Witch of the Eastern Coven. You bear the Alpha’s mark. Do you claim it as true?”
Zara lifts her chin. “I do.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
“And you, Kaelen Dain,” the Oracle continues. “Do you stand by this bond?”
“I do.” My voice is low, final. “And I will defend it with my life.”
“Then let the ritual begin.”
Two attendants step forward—one vampire, one witch—bearing silver bowls, crystal vials, and a dagger forged from moonsteel. The scent of old magic fills the air, sharp and metallic. The Bonding Circle pulses faintly, its runes glowing with dormant power.
“The test is simple,” the Oracle says. “Blood shall be drawn. Magic shall be called. And the bond shall reveal itself.”
She gestures to the center of the sigil. “Step forward.”
Zara hesitates. I feel it—the flicker of fear beneath her skin, the way her pulse stutters. Not of the ritual. Not of the pain.
Of exposure.
She’s spent her life hiding. Masking. Lying. And now, the bond—this raw, unfiltered truth between us—will be laid bare for all to see.
I squeeze her wrist. Not to control. To steady.
She looks at me. For a heartbeat, I see it—doubt. Vulnerability. The woman beneath the fire.
Then she steps forward.
We stand in the center of the sigil, facing each other, the circle humming beneath our feet. The attendants approach—one to each of us. The vampire holds the moonsteel dagger. The witch cradles a silver bowl.
“Blood first,” the Oracle commands.
The blade bites into my palm—shallow, precise. A single drop of blood falls into the bowl—black as midnight, swirling with silver threads. Vampire and wolf. Cursed. Powerful.
Then it’s Zara’s turn.
The dagger pricks her fingertip. A drop of blood—dark, shimmering with a faint red glow—falls into a second bowl. Emberborn.
The witch lifts both bowls, pouring the blood into the center of the sigil.
Everyone watches.
And then—
The blood moves.
Not mixing.
Twining.
Her crimson stream curls around my obsidian one, spiraling together like lovers in the dark. The glow intensifies—red and silver flaring, then merging into a single, pulsing light.
The bond is true.
The chamber erupts.
“By the stars,” the Human Liaison whispers.
Garrik bares his fangs. “A true fated bond. After all these centuries.”
Vexis’s smile doesn’t waver. But his eyes—cold, ancient, calculating—flicker with something darker. Alarm.
“Blood confirms,” the Oracle says. “Now, magic.”
She gestures to the witch attendant, who hands each of us a crystal—clear, uncut, pulsing with stored energy.
“Channel your power,” she commands. “Let the bond speak.”
I close my fingers around the crystal. Focus. The bond hums beneath my skin, a low, insistent drumbeat. I call to it—not with force, but with need. With truth.
Heat flares in my palm.
The crystal glows—black and silver, veins of light racing through its core.
Then I look at Zara.
She’s still. Silent. Her eyes closed, her breath steady. Her fingers tighten around the crystal. And then—
Fire.
Not flame. Not explosion.
Recognition.
The crystal ignites—red-gold light spilling from her palm, licking up her arm like a living thing. The air shimmers with heat. The sigil pulses in response, the runes flaring in time with the bond.
And then—
The crystals connect.
A thread of light—red and silver—snaps between us, linking the two stones like a bridge. The bond isn’t just proven.
It’s celebrated.
“Magic confirms,” the Oracle says, her voice hushed. “Now, scent.”
She turns to the vampire attendant, who steps forward with a silver censer—smoldering with crushed moonpetals and dried wolf’s bane. A truth-seeker’s blend. It forces supernaturals to emit their true scent, unmasked by glamour or suppression.
“Breathe deep,” she commands.
I do.
And the world shifts.
Zara’s scent—always smoke and defiance—unfolds like a storm. Beneath it, the rich spice of witch blood, the wild musk of wolf, the sharp, electric tang of Emberborn fire. But now—
Now, it’s mine.
My pine. My iron. My smoke. Woven through her like a second skin. Not layered. Not imposed.
Shared.
I turn to her.
Her eyes are wide. Her breath shallow. She smells it too.
“Scent confirms,” the Oracle says, stepping back. “The bond is true. Kaelen Dain and Zara Emberborn are bound by fate. No claim may supersede it.”
The chamber is silent.
Then—
A laugh.
High. Sweet. False.
Mira Solen steps from the shadows, flanked by two vampire attendants. She’s in emerald green again, her hair down, her neck bare—except for the faint, silvery mark. The bite.
She smiles. “Then let me offer my own test.”
She holds up a crystal vial—dark red liquid swirling inside. Blood.
“This is Kaelen’s blood,” she purrs. “Given freely. Shared in passion. Sealed with a kiss.” She lifts her wrist, showing the silver serpent ring. “He marked me first. Weeks ago. In the privacy of his chambers. No witnesses. No lies.”
My jaw tightens.
She stole it. After the full moon, when I was weak. Drugged a servant, took a vial from the healing stores. Used blood magic to mimic the bond’s reaction.
But the Council doesn’t know that.
And Mira doesn’t care.
“If the bond is true,” she says, “then let it be tested. Let his blood reject mine. Let the magic prove I am nothing to him.”
She’s good.
She’s not denying the mark. She’s challenging it. Forcing a public spectacle. Making me choose—here, now, in front of them all—between the truth and the lie.
And if I refuse?
Then I look guilty.
“Very well,” the Oracle says. “Let the blood be tested.”
The attendants take the vial. Pour it into a silver bowl. Mira slices her fingertip, lets a drop fall in.
The blood moves.
Not mixing.
Twining.
Her crimson stream curls around the dark red, spiraling together like lovers in the dark. The glow intensifies—crimson and black flaring, then merging into a single, pulsing light.
A gasp ripples through the chamber.
“Impossible,” Garrik growls.
“Not impossible,” Vexis says smoothly. “Just… unexpected.”
Mira smiles. “The bond recognizes true mates. And if the Council demands proof—” She gestures to the vial. “—I have it. His blood. His scent. His claim.”
I don’t move. Don’t speak.
Because I know what comes next.
“Then let the final test be performed,” the Oracle says. “The bond shall decide.”
She turns to Zara. “You must touch him. Skin to skin. Let the magic respond.”
My breath stills.
This is the moment.
The bond doesn’t lie. It doesn’t pretend. It doesn’t perform.
It only knows one truth.
And if Zara touches me—if she lets her hand meet mine, if she lets the bond surge between us—then Mira’s lie will crumble.
But if she hesitates?
If she pulls back?
Then the doubt will take root. The Council will question. The bond will weaken.
And I will lose her.
Zara looks at me.
Her eyes are dark. Stormy. The fire in them is banked, but not gone. She’s afraid. Not of the test. Not of Mira.
Of us.
Of what this means.
Of what she’s becoming.
“Do it,” I say, voice low. “Let them see the truth.”
She doesn’t answer.
But she steps forward.
One hand lifts.
Slow. Deliberate.
And then—
Her fingers brush mine.
Fire.
Not pain. Not magic.
Recognition.
The bond screams between us—hot, violent, hungry. The sigil erupts in light, red and silver flaring like a starburst. The crystals in our hands shatter, shards raining down like glass. The air hums with power. The chamber trembles.
And then—
The vial on the table explodes.
Shards of crystal. Blood splattering the stone.
Mira’s reaction—her twisted mimicry of the bond—shatters like glass.
Because the real thing doesn’t need spells.
It doesn’t need lies.
It only needs her.
She doesn’t pull away.
Her hand closes around mine, fingers lacing, palm to palm. The bond surges—hot, insistent, alive. I feel it in my blood, in my bones, in the way my fangs lengthen, my pulse roars.
And then—
She looks at me.
Really looks.
Not through the mask. Not through the mission. Not through the hate.
At me.
And for the first time, I see it—
Not defiance.
Not vengeance.
Trust.
“You’re mine,” I say, voice rough.
“Say it again,” she whispers.
“You’re mine.”
Her lips curve—just slightly. Not a smile. Not yet.
But something close.
Behind us, Mira makes a sound—half-gasp, half-snarl. “This isn’t over,” she hisses. “You think a little magic proves anything? He’ll grow tired of you. He’ll crave something softer. Something real.”
Zara doesn’t turn. Doesn’t flinch.
She just tightens her grip on my hand.
“You’re not real,” she says, voice calm. “You’re a ghost. A lie. And ghosts don’t get to keep what’s alive.”
The Oracle raises her hands. “The bond has spoken. The claim is true. No further contest shall be entertained.”
Vexis stands. “This is premature. The bond is volatile. Unstable. It could still be broken.”
“It cannot,” the Oracle says. “The mark is sealed. The magic aligned. The scent shared. To deny it is to deny the law.”
He smiles. “Then let the law be tested.”
Before I can react, he turns to the guards. “Seize her.”
Two vampire enforcers move—fast, silent, fangs bared.
But Zara is faster.
Fire explodes from her free hand—red-gold flames that roar to life, searing the air. One enforcer stumbles back, shielding his face. The other lunges—
I shift.
Claws erupt from my fingers. Fangs lengthen. I move like shadow, slamming into the second enforcer, tearing through his chest with a single swipe. Blood sprays the dais.
The first enforcer turns to Zara—
She ignites.
Fire surges from her palm, a wave of heat and light that slams into him, sending him crashing into the wall. He screams as the flames catch his cloak, rolling, thrashing—but I don’t watch.
I step in front of her, shielding her with my body.
“You’re not taking her,” I growl, voice low, dangerous. “Not today. Not ever.”
Vexis doesn’t flinch. “You defy the Council.”
“I defend my mate.”
“And if the Council declares her a threat?”
“Then the Council will burn with her.”
The chamber is silent.
Then—
The Oracle speaks. “The ritual is complete. The bond is true. No further action shall be taken.”
Vexis’s jaw tightens. But he doesn’t argue.
Because he knows.
The bond doesn’t lie.
And now, they all see it.
Zara and I stand in the center of the sigil, hands clasped, the bond humming between us like a live wire. The mark on her collarbone pulses, warm and sure. Her breath is steady. Her spine straight.
She doesn’t look at me.
But her fingers tighten around mine.
And I know—
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning.
—
Outside the chamber, Riven waits.
“They’re watching,” he says quietly. “Vexis’s men. Mira’s spies. They’ll come for her.”
“Let them try.” I don’t release Zara’s hand. “She’s not running.”
“No,” she says, voice firm. “I’m not.”
We walk through the corridors, side by side, the bond a steady pulse between us. No more lies. No more masks. No more denial.
And then—
A whisper in my mind.
Not words.
Emotion.
Fear. Need. Hunger.
I stop.
“What?” Zara asks.
I turn to her. “The heat.”
Her breath catches. “Now?”
“The bond—it’s stronger. The ritual. The fight. It’s triggering the cycle.”
Her pupils dilate. Her scent shifts—smoke and spice and something darker. Want.
“We need to get you to a chamber,” I say. “Now.”
“No.” She lifts her chin. “Not a chamber. Not hiding. If they want to see the bond, let them see it all.”
I stare at her. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.” Her hand tightens around mine. “And I’m not afraid.”
But she is.
I can feel it in the bond—in the way her pulse stutters, in the way her magic flares, in the way her body betrays her, arching into me.
And then—
Vexis’s voice echoes from the shadows. “Trigger the heat. Now.”
I spin, pulling Zara behind me.
But it’s too late.
A scent floods the corridor—thick, cloying, laced with blood magic.
Heat inducer.
And the bond—already strained, already flaring—snaps.
Fire erupts in my veins.
My fangs lengthen. My claws erupt. My vision sharpens, the world narrowing to one truth:
Claim her.
I turn to Zara.
Her eyes are wide. Her breath shallow. Her body trembling.
“Kaelen—”
I don’t let her finish.
I pull her into me, one arm wrapping around her back, the other cradling her head, shielding her as the world dissolves into fire and need.
And then—
“Touch me,” I growl, voice raw. “Or I’ll take it.”