The heat doesn’t leave.
Not truly.
Even after the scriptorium, after the kiss, after the way her body arched into mine like it was starved for me—still, it lingers. A low, insistent pulse beneath my skin, a fire banked but not extinguished. The bond hums, restless, unsatisfied. It got a taste. A promise. But not completion.
And neither did I.
I shouldn’t have kissed her.
I knew that the second my mouth crashed down on hers. Knew it when her hands flew to my chest—not to push me away, but to hold on. Knew it when her magic flared, a burst of red-gold flame that seared the air between us, and I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. Just growled into her mouth and pressed her harder against the shelf, my hand burning beneath her shirt, my body screaming for more.
But I stopped.
Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have stopped at all.
And if I’d taken her there, in that crumbling scriptorium, with the scent of old parchment and her sweat and my need thick in the air, the bond would have sealed. Fully. Irrevocably. And she would have hated me for it. Not because I forced her—because I didn’t. She said yes. She said mine. She arched into me, whimpered when my fangs grazed her lip, trembled when my hand closed over her breast.
But she wasn’t ready.
Not for that.
Not for me.
And I—
I wasn’t ready to lose her.
So I walked away.
Left her trembling in the shadows, her lips swollen, her breath ragged, her body humming with the ghost of my touch. Left her with one word echoing in the silence:
Yes.
And now, hours later, I stand at the edge of the Northern Balcony, the cold mountain wind biting through my shirt, the city of Veridian Spire spread out below me like a wounded beast. The full moon has passed, but the heat remains—amplified by Vexis’s blood magic, twisted by the bond, fed by the truth we can no longer deny.
I didn’t just mark her.
I claimed her.
And she let me.
Not in the fire. Not in the ruins. Not when the world was collapsing around us.
But in the quiet. In the stillness. In the moment she pressed her hands to my chest and said, “I’m yours.”
That was the real claiming.
And now, the beast inside me—the wolf, the vampire, the cursed thing I’ve spent centuries trying to control—knows it.
She’s mine.
And I will never let her go.
—
“Alpha.”
Riven’s voice cuts through the wind. He steps onto the balcony, his boots silent on stone, his expression unreadable. “She’s asking for you.”
My jaw tightens. “She shouldn’t be.”
“She is.” He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down. “Says it’s urgent.”
“It can wait.”
“No.” He meets my gaze. “It can’t.”
I turn to him. “You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“I do.” His voice is quiet. Final. “I’ve seen you fight the heat before. I’ve seen you lock yourself in the chambers, starve yourself, bleed yourself just to stay in control. But this time—” He glances toward the corridor. “This time, it’s different. She’s different.”
“She’s not ready.”
“She’s not hiding.” He steps closer. “She’s not running. She’s standing. She’s fighting. And she’s asking for you.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s right.
Zara doesn’t ask for anything.
She takes. She fights. She burns.
But she doesn’t ask.
Not for help.
Not for mercy.
Not for me.
And if she is—
Then something’s wrong.
“Where is she?”
“Your chambers.”
I don’t wait.
I move.
Fast.
Through the winding corridors, past the silent guards, past the flickering runes embedded in the stone. The bond hums between us—stronger now, sharper—like it’s pulling me toward her, like it knows she’s waiting.
And then—
I see her.
She’s standing at the edge of the hearth, her back to me, her silhouette sharp against the firelight. She’s not in armor. Not in silk. Just black trousers, a fitted tunic, her hair loose, falling over one shoulder. The mark on her collarbone pulses faintly beneath the fabric, a crescent of heat that calls to me like a war drum in my veins.
She doesn’t turn.
Doesn’t speak.
Just stands there, her fingers pressed to the stone mantel, her breath steady, her spine straight.
“You asked for me,” I say, voice low.
She doesn’t look at me. “You left.”
“I had to.”
“No.” She turns, her storm-gray eyes locking onto mine. “You didn’t. You walked away. Again.”
My jaw tightens. “I was protecting you.”
“From what?” Her voice is sharp. “From yourself? From the bond? From the truth?” She steps forward, her magic flaring just beneath her skin, the air around her shimmering with heat. “You think I don’t feel it? You think I don’t know what you are? What we are?”
“Then why call me?”
“Because I’m not done.”
“With what?”
“With you.” She closes the distance between us, stopping just in front of me. Too close. Too warm. Too present. “You think you can kiss me like that—like I’m already yours—and then just walk away? Like I’m some prize you’ve claimed and can ignore until you’re ready?”
“I didn’t ignore you.”
“You left.”
“Because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You think that hurt me?” She laughs—sharp, bitter. “You think I care about a kiss? A touch? A mark?” Her hand lifts, fingers brushing the crescent on her collarbone. “I’ve had worse.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to stop running.” Her voice drops, rough with something I can’t name. “I want you to stop pretending you’re protecting me when all you’re doing is pushing me away. I want you to stop acting like this bond is yours to control. Like I’m yours to command.”
“You are mine.”
“Am I?” She tilts her head. “Then why do you keep leaving?”
My breath hitches.
Because she’s right.
And I don’t know how to answer.
So I do the only thing I can.
I pull her into me.
One arm wraps around her back, the other cradling her head, shielding her as the world dissolves into fire and need. Her body arches into mine, her breath catching, her magic flaring. The bond surges—hot, violent, hungry. I can feel her heart, her breath, her need.
And then—
She doesn’t fight.
She doesn’t push me away.
She just… holds on.
Her hands fist in my shirt, not to shove me back, but to pull me closer. Her face buries in my neck, her breath hot, unsteady. Her body trembles—not from fear. From need.
“Kaelen,” she whispers, voice raw. “I don’t want you to leave.”
My chest tightens.
Because I’ve spent my life believing I wasn’t worthy of being wanted.
That the curse in my blood—the wolf, the vampire, the monster—made me unfit for love. For loyalty. For her.
And now, she’s saying it.
Not with words.
With her body. With her breath. With the way her fingers clutch at my back like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling.
“I’m not leaving,” I murmur, my lips brushing her temple. “Not this time.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just holds on.
And I let her.
Let her anchor me. Let her ground me. Let her be the one who stays.
—
Hours pass.
We don’t speak. Don’t move. Just stand there, wrapped in each other, the fire crackling in the hearth, the bond humming between us like a live wire. The heat is still there—low, insistent, alive—but it’s different now. Not wild. Not uncontrolled. Contained. Like a fire banked, not extinguished.
And then—
She shifts.
Just slightly. Her head tilts, her lips brushing the column of my throat. A whisper of contact. But it’s enough. Heat explodes beneath my skin, racing down my neck, pooling between my thighs. My fangs lengthen. My claws erupt. My body tenses, ready to take, to claim, to mark.
But I don’t.
Because she’s not asking for that.
She’s asking for this.
For me to stay.
For me to hold her.
For me to be here.
So I do.
I lower my head, my lips brushing her temple, her cheek, the curve of her jaw. Not a kiss. Not a claim. Just… contact. Connection. A promise.
And then—
Her hand lifts.
Slow. Deliberate.
Fingers brushing my cheek. Just a whisper of touch. But it’s enough. My breath hitches. My body betrays me, arching into her, seeking more.
“You’re not a monster,” she whispers.
My eyes close.
Because I’ve spent centuries believing I was.
That the blood in my veins—the curse, the power, the fangs and claws—made me something to be feared. Controlled. Destroyed.
And now, she’s saying it.
Not with logic. Not with reason.
With her hand on my face. With her breath on my skin. With the way her body fits against mine like it was made for me.
“You’re not,” she says again, her thumb tracing my lower lip. “You’re mine. And I’m not afraid of you.”
My heart stutters.
Because she is.
She’s terrified.
I can feel it in the bond—in the way her pulse jumps, in the way her magic flares, in the way her body trembles when I touch her.
But she’s not running.
She’s not fighting.
She’s staying.
And that—that is the most dangerous thing of all.
“Why?” I ask, voice rough. “Why aren’t you afraid?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just leans in, her lips hovering over mine. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to claim.
But she doesn’t.
Just… waits.
And then—
Her hand slides up my chest, over my shoulder, to my neck—just like in the library. Not choking. Not hurting. Claiming. Her thumb brushes my pulse.
“You feel that?” she asks, voice low. “Your heart. Racing. Not from the heat.”
“No.”
“You’re not feral.”
“No.”
“You’re not lost.”
“No.”
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
She smiles—just slightly. Not a victory. Not a challenge.
Something softer.
Something real.
And then—
She kisses me.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and need and something deeper—something fierce, something protective. Her lips are soft, demanding, her tongue sliding against mine like a claim. I gasp, my hands flying to her waist, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on.
She tastes like smoke and iron and something darker—something ancient and wild. The kiss is slow, deep, a collision of fire and fury. Her fangs graze my lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make me growl.
And then—
Her hand slides under my shirt, fingers burning over my stomach, my ribs, my back—
And the world explodes.
Heat. Light. Fire.
My magic ignites—just for a second, a burst of black-silver flame that licks up my arms, searing the air between us.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull back.
She just moans into my mouth, her body arching into mine, her fingers clutching at my skin.
And then—
I break the kiss.
Step back.
My breath comes in ragged gasps. My lips are swollen. My body aches. My core throbs with a need so deep it feels like a wound.
She stares at me, her eyes dark, her chest heaving. “You feel that?” she asks, voice rough. “That fire? That need? That’s not the heat. That’s us.”
“You don’t get to do that,” I whisper.
“I do.” She steps closer, her thumb brushing my lower lip. “Because you’re mine. And no matter how much you run, no matter how much you hide—you’ll never belong to anyone else.”
“I don’t belong to you.”
“Liar.” She leans in, her lips hovering over mine. “You’re already mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
And before I can respond, she turns and walks away, leaving me trembling in the shadows, my body humming with the ghost of her touch, my mind screaming one word—
Yes.
—
That night, I dream of fire.
Of her.
Of a mark burning into my skin, of fangs at her throat, of a voice whispering, “You’re mine.”
I wake drenched in sweat, my heart racing, my body aching.
And in the silence, beneath the fury and the fear and the mission—
I feel it.
The truth.
The bond.
And the fire that will either consume us both…
Or make us unbreakable.