The morning after Kaelen left me trembling in his chambers—again—I wake with fire in my veins and a name on my lips.
Mira.
Not because I dreamt of her. Not because her venomous smile haunts me like a curse. But because I know what she’ll do next.
She lost.
Not just the ritual. Not just the bond’s judgment. But face. In front of the Council. In front of Kaelen. In front of me.
And someone like Mira Solen doesn’t lose quietly.
She doesn’t retreat.
She strikes.
I roll out of bed—his bed, though I don’t think of it that way—and pace the length of the suite. The fire from last night still smolders in my chest, not from magic, but from something deeper. Something that feels too much like need. His mouth on mine. His hands on my skin. The way he pulled back, breath ragged, eyes dark with something feral, something mine.
I press my fingers to my lips.
They’re still swollen.
And I hate that I like it.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he’d said, voice rough, like he couldn’t believe it.
And I’d whispered, “You’re not a monster.”
But I am afraid.
Just not of him.
I’m afraid of how fast this is moving. How deep the bond has already cut. How easy it was to say, “I’m yours,” like it was the truth. Like it was always the truth.
I came here to burn the Council. To expose the lies. To avenge my mother.
Not to fall for the man I was supposed to destroy.
And yet—
Here I am.
Marked.
Claimed.
Wanting.
I pull on black trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced tight. No silk. No velvet. No masquerade. Today, I’m not Lady Selene. I’m not Kaelen’s mate. I’m Zara. And I will not be played.
As I fasten the last buckle, a knock echoes through the suite—sharp, precise.
Riven.
“Zara,” he says as I open the door. “The Oracle requests your presence.”
My stomach drops. “Why?”
“She wouldn’t say. Just that it’s urgent. And that you should come alone.”
Alone.
That’s not a request.
It’s a trap.
But I can’t refuse. Not after the bond’s judgment. Not after Vexis and Mira tried to discredit us. The Oracle holds sway over the Council’s spiritual matters. If she calls, I answer.
“I’ll go,” I say.
“I’ll escort you.”
“No.” I meet his gaze. “She said alone.”
He hesitates. “Kaelen won’t like this.”
“Kaelen’s not my keeper.”
“He’s your mate.”
“And I’m not his pet.” I step into the corridor. “I can handle the Oracle.”
Riven doesn’t argue. Just nods, stepping back.
But I feel his eyes on my back as I walk away.
—
The Oracle’s chamber is in the highest spire of Veridian—accessible only by a narrow, spiraling staircase carved from living obsidian. The air grows colder with every step, the runes embedded in the stone pulsing with a faint, eerie light. At the top, a single door stands sealed with a sigil of intertwined moons—one silver, one black.
I press my palm to it.
Heat flares in my veins.
The sigil glows, then fades. The door swings inward, revealing a circular room bathed in soft, shifting light. Crystals hang from the ceiling, humming with stored power. Scrolls float in glass cases, their ink shifting like living things. And in the center—
The Oracle.
She sits on a throne of bone and thorn, her long silver hair cascading over one shoulder, her eyes closed, her hands resting on the arms of the chair. She’s ancient—older than the Spire, older than the Council—her skin pale as moonlight, her aura thick with the scent of solstice magic and old blood.
“Zara Emberborn,” she says without opening her eyes. “Daughter of Lysara. Heir of Fire.”
My breath catches. No one has called me that in years.
“You summoned me,” I say, voice steady.
She opens her eyes.
They’re not human. Not fae. Not witch.
Other.
Black as void, with silver flecks that swirl like distant stars. And in their depths—
Images.
Flashes. Memories.
My mother, screaming in chains. My throat, slit by a silver dagger. Kaelen, standing beside the executioner, face unreadable.
I stagger back.
“You feel it,” she murmurs. “The weight of the past. The pull of the future.”
“What do you want?”
“To warn you.” She rises, gliding forward like smoke. “Mira Solen has made her move. She claims what cannot be claimed. She wears a lie like a crown.”
My pulse hammers. “She’s already tried. The bond—”
“The bond is not enough.” She stops inches from me, her breath cold on my skin. “She has gone to the Council. To Vexis. She claims she is with child. Kaelen’s child.”
The world tilts.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Her lips curve, not quite a smile. “She has his blood. His scent. His ring. And now—this.”
She lifts a crystal vial—dark red liquid swirling inside. Blood.
“A sample,” she says. “Drawn from her wrist this morning. The Council has ordered a test. Blood to blood. Magic to magic. If the child carries his mark, if the magic aligns—”
“It won’t,” I say, but my voice wavers.
“No.” She tucks the vial away. “It will not. But the doubt will spread. The Council will question. The packs will divide. And Kaelen—” She tilts her head. “—he will be forced to choose. Between you. And the heir he never wanted.”
“He won’t believe her.”
“Belief is not the issue.” Her voice drops. “Power is. Legacy is. And if Mira bears a child with his blood—true or false—the Council will demand he acknowledge it. To maintain stability. To prevent war.”
My stomach drops.
Because she’s right.
The Council doesn’t care about truth. They care about control. And a child—real or not—would be the perfect weapon. A way to bind Kaelen. To weaken the bond. To turn the packs against him.
“Then I’ll expose her,” I say, fire flaring in my palms. “I’ll burn the lie from her skin.”
“You could.” She steps back. “But the Council will demand proof. Not fire. Not fury. Science. And if you act first, you will be the one accused of sabotage.”
“So I do nothing?”
“No.” She turns, gliding toward the center of the chamber. “You face it. You stand before them. You let the blood speak. And when the truth is revealed—” She glances back, her star-filled eyes locking onto mine. “—you will rise. Not as a liar. Not as a half-breed. But as the woman who carries fire in her veins and truth in her heart.”
“And if I fail?”
“Then you were never meant to win.”
Before I can respond, she raises a hand.
“Leave.”
The door swings shut behind me.
—
The summons comes at noon.
A single scroll, delivered by a silent scribe. No name. No seal. Just three words, written in sharp, angular script:
Blood Hall. Now.
I don’t hesitate.
I move fast, through the winding corridors of the Spire, past the training grounds, the armories, the blood bars where vampires feed on willing humans in exchange for coin or secrets. The air grows colder, the walls rougher, the magic thinner. This is the underbelly of the city—the place where hybrids are kept, where secrets are traded, where the Council’s lies fester like open wounds.
The Blood Hall is at the heart of it—a circular chamber carved from black stone, its walls lined with silver veins that pulse like slow blood. In the center, a dais holds two silver bowls, two crystal vials, and a dagger forged from moonsteel. The scent of old magic fills the air, sharp and metallic.
The Council is already assembled—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 I enter, slow and serpentine, his long coat whispering against the stone. “Ah. The fiery little witch. How… prompt.”
I don’t respond.
I step onto the dais, my spine straight, my chin lifted. Kaelen is already there, standing at the edge, his storm-gray eyes shadowed with something I can’t name. Need. Worry. Protectiveness.
And then—
She appears.
Mira Solen.
Dressed in white silk, her platinum hair cascading over one shoulder, her violet eyes gleaming with something sharp and dangerous. She’s not alone. Two vampire attendants follow, one carrying a silver tray, the other holding a crystal vial filled with dark red liquid—blood.
She steps forward, setting the tray on the dais. “I have what you asked for,” she says, voice sweet, saccharine. “A sample of my blood. Drawn this morning. Pure. Untainted.”
The Oracle rises, her voice echoing through the chamber. “By the laws of the Dark Council, when a claim of lineage is made, a blood test shall be performed. If the child carries the Alpha’s mark, if the magic aligns—the claim shall be recognized.”
Her gaze lands on Mira. “Do you claim to carry Kaelen Dain’s heir?”
Mira lifts her chin. “I do.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
“And you, Kaelen Dain,” the Oracle continues. “Do you acknowledge this claim?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I do not.”
“Then let the test begin.”
The attendants step forward—one to Mira, one to Kaelen. The vampire holds the moonsteel dagger. The witch cradles a silver bowl.
“Blood first,” the Oracle commands.
The blade bites into Kaelen’s 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 Mira’s turn.
The dagger pricks her fingertip. A drop of blood—dark, shimmering with a faint crimson glow—falls into a second bowl.
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 his obsidian one, 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.
“By the stars,” the Human Liaison whispers.
Garrik bares his fangs. “A child with his blood. It’s possible.”
Vexis smiles. “The Alpha’s heir. How… fortunate.”
My stomach drops.
It’s impossible.
The bond doesn’t lie.
But this—
This looks like proof.
“You forged it,” I say, stepping forward. “You stole his blood. Used it to fake a bond. To fake a child.”
“Did I?” Mira tilts her head. “Or did he just mark me because he was afraid? Afraid the Council would find out the truth? Afraid they’d realize you’re not enough?”
“Enough.” Kaelen steps in front of me, shielding me from view. “This is a farce. The blood magic—”
“Is real,” Vexis interrupts. “And the result is clear. If the child carries his blood, he must acknowledge it. To maintain stability. To prevent war.”
“Then let the magic speak,” the Oracle says. “Let the truth be revealed.”
She turns 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 ignites—red-gold light spilling from my palm, licking up my arm like a living thing. The air shimmers with heat. The sigil pulses in response, the runes flaring in time with the bond.
Then I look at Mira.
She closes her fingers around the crystal.
And nothing happens.
No light. No heat. No magic.
Just silence.
“Magic fails,” the Oracle says, her voice hushed. “The child does not carry the Alpha’s power.”
“It’s not born yet,” Mira snaps. “The magic takes time—”
“Then let the final test be performed,” the Oracle says. “The blood shall decide.”
She turns to the witch, 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.
Mira does.
And the world shifts.
Her scent—always jasmine and fae magic—unfolds like a storm. Beneath it, the rich spice of witch blood, the wild musk of vampire, the sharp, electric tang of something stolen.
But no wolf.
No pine.
No iron.
No Kaelen.
“Scent fails,” the Oracle says, stepping back. “The child does not carry the Alpha’s essence. The claim is false.”
The chamber is silent.
Then—
Mira makes a sound—half-gasp, half-snarl. “This is a trick! She’s using fire magic to manipulate the test! She’s—”
“Silence.” The Oracle raises her hand. “The blood, magic, and scent have spoken. The claim is false. No further contest shall be entertained.”
Vexis stands. “This is premature. The test could be corrupted. The witch—”
“The witch is Emberborn,” the Oracle says. “And the bond has already confirmed her as the Alpha’s true mate. 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 I’m faster.
Fire explodes from my free hand—red-gold flames that roar to life, searing the air. One enforcer stumbles back, shielding his face. The other lunges—
Kaelen shifts.
Claws erupt from his fingers. Fangs lengthen. He moves like shadow, slamming into the second enforcer, tearing through his chest with a single swipe. Blood sprays the dais.
The first enforcer turns to me—
I ignite.
Fire surges from my 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 Mira.
She’s on her knees, her face pale, her hands clenched at her sides.
“You’re not a mother,” I say, voice calm. “You’re a liar. A thief. A ghost.” I crouch, meeting her eyes. “And ghosts don’t get to keep what’s alive.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just glares.
“You’ll regret this,” she hisses. “He’ll grow tired of you. He’ll crave something softer. Something real.”
“No.” I stand, turning to the Council. “He’ll crave me. Because I’m not soft. I’m not gentle. I’m not a lie.” I lift my chin. “I’m fire. I’m truth. And I’m his.”
The Oracle raises her hands. “The test is complete. The claim is false. 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.
Kaelen steps to my side, his hand finding mine, his grip firm, unyielding.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice low.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
“You’re mine.”
And for the first time, I don’t fight it.
I just… believe.
—
Outside the Blood Hall, 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 Kaelen’s hand. “She’s not running.”
“No,” I say, 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?” I ask.
He turns to me. “The heat.”
My breath catches. “Again?”
“The bond—it’s stronger. The test. The fight. It’s triggering the cycle.”
My pupils dilate. My scent shifts—smoke and spice and something darker. Want.
“We need to get you to a chamber,” I say. “Now.”
“No.” He lifts his chin. “Not a chamber. Not hiding. If they want to see the bond, let them see it all.”
I stare at him. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.” His hand tightens around mine. “And I’m not afraid.”
But he is.
I can feel it in the bond—in the way his pulse stutters, in the way his magic flares, in the way his body betrays him, arching into me.
And then—
Vexis’s voice echoes from the shadows. “Trigger the heat. Now.”
I spin, pulling Kaelen 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.”