The mark burns.
Not like fire. Not like pain.
Like truth.
It pulses beneath my collarbone, a fresh crescent of heat where Kaelen’s fangs broke skin—deep enough to draw blood, deep enough to seal the bond in a way no ritual, no test, no Council decree ever could. It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t calculated. It happened in the wreckage of Vexis’s trap, in the roar of flames and the groan of collapsing stone, when the world was ending and all I could feel was his mouth on mine, his body shielding me, his voice in my blood: You’re mine.
And I let him.
I didn’t fight.
I didn’t pull away.
I arched into the bite, into the claim, into the raw, unfiltered truth of what we are.
Now, as we crouch in the narrow service passage, the heat of the fire at our backs, the ledger clutched to my chest like a dying breath, I press my fingers to the mark.
It’s still wet.
Still bleeding.
Still alive.
“We need to move,” Kaelen says, voice low, urgent. His hand closes around my wrist, not to pull, not to command, but to ground. “The entire wing could go up.”
“The ledger—”
“Is burning,” he growls. “And if you die with it, it doesn’t matter.”
I want to argue. Want to scream that it’s not just paper—it’s my mother’s name. Her final words. The proof that she didn’t die alone. That she wasn’t forgotten. That someone—me—would come for her.
But then I look at him.
Really look.
Smoke streaks his face. Blood drips from a gash on his temple. His storm-gray eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, with the strain of the bond, with the weight of a truth he’s carried for centuries. And yet—
He’s still here.
Still standing.
Still shielding me.
So I nod. “Then we go.”
—
We move fast, crawling through the narrow passage, the stone slick with condensation, the air thick with smoke and the scent of burning parchment. The ledger is tucked beneath my tunic, pressed against my heart, its weight a constant reminder of what we lost—and what we still have.
After what feels like hours, the passage opens into a wider tunnel—carved from black rock, lined with rusted iron pipes that hum with old magic. The air is colder here, the smoke thinner. We’re beneath the estate now, deeper than the wine cellar, deeper than the sealed chamber. Somewhere Vexis thought no one would find.
Kaelen stops, crouched low, his senses scanning the dark. “There’s something ahead,” he murmurs. “Not human. Not vampire. Something… older.”
“Fae?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Witch. But not like you. Not like Orin. This is—” He pauses, nostrils flaring. “—blood magic. Dark. Twisted. Used to bind, not heal.”
My stomach tightens. “Prisoners.”
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.
We move forward, silent, fast, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat. The tunnel splits—left and right. Kaelen takes the left, pressing a hand to the wall. The stone is warm. Pulsing.
“There,” he says, voice low.
A door.
Not iron. Not wood.
Flesh.Stretched over a frame of bone, stitched together with silver thread, its surface slick with something dark and wet. A ward. A seal. A warning.
“Bloodgate,” I whisper. “Only opens with a life.”
“Or a key.” He pulls a small, black stone from his pocket—etched with wolf runes. “Vampire prisons. They use them to contain hybrid magic.”
He presses the stone to the door.
The flesh shudders. The silver threads glow. Then—
It opens.
Not with a creak. Not with a groan.
With a scream.The sound tears from the door itself, high and guttural, like a soul being ripped apart. I clamp my hands over my ears, but it’s inside my head, in my blood, in the bond—help us, help us, help us—a chorus of voices, broken, desperate, alive.
Then silence.
And the stench hits me.
Rot. Blood. Fear.
And beneath it—
Ember.Not mine.
But close.
Like a distant echo.
Kaelen moves first, stepping into the chamber, claws extended, fangs bared. I follow, my magic flaring beneath my skin, ready to ignite.
The chamber is a nightmare.
Not a cell. Not a dungeon.
A lab.
Iron tables line the walls, stained with dried blood. Glass vials hang from the ceiling, filled with dark liquid—some swirling with magic, some pulsing with something darker. And in the center—
Cages.
Not iron. Not steel.
Living bone.Twisted, fused together, their bars slick with something wet. And inside—
Prisoners.
Witches. Werewolves. Fae. Humans. All hybrids. All stripped of their magic, their fangs, their wings. Some are unconscious. Some are screaming. Some are just… staring. Hollow. Broken.
And then—
I see her.
A young woman—no older than twenty—curled in the far corner, her dark hair matted with blood, her wrists bound with silver cuffs. She’s not screaming. Not crying. Just… watching. Her eyes—gold and ember-red—lock onto mine.
And I feel it.
The spark.
The recognition.
“You’re like me,” she whispers.
My breath catches. “What?”
“Emberborn,” she says, voice raw. “I can smell it. In your blood. In your fire.”
Before I can respond, a low growl echoes from the next cage.
A man.
Werewolf. Massive. Muscled. His face is scarred, his fangs broken, his eyes wild with fury. He’s chained to the wall with silver manacles, his wrists raw, his chest heaving. And on his shoulder—
A scar.
Not old. Not from battle.
Fresh.Carved into the skin.
A sigil.
One I’ve seen before.
In the Vault.
In the ledger.
Specimen secured. Blood harvested. Subject terminated.
“They took it,” he snarls, voice guttural. “They took my magic. My shift. My pack.”
“Who?” Kaelen asks, stepping forward.
“Vexis.” The man bares his fangs. “And the Council. They’ve been doing this for decades. Capturing hybrids. Draining their blood. Using it to power their spells, their weapons, their war.”
My stomach turns.
“They wanted mine too,” the woman says, lifting her cuffed hands. “But I fought. I burned one of them alive. They’ve kept me here ever since. Testing. Cutting. Trying to understand how the fire works.”
“And the others?” I ask, looking at the cages.
“Dead,” the man says. “Or worse. Turned into thralls. Mindless. Obedient. Used to hunt their own kind.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightens. “How many?”
“Dozens,” the woman says. “Hidden across the Spire. In the old tunnels. Beneath the blood bars. This is just one lab. There are others.”
My blood runs cold.
This isn’t just about my mother.
It’s about all of us.
The hybrids. The outcasts. The ones they call monsters.
And Vexis—he’s not just a villain.
He’s a butcher.
“We’re getting you out,” I say, stepping to the first cage. The lock is silver, etched with vampire sigils. “Kaelen—”
“I can’t break it,” he says, voice low. “Silver. Blood magic. It’ll burn me.”
“Then I will.”
I press my palm to the lock.
Fire erupts from my fingertips—red-gold flame that licks up the bars, searing the sigils. The lock glows, then melts, the silver dripping like wax. The cage door swings open.
The woman stumbles out, collapsing into my arms. She’s weak. Emaciated. But alive.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Not yet.” I help her to the next cage. “We’re not safe.”
Kaelen moves to the werewolf’s cage, examining the manacles. “These are different. Warded. If I break them, they’ll trigger an alarm.”
“Then we go quiet,” I say. “No fire. No magic. Just speed.”
“We can’t carry them all,” he says. “Not without being seen.”
“Then we don’t carry them.” I turn to the woman. “Can you walk?”
She nods. “Slow. But I can.”
“Good.” I look at the werewolf. “You?”
He glares. “I’ll crawl if I have to.”
“Then move.” I step to the next cage, pressing my palm to the lock. “We’re getting out. All of us.”
—
It takes twenty minutes to free them.
Seven survivors. Five more dead in their cages. Two turned—eyes blank, mouths slack, standing like statues in the corner. I don’t touch them. Don’t speak. Just lead the others to the tunnel, my magic flaring low, my senses scanning for threats.
Kaelen brings up the rear, the werewolf leaning on his shoulder, the man’s breath ragged, his body trembling with exhaustion. The woman walks beside me, her hand gripping my arm, her steps slow but steady.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Lira,” she whispers. “Lira Ember.”
My breath catches. “Ember?”
She nods. “Distant bloodline. Not strong. But fire runs in my veins too.”
“You’re family,” I say, and the word feels right.
She doesn’t answer. Just tightens her grip.
—
We’re halfway through the tunnel when the alarms sound.
Not loud. Not shrill.
Low.A hum. A pulse. Like a heartbeat in the stone.
“They know,” Kaelen says, voice tight. “We need to move. Now.”
“How?” Lira asks, her voice trembling. “They’ll be everywhere.”
“Not if we’re faster.” I press a hand to the wall, feeling the vibration. “The alarm’s on a loop. It’ll take them minutes to pinpoint the breach. We use that time.”
“And then what?” the werewolf growls. “We run? Hide? Die in the tunnels?”
“No.” I turn to him. “We fight.”
He stares. “You’re one witch. One Alpha. We’re broken. Starving. What can we do?”
“We burn.” I lift my hand, fire flaring in my palm—red-gold, fierce, alive. “And we don’t stop until every last one of them is ash.”
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then—
Lira raises her hand.
A spark.
Small. Faint.
But fire.
And then—
The werewolf straightens, his eyes blazing with something feral, something free. “Then let’s give them hell.”
—
We don’t make it to the exit.
Halfway up the service passage, the tunnel collapses—stone and fire and burning timber crashing down, cutting off the way out. We’re trapped. Again.
“Now what?” Lira asks, her voice tight.
“Now we wait,” Kaelen says, pressing a hand to the wall. “The fire will burn through the upper levels. They’ll send guards to contain it. We use the chaos.”
“And if they send them down here?”
“Then we fight.” I step to the front, fire dancing in my palms. “They want monsters? Let’s give them monsters.”
Minutes pass.
Then—
Footsteps.
Soft. Fast. Many.
They come from both ends of the tunnel—vampire enforcers, fae hunters, werewolf trackers. Armed. Armored. Ready.
“Stay behind me,” I say, stepping forward.
“No.” Kaelen moves to my side, claws extended, fangs bared. “We fight together.”
I don’t argue.
I just nod.
And when the first enforcer lunges—
I ignite.
Fire explodes from my palms, 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 spin, fire surging from my hands, searing the air, forcing the others back.
Kaelen moves like shadow—claws slashing, fangs tearing—dropping two enforcers with a single swipe. The werewolf—despite his chains—fights like a beast, biting, clawing, roaring as he takes down a tracker.
Lira stumbles forward, her hands trembling, but fire erupts from her fingers—small, uncontrolled, but enough to blind a hunter, to make him hesitate.
And in that moment—
I see it.
Not just survival.
Not just revenge.
Hope.
These are my people.
My blood.
My fight.
And I will not let them die in the dark.
“Zara!” Kaelen shouts.
I turn.
A vampire is behind me—silver dagger raised, fangs bared.
I don’t think.
I just act.
I spin, fire roaring from my palm, a blast of heat and light that engulfs him, turning him to ash in seconds.
Then—
Silence.
The tunnel is littered with bodies. Smoke fills the air. The survivors—Lira, the werewolf, the others—stand, breathing hard, their eyes wide with something new.
Victory.
“We can’t stay,” Kaelen says, pressing a hand to the wall. “More are coming.”
“Then we go deeper,” I say. “Find another way out. Or die fighting.”
He looks at me—really looks—and for the first time, I see it.
Not dominance.
Not control.
Pride.
“Then let’s burn,” he says.
And we do.
—
Hours later, we emerge in the lower tunnels—beneath the blood bars, where the scent of iron and old blood is thick. The survivors are weak. Exhausted. But alive.
Kaelen carries Lira—her legs gave out halfway. I support the werewolf, his chains still on, but his head high.
“What now?” he asks.
“Now,” I say, pressing a hand to the mark on my collarbone, feeling the bond hum, feeling the fire in my veins, “we go to war.”
And for the first time, I believe it.
This isn’t just about my mother.
It’s about all of us.
And I will not stop until every last one of them is ash.
—
That night, I dream of fire.
Of her.
Of a mark burning into my skin, of fangs at my 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.