The tunnels beneath Veridian Spire don’t have names.
They don’t need them.
They’re not maps. Not routes. They’re veins—dark, pulsing, alive with the rot of secrets too dangerous to surface. And now, as I press my back to the damp stone, my breath shallow, my fingers slick with blood and soot, I realize something I should’ve known from the start:
We’re not escaping.
We’re being herded.
The collapse wasn’t an accident. The guards weren’t random. The path we took—clear, unguarded, leading us deeper into the underbelly—was a trap. A funnel. And we walked right into it.
“They’re coming,” Kaelen murmurs, crouched beside me, his storm-gray eyes scanning the dark. His claws are still out, his fangs bared, his body coiled like a spring. The bond hums between us—low, urgent, thrumming with warning. He feels it too. The shift. The silence. The way the air tastes different now—thicker. Colder. Dead.
Behind us, Lira leans against the wall, her breath ragged, her hands trembling. The werewolf—Rook, he calls himself—stands guard over her, his silver-chained wrists raised despite the pain, his broken fangs bared. The others huddle close, their eyes wide, their magic drained, their hope thin.
They’re not fighters.
They’re survivors.
And I led them here.
“We go back,” I say, voice low. “Retrace our steps. Find another—”
“No.” Kaelen shakes his head. “They’ve sealed the tunnels behind us. I can hear the stone shifting. The wards are active.”
My stomach drops. “Then we push forward.”
“Forward leads to the Blood Pit.”
I freeze. “The what?”
“A vampire torture ring,” he says, voice flat. “Hidden beneath the blood bars. Where they take hybrids they want to break. To drain. To turn into thralls.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
“I didn’t think we’d be walking into it.” His hand finds mine, his thumb brushing my pulse. “I thought we were escaping.”
“We still are.” I lift my chin. “We fight. We burn. We don’t stop.”
He doesn’t argue. Just nods. But I feel it—the bond, pulsing with something deeper than fear. Regret. He blames himself. For not seeing it. For not stopping me. For not protecting me.
Too bad.
I don’t need protection.
I need a weapon.
—
We move.
Not fast. Not silent.
Like a storm.
Fire dances in my palms, a low, controlled burn—enough to light the way, not enough to give us away. Kaelen walks beside me, his body a wall, his senses scanning for traps, for magic, for the faintest hint of movement. The others follow, Lira leaning on Rook, the survivors close behind, their breaths shallow, their steps uneven.
The tunnel narrows.
The air thickens.
And then—
It hits me.
Not scent.
Sound.
A low, rhythmic pulse—like a heartbeat. Like a drum. Like something alive.
And beneath it—
Voices.
Not speaking.
Chanting.
Not in any language I know.
Old. Dark. Blood magic.
“We’re close,” Kaelen says, his voice barely a whisper. “Stay behind me.”
“No.” I step in front of him. “I’m not hiding.”
He doesn’t argue. Just moves to my side.
And then—
The tunnel opens.
And I see it.
The Blood Pit.
Not a chamber. Not a cell.
A temple.
Carved from black stone, its walls lined with veins of silver that pulse like slow blood. The air is thick with the scent of iron and old magic, the floor slick with something dark and wet. In the center—a dais of bone and obsidian, surrounded by flickering torches that burn with black flame. And above it—
A cage.
Not iron. Not steel.
Living thorns.Twisted, fused together, their tips glistening with something sharp. And inside—
Hybrids.
Dozens of them. Naked. Starving. Their eyes hollow, their mouths slack. Some are chained. Some are standing. All are silent. Mindless.
“Thralls,” Kaelen murmurs. “They’ve been drained. Broken. Used to hunt their own kind.”
My stomach turns.
And then—
From the shadows—
They emerge.
Vampire enforcers. Fae hunters. Werewolf trackers. Dozens. Armed. Armored. Their eyes glowing with something feral, something hungry. They don’t attack. Don’t speak. Just fan out, surrounding us, cutting off escape.
And then—
From the dais—
He steps forward.
Lord Vexis.
Dressed in black silk, his crimson eyes glowing in the dark, his smile slow, serpentine. He holds a silver dagger—long, thin, its blade etched with runes that pulse with a sickly light.
“Ah,” he says, voice smooth as venom. “The fiery little witch. And her cursed Alpha. How… predictable.”
I don’t answer.
I raise my hand.
Fire erupts—red-gold flame that roars to life, searing the air, forcing the guards back.
“Zara,” Kaelen growls. “Don’t—”
But it’s too late.
Vexis raises the dagger.
And the thralls move.
Not fast. Not coordinated.
But relentless.
They descend—silent, emotionless, their hands reaching, their mouths opening, their eyes black with something dead. I throw fire—wave after wave—but they don’t scream. Don’t burn. Just keep coming, their skin blistering, their flesh peeling, but still moving.
“They’re already dead,” Kaelen says, stepping in front of me, claws slashing, fangs bared. “Fire won’t stop them.”
“Then we go through them.”
We do.
Kaelen fights like a storm—claws tearing, fangs ripping—dropping thralls with brutal efficiency. Rook joins him, roaring as he slams into a hunter, his chained wrists swinging like weapons. Lira stumbles forward, fire flickering in her palms, small but enough to blind, to distract.
But there are too many.
And then—
I see it.
The trap.
Not the thralls.
Not the guards.
The dagger.
Vexis isn’t commanding them.
He’s binding them.
The runes on the blade—they’re not just for show. They’re a leash. A chain. And he’s using it to control every mindless hybrid in this room.
“The dagger,” I shout. “We take the dagger—”
But before I can move—
A hand closes around my wrist.
Not rough.
Not violent.
Soft.
I spin.
And freeze.
It’s not a guard.
Not a thrall.
It’s her.
Mira Solen.
Her platinum hair cascades over one shoulder, her violet eyes gleaming with something sharp and dangerous. She’s not in white silk. Not in Kaelen’s shirt.
She’s in armor.
Black. Fitted. Laced with silver thread.
And she’s smiling.
“Hello, sister,” she whispers, her voice like silk over steel. “Did you miss me?”
My breath catches.
“You’re supposed to be disgraced,” I say, yanking my wrist free. “Exiled.”
“And yet, here I am.” She tilts her head. “You think the Council would let a true heir fade away? A woman with Kaelen’s blood in her veins? A woman who knows his secrets?”
“You don’t have his blood.”
“No.” She smiles. “But I have something better.”
And then—
She moves.
Fast.
Her hand flashes—silver needle between her fingers—
And stabs into my neck.
Pain.
Fire.
Then—
Nothing.
My legs give out.
My magic flickers.
My vision blurs.
“Zara!” Kaelen’s voice—distant. Desperate.
I try to call back. Try to move. Try to breathe.
But the world is slipping.
And the last thing I see—
Is Mira’s smile.
And Vexis, raising the dagger.
And Kaelen—
Being dragged down by thralls.
—
I wake to pain.
Not fire.
Not magic.
Cold.
Sharp. Deep. Penetrating.
My wrists are chained above my head, the silver cuffs biting into my skin, burning through muscle, through bone. My feet don’t touch the ground. My body hangs, suspended, my arms screaming with strain, my shoulders dislocated. The air is thick with the scent of iron and something older—something rotten. And beneath it—
My blood.
I can smell it.
See it.
Dripping from my fingertips into a silver basin below, pooling like dark wine.
“Awake at last.”
Vexis’s voice cuts through the dark. He stands beside the basin, stirring my blood with a silver rod, the runes on his dagger glowing faintly. “You’ve been out for hours. I was beginning to worry.”
“Go to hell,” I rasp, my voice raw.
He laughs. “Such fire. Even now. Even broken.” He lifts the rod, letting a drop of my blood fall onto the blade. The runes flare—crimson and black—then settle. “Your blood is… fascinating. Not just witch. Not just wolf. It burns. Literally. Did you know? When I cut you, the wound seals. The blood smokes. It resists. Fights. Like it knows what I’m trying to do.”
My stomach turns. “You’re harvesting me.”
“Harvesting?” He tilts his head. “No. I’m studying. You’re the first Emberborn we’ve captured in over a century. The last one—your mother—died screaming. But you… you’re stronger. Smarter. More dangerous.” He steps closer, his hand brushing my cheek. “And so much more beautiful.”
I spit in his face.
He doesn’t flinch. Just wipes it away with a slow smile. “You’ll learn. Eventually. Everyone does.”
“Kaelen will come for me.”
“Oh, he already tried.” He turns, gesturing to a glass case on the far wall.
My breath stops.
Inside—
A vial.
Dark red liquid swirling inside.
Blood.“His,” Vexis says. “Drawn while he was unconscious. While the thralls held him down. While he screamed your name.” He steps closer, his breath cold on my skin. “He fought. Oh, how he fought. But even a Marked Alpha can’t resist a hundred mindless hybrids. Not forever.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He lifts the vial. “Would you like to see him? What he looks like when he’s broken? When he’s chained? When he’s—”
“No.”
“Or perhaps,” he continues, ignoring me, “you’d like to see what happens when I mix your blood with his. When I use it to bind a new thrall. To create a weapon. To control a pack.” He leans in. “Imagine it. Kaelen, kneeling. Obeying. Mine. All because of a single drop of your blood.”
Fire erupts in my veins.
Not magic.
Rage.
“You touch him,” I whisper, “and I’ll burn you to ash.”
He laughs. “You can’t even stand.”
“I don’t need to.”
I press my fingers to the mark on my collarbone.
And scream.
Not with my voice.
With the bond.
A pulse of fire. A wave of heat. A scream of fury that rips through the air, shaking the walls, shattering the glass case.
Vexis stumbles back.
“You feel that?” I say, my voice low, dangerous. “That’s not me. That’s him. And he’s coming. And when he finds you—”
“Then he’ll die with you.”
He raises the dagger.
And the thralls pour in.
—
They don’t touch me.
Not with hands.
Not with teeth.
They just watch.
Standing in a circle, their hollow eyes locked on me, their mouths open, their breaths shallow. Waiting. Obeying.
Vexis sits on a throne of bone, the dagger in his lap, my blood in the basin, his smile slow, satisfied.
“You think he’ll come,” he says. “But he won’t. Not in time. Not before I’ve taken everything from you. Your magic. Your fire. Your blood.”
“And then what?” I ask. “You’ll kill me?”
“No.” He leans forward. “I’ll turn you. Make you one of them. A thrall. A weapon. And then I’ll send you to kill him. To destroy the man you love. To prove that even fated bonds can be broken.”
My stomach turns.
But I don’t show it.
I just smile.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” I say, pressing my fingers to the mark. “You think the bond is just magic. Just blood. But it’s not.” I tilt my head. “It’s fire. And fire doesn’t obey. It doesn’t kneel. It doesn’t break.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just raises the dagger.
And the thralls move.
Not toward me.
Toward the door.
And then—
A sound.
Not from outside.
From within.
A growl.
Low. Gutural. Feral.
And then—
The door explodes.
Stone and fire and splintered wood tear through the air.
And he steps through.
Kaelen.
Bloodied. Scarred. His storm-gray eyes fully gold, his fangs bared, his claws dripping with something dark and wet. His shirt is torn, his body covered in wounds, but he’s standing. Walking. Coming for me.
“You’re late,” I say, voice weak.
He doesn’t answer.
He just moves.
Fast.
Claws slashing, fangs tearing—dropping thralls like they’re nothing. Vexis raises the dagger, commanding them, but they don’t respond. Not to him. Not to the runes.
Only to him.
Because the bond—
It’s screaming.
Not just between us.
Through the room.
Through the thralls.
Through everything.
And then—
Vexis lunges.
The dagger aimed at my heart.
But Kaelen is faster.
He shifts—fully this time—wolf and vampire and something darker—and slams into Vexis, knocking the blade from his hand, sending it skittering across the floor.
“Zara,” he growls, turning to me, his eyes wild, his breath ragged. “Hold on.”
He slices through my chains with a claw.
I collapse into him.
He catches me.
One arm around my back, the other cradling my head, shielding me as the world dissolves into fire and need.
“You came,” I whisper.
“Always,” he says.
And then—
Vexis rises, blood dripping from his temple, his eyes blazing with fury.
“You think this is over?” he snarls. “You think you’ve won?”
Kaelen doesn’t answer.
He just pulls me closer.
And the bond—
It flares.
Hot. Violent. Alive.
And I know—
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning.
Of the war.