The darkness isn’t empty.
It’s alive.
Not just the absence of light. Not just the silence after the runes exploded. But a presence—thick, pulsing, hungry. The air hums with old magic, with blood oaths long forgotten, with the weight of centuries of lies. The walls of the Eastern Archive are cracked, bleeding silver mist that coils like serpents across the floor. The Blood Codex burns in silence, its flames black and soundless, consuming truth like it was never meant to be known.
And in the center—
Us.
Kaelen and me.
Still standing. Still breathing. Still tethered.
His hand is around mine, fingers locked over the silver dagger, our palms pressed together, the bond flaring between us like a live wire. It’s not just heat. Not just need. It’s recognition. A deeper knowing. A truth that predates memory, that defies reason, that burns through every lie we’ve ever believed.
He saved me.
Not from chains.
Not from silver.
From myself.
And now—
I have to save him.
—
Vexis is on his knees, blood dripping from the gash across his chest, his crimson eyes wide with fury. The runes on the walls are dark now, the warding broken—but not by him. By me. By the slash of my mother’s dagger. By the fire in my blood. By the truth in my veins.
“You think this changes anything?” he snarls, rising slowly, one hand pressed to the wound. “You think a scratch stops me? You think a broken ward frees you? You’re still trapped. Still bound. Still his.”
Kaelen doesn’t answer.
Just shifts—slightly—his body a wall between me and Vexis, his claws extended, his fangs bared. His storm-gray eyes are fully gold now, the wolf close to the surface, the vampire blood thrumming beneath his skin. He’s not just protecting me.
He’s claiming me.
And I let him.
“You’re not taking her,” he growls, voice low, final.
“And you’re not keeping her,” Vexis spits. “She’s not your mate. She’s not your equal. She’s a weapon. A key. The final piece of the ritual that made you—and the only one who can unmake you.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s not lying.
Orin’s words echo in my mind: “You’re the last true Emberborn. The only one with enough power to complete the ritual. To either break Kaelen… or make him unstoppable.”
And now—
Vexis wants to use me.
To break him.
To turn the last Marked Alpha into a slave.
“Then try,” I say, stepping around Kaelen, the dagger in my hand. “Come closer. Let me show you what this key can do.”
Vexis smiles.
Not in victory.
In anticipation.
“You don’t understand,” he says, voice smooth as venom. “You think you’re fighting for love? For justice? For revenge? You’re not. You’re fighting for survival. Because if he embraces the full curse—if he accepts the Emberborn blood in the bond—you won’t just lose your mission. You’ll lose your mind. Your magic. Your self. The bond will consume you. And he’ll become something no one can control. Not even you.”
My stomach turns.
But I don’t show it.
Just tighten my grip on the dagger.
“Then I’ll burn with him,” I say, voice low, dangerous. “And if he becomes a monster—” I step forward, the blade pressing to Vexis’s throat. “—I’ll be the one who puts him down.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Just laughs.
“You think you’re strong enough?” he whispers. “You think your fire can destroy a god?”
“I don’t need to destroy him,” I say. “I just need to love him.”
And before he can respond—
Kaelen moves.
Fast.
One hand grabs Vexis by the throat, the other slamming him into the cracked wall. Stone splinters. Dust rains down. Vexis gasps, his eyes wide, his hands clawing at Kaelen’s wrist.
“You’re done,” Kaelen growls, his fangs at Vexis’s neck. “No more lies. No more games. No more poison. You touch her again—” His claws press into Vexis’s chest, just above the heart. “—and I’ll rip it out.”
“You can’t kill me,” Vexis chokes. “The Council—”
“I don’t care about the Council.” Kaelen leans in, his voice a whisper. “I care about her. And you’re not taking her from me.”
And then—
He throws him.
Vexis flies across the chamber, crashing into the pedestal, the remains of the Blood Codex scattering like ash. He doesn’t get up.
Just lies there, breathing hard, blood dripping from his mouth, his eyes burning with hatred.
Kaelen turns to me.
Not in triumph.
In fear.
“We need to go,” he says, voice rough. “Now.”
“What about him?” I ask, nodding at Vexis.
“He’s not dead,” Kaelen says. “But he’s not getting up. Not yet.” He steps closer, his hand lifting to my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “You’re bleeding.”
I hadn’t noticed.
A thin cut on my forearm—where a shard of stone must have grazed me during the explosion. Blood beads at the edge, dark and rich.
And then—
The bond flares.
Not a pulse.
Not a whisper.
A roar.
Heat rips through me—down my arm, across my chest, pooling between my thighs. My fangs lengthen. My claws erupt. My magic flares, red-gold flame licking up my skin. I gasp, my body arching, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Kaelen freezes.
Not in fear.
In need.
His eyes are fully gold now, his fangs bared, his scent flooding me—pine, iron, smoke, him. He steps closer, his hand sliding to my neck—not choking, not hurting. Claiming. His thumb brushes my pulse.
“You feel that?” he asks, voice rough. “That fire? That need? That’s not the heat. That’s us.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“And you’re still here.”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t kiss me.
Just presses his forehead to mine, his breath warm on my skin, his body a wall. “Then say it. Say you’re mine.”
My breath hitches.
Not from fear.
From the truth in his words.
He’s not asking for submission.
He’s asking for consent.
And I give it.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me, his thumb still brushing my pulse, his body still pressed to mine.
“Say it again,” he says.
“I’m yours.”
And then—
His mouth crashes down on mine.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and teeth and need. His lips are rough, demanding, his tongue sliding against mine like a claim. I gasp, my hands flying to his chest, not to push him away, but to hold on.
He tastes like smoke and iron and something darker—something ancient and wild. The kiss is brutal, desperate, a battle for control. His fangs graze my lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make me whimper.
And then—
He stops.
Breaks the kiss. Steps 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.
He stares at me, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. “You feel that?” he asks, voice rough. “That fire? That need? That’s not her. That’s us.”
“You don’t get to do that,” I whisper.
“I do.” He steps closer, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Because you’re mine. And no matter how much you hate me, no matter how much you fight it—you’ll never belong to anyone else.”
“I don’t belong to you.”
“Liar.” He leans in, his lips hovering over mine. “You’re already mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
And before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me trembling in the shadows, my body humming with the ghost of his touch, my mind screaming one word—
Yes.
—
We don’t go back to the chambers.
We go to the cliffs.
Not the training yard. Not the tunnels. Not the Spire.
The edge.
Where the wind bites through my tunic, where the stars burn cold and bright, where the city of Veridian Spire sprawls below, a web of light and shadow. Kaelen doesn’t speak. Just stands beside me, his hand finding mine, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat.
“You knew,” I say, voice low. “About the ritual. About the Emberborn blood. You felt it the first time we touched.”
He doesn’t deny it.
Just nods. “I didn’t understand. Not then. But I felt it. In the bond. In the fire. In the way your blood called to mine.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know how.” He turns to me, his storm-gray eyes stormy. “I spent centuries believing I was a monster. A weapon. A curse. And then—” His hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek. “—you walked in. Fire in your veins. Vengeance in your heart. And you looked at me like I was worth saving.”
My breath hitches.
“I didn’t come here to save you,” I say.
“No.” He smiles—just slightly. “You came to burn me. And you did. You burned through every lie. Every wall. Every fear. And now—” His hand slides to my neck, not choking, not hurting. Claiming. “—you’re the only thing keeping me human.”
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper.
“I am.” He leans in, his lips hovering over mine. “But I’m yours.”
And then—
I kiss him.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and need and something deeper—something fierce, something protective. My lips are soft, demanding, my tongue sliding against his like a claim. He gasps, his hands flying to my waist, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on.
He tastes like smoke and iron and something darker—something ancient and wild. The kiss is slow, deep, a collision of fire and fury. My fangs graze his lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make him growl.
And then—
My hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, to his neck—just like in the library. Not choking. Not hurting. Claiming. My thumb brushes his pulse.
“You feel that?” I ask, voice low. “Your heart. Racing. Not from the heat.”
“No.”
“You’re not feral.”
“No.”
“You’re not lost.”
“No.”
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
I smile—just slightly. Not a victory. Not a challenge.
Something softer.
Something real.
And then—
I pull him down.
Not gently. Not carefully.
Like I’m taking what’s mine.
We fall to the stone, the wind whipping around us, the stars burning above. His body is a wall over mine, his breath hot on my neck, his hands sliding under my tunic, burning over my skin. I arch into him, my fangs grazing his shoulder, my magic flaring in time with his touch.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
He does.
Storm-gray eyes, gold bleeding into gray, fangs just past his lip, claws retracted but ready. Not a beast. Not a monster.
Mine.
“This is mine,” I say, sliding my hand between us, fingers brushing the hard length of him through his trousers. “This fire. This need. This man. You don’t get to hide from me. You don’t get to push me away. You don’t get to decide when I’m ready.”
His breath hitches.
“You’re already mine,” I say, unbuttoning his trousers, sliding my hand inside. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
He growls—low, guttural, hungry—but doesn’t move. Doesn’t take. Just lets me touch him, lets me explore, lets me claim.
And I do.
I stroke him—slow, deliberate, my thumb brushing the tip, smearing the drop of pre-come. He shudders, his hips bucking, his fangs lengthening, his claws erupting—but he doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t push in. Just lets.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” I whisper, leaning up, my lips brushing his ear. “You don’t have to be in control. You don’t have to be the Alpha. Just be mine.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just rolls us—fast, smooth, a shift of power—and suddenly I’m on top, straddling him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his.
“You’re not the only one who can lead,” he says, voice rough.
“No.” I lift my hips, sliding my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance. “But I am the one who chooses.”
And I do.
I sink down—slow, deliberate, a gasp tearing from my throat as he fills me, stretches me, claims me. He’s thick, long, hot—burning—and I take all of him, every inch, every pulse, every groan.
“Zara,” he growls, his hands flying to my hips, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on.
“Say it,” I whisper, grinding down, taking him deeper. “Say you’re mine.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just thrusts up—once, sharp, deep—and I cry out, my head falling back, my magic flaring beneath my skin.
“Say it,” I demand, riding him now, setting the pace, controlling the fire. “Say you’re mine.”
He growls—low, guttural, feral—but still doesn’t speak.
So I do it for him.
“You’re mine,” I say, leaning down, my lips brushing his. “And you’ll never belong to anyone else.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just flips us—fast, brutal, a shift of power—and now he’s on top, his body a wall over mine, his thrusts deep, hard, relentless. I arch into him, my nails raking his back, my fangs grazing his shoulder, my magic flaring in time with his thrusts.
And then—
He bites.
Not my neck.
Not to mark.
My shoulder—just above the scar from the Blood Pit, just where the silver burned through. A sting. A pulse. A claim.
I cry out—half pain, half pleasure—and come, hard, my body clenching around him, my magic exploding in a wave of red-gold fire that licks up the cliffs, searing the air.
He follows—growling, thrusting, spilling inside me, his fangs still in my skin, his body shuddering, his breath ragged.
And then—
He collapses.
Not on me.
Beside me.
One arm wraps around my back, the other cradling my head, shielding me as the world dissolves into fire and need.
—
We don’t speak.
Don’t move.
Just lie there, wrapped in each other, the wind biting through our clothes, the stars burning above, 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—
He shifts.
Just slightly. His head tilts, his 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 he’s not asking for that.
He’s asking for this.
For me to stay.
For me to hold on.
For me to be here.
So I do.
I lower my head, my lips brushing his temple, his cheek, the curve of his jaw. Not a kiss. Not a claim. Just… contact. Connection. A promise.
And then—
My hand lifts.
Slow. Deliberate.
Fingers brushing his cheek. Just a whisper of touch. But it’s enough. His breath hitches. His body betrays him, arching into me, seeking more.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper.
His eyes close.
Because he’s spent centuries believing he was.
That the blood in his veins—the curse, the power, the fangs and claws—made him something to be feared. Controlled. Destroyed.
And now, I’m saying it.
Not with logic. Not with reason.
With my hand on his face. With my breath on his skin. With the way my body fits against his like it was made for him.
“You’re not,” I say again, my thumb tracing his lower lip. “You’re mine. And I’m not afraid of you.”
His heart stutters.
Because he is.
He’s terrified.
I can feel it in the bond—in the way his pulse jumps, in the way his magic flares, in the way his body trembles when I touch him.
But he’s not running.
He’s not fighting.
He’s staying.
And that—that is the most dangerous thing of all.
“Why?” I ask, voice rough. “Why aren’t you afraid?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just leans in, his lips hovering over mine. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to claim.
But he doesn’t.
Just… waits.
And then—
My hand slides up his chest, over his shoulder, to his neck—just like in the library. Not choking. Not hurting. Claiming. My thumb brushes his pulse.
“You feel that?” I ask, voice low. “Your heart. Racing. Not from the heat.”
“No.”
“You’re not feral.”
“No.”
“You’re not lost.”
“No.”
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
I smile—just slightly. Not a victory. Not a challenge.
Something softer.
Something real.
And then—
I kiss him.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and need and something deeper—something fierce, something protective. My lips are soft, demanding, my tongue sliding against his like a claim. He gasps, his hands flying to my waist, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on.
I taste like smoke and iron and something darker—something ancient and wild. The kiss is slow, deep, a collision of fire and fury. My fangs graze his lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make him growl.
And then—
My hand slides under his shirt, fingers burning over his stomach, his ribs, his back—
And the world explodes.
Heat. Light. Fire.
His magic ignites—just for a second, a burst of black-silver flame that licks up his arms, searing the air between us.
I don’t flinch. Don’t pull back.
I just moan into his mouth, my body arching into his, my fingers clutching at his skin.
And then—
He breaks the kiss.
Steps back.
His breath comes in ragged gasps. His lips are swollen. His body aches. His core throbs with a need so deep it feels like a wound.
I stare at him, my eyes dark, my chest heaving. “You feel that?” I ask, voice rough. “That fire? That need? That’s not the heat. That’s us.”
“You don’t get to do that,” he whispers.
“I do.” I step closer, my thumb brushing his 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.” I lean in, my lips hovering over his. “You’re already mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
And before he can respond, I turn and walk away, leaving him trembling in the shadows, his body humming with the ghost of my touch, his mind screaming one word—
Yes.
—
That night, I dream of fire.
Of him.
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.