The morning after the catacombs, I wake to silence.
Not the heavy, suffocating quiet of grief or fear, but something lighter. Something charged. Like the air before a storm breaks. The city of Veridian Spire lies below the cliffside chambers, its spires veiled in mist, its lanterns dimming as dawn bleeds gold across the mountain peaks. The wind carries the scent of pine and iron—his scent—and for once, it doesn’t make my fangs lengthen in warning.
It makes me feel.
Kaelen is gone again. Not vanished. Not disappeared. Just… not here. But his presence lingers—in the warmth of the sheets beside me, in the faint smudge of blood on the pillow where my cheek pressed against it, in the way the bond hums beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. I press my fingers to the mark on my collarbone. It pulses—warm, alive, right—a constant reminder that I am not alone. That I am not just vengeance. Not just fire.
I am claimed.
And for the first time, I don’t hate it.
—
I dress slowly—black trousers, fitted tunic, boots laced tight. No silk. No masquerade. I am not Lady Selene. I am not the hidden hybrid. I am not the avenger in the shadows.
I am Zara Ember.
And I have work to do.
The Eastern Archive is still in ruins—the stone cracked, the tomes burned, the Blood Codex reduced to ash. But Orin is here, kneeling beside the shattered pedestal, his silver hair falling over his face as he traces the scorched runes on the stone.
“You felt it,” he says without looking up. “The ritual. The blood. The bond.”
“I felt everything,” I say, stepping forward. “And I know what I have to do.”
He rises slowly, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Yes, I do.” I lift my chin. “Vexis won’t stop. He’ll keep using people. Keep poisoning the truth. And if he gets his hands on the final piece of the ritual—”
“He already has,” Orin interrupts, his voice low. “He has you.”
My breath hitches.
“No,” I say. “He has a weapon. But I’m not his. I’m not a key. I’m not a sacrifice. I’m me.”
“And that’s why he fears you.” Orin steps closer, his hand lifting to my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Because you can break the curse. Or complete it. And he doesn’t know which you’ll choose.”
“I already have,” I say. “I choose him.”
He doesn’t smile.
But his eyes soften.
And then—
A pulse.
Not from the bond.
From the city.
From the catacombs.
From danger.
My magic flares—red-gold flame licking up my arms, searing the air.
“He’s taken someone,” I say, turning toward the door. “Someone close to you.”
Orin doesn’t deny it.
Just nods. “Lira. The Emberborn girl. She was taken an hour ago. Vexis left a message.” He pulls a scroll from his robes, hands it to me.
I unroll it.
“Come alone. Or I’ll flay her alive.”
My hands clench.
“You can’t go,” Orin says. “It’s a trap.”
“Of course it is,” I say, stepping toward the door. “But I’m the only one who can walk into a trap and walk out with fire in my hands.”
—
The catacombs beneath the Spire are a labyrinth—twisting tunnels carved from black stone, lit only by flickering torches and the faint glow of fae lanterns embedded in the walls. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth, old blood, and something darker—something alive. I move silently, my moonsteel dagger in one hand, my mother’s silver one in the other, my magic flaring just beneath my skin, ready to ignite.
And then—
I feel it.
The bond.
Not a whisper.
Not a pulse.
A scream.
Kaelen.
He’s close.
Coming.
But not to save me.
To stop me.
I don’t slow.
Don’t turn.
Just keep moving.
—
The chamber at the end of the tunnel is vast—its ceiling lost in shadow, its walls lined with ancient runes that pulse with crimson light. In the center, Lira is chained to a stone altar, her storm-gray eyes wide with fear, her wrists raw from silver cuffs. And beside her—
Vexis.
He’s not alone.
Twelve vampire thralls stand in a circle around the altar, their eyes black, their fangs bared, their hands raised in a ritual formation. Blood drips from their palms, pooling in a sigil carved into the stone—a sigil I recognize.
The Marked Alpha ritual.
And at its center—
Lira.
Not just a prisoner.
A sacrifice.
“You’re too late,” Vexis says, stepping forward, his crimson eyes glowing. “The ritual has begun. The blood is flowing. And when the final drop falls—” He smiles. “—she’ll die. And her power will be mine.”
My magic flares—hot, violent, hungry.
“You don’t get to do this,” I say, voice low, dangerous. “You don’t get to use her. You don’t get to use anyone.”
“And yet, I am.” He tilts his head. “You think you’re the only one who can break a curse? You think you’re the only one who can wield ancient fire? I’ve spent centuries preparing for this. And now—” His eyes flick to the runes on the wall. “—the final piece is in place.”
“No,” I say, stepping forward, fire dancing in my palms. “The final piece is me.”
He laughs. “You’re not completing the ritual. You’re replacing it. You’re taking her place.”
“No.” I press the silver dagger to my palm, letting a drop of blood fall onto the stone. “I’m ending it.”
The runes flare—gold and crimson, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And then—
Footsteps.
Fast.
Heavy.
Kaelen.
I don’t turn.
Don’t move.
Just keep the dagger at my palm, my blood feeding the sigil.
He stops behind me.
His breath warm on my neck.
His scent flooding me—pine, iron, smoke, him.
“Zara,” he says, voice low. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” I say, not looking at him. “She’s just a girl. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t choose this.”
“And you did?”
“Yes.” I turn, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “Because I’m not just an Emberborn. I’m not just a witch. I’m the daughter of Lysara. And I will not let another girl die for their lies.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just steps forward, his hand closing around mine, the bond flaring between us—hot, violent, alive.
“Then we do it together,” he says.
And before I can respond—
He moves.
Fast.
One hand grabs Vexis by the throat, the other slamming him into the wall. Stone cracks. 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 ritual—”
“Is over,” I say, stepping forward, the silver dagger in my hand. “Because I’m not your weapon. I’m not your key. I’m not your slave.”
And then—
I slash.
Not at Vexis.
At the sigil.
The blade cuts through the blood, through the stone, through the magic—and the runes shatter.
The thralls scream.
Not in pain.
In exposure.
Their black eyes flash gold, then human, then free. The blood magic breaks. The chains on Lira’s wrists fall away. And the chamber—
It collapses.
Stone cracks. Torches snuff out. The ceiling groans, ready to fall.
“Run!” Kaelen roars, grabbing Lira and throwing her over his shoulder.
But I don’t move.
Just stand there, the dagger in my hand, the fire in my veins.
“Zara!” he shouts. “Now!”
And then—
Something hits me.
Not a blade.
Not a spell.
A presence.
From behind.
I turn.
And see it.
Vexis.
Not on the ground.
Not broken.
Smiling.
His hand flashes—a silver needle between his fingers, laced with the same poison that nearly took me in the Blood Pit.
But I’m faster.
I shift—just enough to dodge, the needle grazing my cheek, a thin line of blood welling at the edge.
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.
Vexis freezes.
Not in fear.
In triumph.
“You see?” he whispers. “The poison still works. The bond still weakens you. And he’ll see it. He’ll know. And he’ll wonder—” His eyes flick to Kaelen. “—if I’m the one who should be at his side.”
My breath hitches.
But I don’t falter.
Just press the dagger to his throat.
“You think I care what he wonders?” I say, voice low, dangerous. “You think I need his approval? His protection? His love?”
“Then why are you here?” he asks, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you run when you had the chance? Why didn’t you vanish into the tunnels and let the war burn without you?”
“Because I’m not you,” I say. “I’m not a liar. I’m not a manipulator. I’m not a coward.”
And then—
I push.
Not the dagger.
Not the fire.
The truth.
My free hand flies to his chest, fingers pressing over his heart. My magic surges—not to burn, not to destroy, but to reveal.
Red-gold flame erupts from my palm, searing through his robes, through his skin, through his flesh—
And into his memory.
He screams.
Not from pain.
From exposure.
I see it—flashes of truth, raw and unfiltered. Him in the Blood Pit. The thralls. The hybrid prisoners. The way he harvested their blood. The way he smiled as he injected the memory suppressant. The way he whispered: “You’ll never remember. You’ll never fight. You’ll never be free.”
And then—
I see more.
The Oracle. In the shadows. Watching. Smiling. Handing him the serum. The orders.
She wasn’t just a bystander.
She was his partner.
And now—
She’s mine.
“You were used,” I say, pulling my hand back, the flame dying. “But you didn’t fight. you didn’t resist. you chose to be a weapon.”
He sags, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face pale, his eyes wide with horror.
“I did it for power,” he whispers.
“No,” I say. “You did it for fear. Because you’re afraid of what he’ll become. Of what I’ll become. But you don’t get to decide that. Not anymore.”
And then—
The ceiling collapses.
Stone rains down. Dust fills the air. Kaelen roars, shielding Lira with his body as debris crashes around us.
“Zara!” he shouts. “Now!”
I don’t hesitate.
Just turn and run.
But not alone.
I grab Vexis by the arm, dragging him with me as the chamber collapses behind us.
Because this isn’t over.
Not yet.
—
We emerge into the night, the city spread below, the first light of dawn painting the stone in gold and violet.
Kaelen sets Lira down gently, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine.
“You could have died,” he says, voice rough.
“But I didn’t,” I say, stepping into him. “Because I’m not alone.”
He doesn’t smile.
But his hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek, his thumb tracing the cut from the needle.
“You’re bleeding,” he says.
“It’s just a scratch.”
“No.” He leans in, his lips hovering over mine. “It’s a reminder. That they’ll keep coming. That they’ll keep trying. That they’ll never stop.”
“Then we’ll keep fighting,” I say, pressing my palm to his chest, over his heart. “Together.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just kisses me.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and need and something deeper—something fierce, something protective. 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 slow, deep, a collision of fire and fury. His fangs graze my lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make me whimper.
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.
“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.
—
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.