The mark burns.
Not like fire. Not like pain.
Like recognition.
It pulses just below my collarbone, a crescent of heat beneath the thin fabric of my tunic, a brand that isn’t just skin-deep. It’s in my blood. In my bones. In the way my magic hums now, steady and sure, like it’s finally found its home. The bond—once a live wire of chaos, of war, of denial—is no longer screaming.
It’s singing.
I press my fingers to the mark, still warm from Kaelen’s bite, and close my eyes. I can feel him. Not just near. Not just present. Connected. His breath. His heartbeat. The low, restless thrum of his need. He’s not in the room, but he might as well be. The bond doesn’t care about distance. It doesn’t care about walls. It only knows one truth:
You’re his.
I don’t say it out loud. I don’t even think it. But it’s there, in the way my body still aches from the kiss, from the bite, from the way I arched into him as he marked me—like I was starving and he was the only thing that could feed me.
I hate that I wanted it.
I hate that I needed it.
I hate that, for the first time since I walked into this cursed city, I don’t feel like I’m burning alone.
The infirmary is quiet—too quiet. White stone walls, floating healing crystals pulsing with soft blue light, the scent of crushed mint and bloodroot in the air. I’m on a narrow cot, my shoulder wrapped in bandages, my clothes singed, my hair still smelling of smoke. Kaelen carried me here after the vault collapsed, after we barely escaped the fire, after he marked me in the ruins of the archive.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t look at me.
Just handed me over to the healers with a single, clipped command: “Fix her. Now.”
Then he was gone.
And now, hours later, I’m awake. Alive. Marked.
The healers—two witches from the High Coven—won’t meet my eyes. They move around me like I’m a bomb about to detonate, their hands quick, their voices hushed. They cleaned my wound. Sealed the gash. Treated the burns.
But they didn’t touch the mark.
They wouldn’t dare.
Because they know what it means.
“The Alpha’s claim,” one whispers to the other, just loud enough for me to hear. “On the collarbone. Public. Unmistakable.”
“She fought it for days,” the other murmurs. “Now look at her. Like she was born to wear it.”
I don’t react. I don’t glare. I just lie there, my fingers still pressed to the mark, my mind racing.
They’re right.
I did fight it.
I fought the bond. I fought Kaelen. I fought the truth.
And now?
Now I’ve let him mark me. In a burning archive. In front of no one. In front of everyone.
Because the bond doesn’t lie.
And neither do I—not anymore.
—
The door opens.
I don’t need to look to know who it is.
The bond flares—hot, insistent, hungry—as he steps into the room. His scent hits me first—pine, iron, smoke—thicker now, laced with something darker, wilder. Claimed. He’s still in his armor, blood streaked across his chest, his knuckles split, his storm-gray eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something else. Need.
He stops at the foot of the cot, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You’re awake.”
“You noticed.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. “You should’ve left the ledger.”
“And let them erase the truth?” I push myself up, wincing as my shoulder protests. “No.”
“You could’ve died.”
“I almost did. Thanks to you.”
His jaw tightens. “I saved you.”
“You marked me.”
“You let me.”
I glare at him. “You bit me in a collapsing building. That wasn’t consent. That was—”
“Survival.” He steps forward, his voice dropping. “The bond was breaking. The fire. The smoke. The stress. If I hadn’t marked you, it would’ve torn us both apart. You know that.”
I do.
The bond—fated, magical, unbreakable—requires completion. Denial leads to decay. To madness. To death. And in that moment, with the ceiling collapsing, with Vexis’s enforcers dead, with the ledger burning—
It was either mark me… or lose me.
And Kaelen Dain doesn’t lose.
“You didn’t have to do it like that,” I whisper. “Not there. Not like—”
“Like what?” He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Like I meant it?”
My breath hitches.
“You felt it,” he murmurs. “The truth. The need. The way your body opened for me, even in the fire. Even in the ruins.”
“I was disoriented.”
“Liar.” His thumb brushes the mark, just a whisper of contact. Heat explodes beneath my skin, racing down my neck, pooling between my thighs. I don’t pull away. “You wanted it. You wanted me.”
“I wanted justice.”
“And you’ll get it.” He pulls back, his gaze locking onto mine. “But not if you keep throwing your life away.”
“I wasn’t throwing it away. I was fighting for it.”
“Fighting is one thing. Recklessness is another.” He turns to the healers. “Leave us.”
They don’t argue. They just bow and slip out, closing the door behind them.
The silence stretches.
Then—
“They’ll come for the mark,” I say.
“Who?”
“Mira. Vexis. The Council. Anyone who thinks they can use it against us.”
“Let them try.” He steps closer, caging me against the cot, one hand braced beside my head, the other resting on my hip. “The bond is sealed. The mark is real. And if anyone touches you—” His voice drops to a growl. “—I’ll rip their heart out.”
Shame burns through me. Because I don’t hate him for it.
Because I want him to protect me.
“You don’t get to decide what happens to me,” I whisper.
“I don’t.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “But the bond does. And it’s already decided. You’re mine.”
“I’m not a possession.”
“No.” He leans in, his lips hovering over mine. “You’re my mate. And I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you fight me. I’ll still burn the world before I let anyone take you from me.”
My eyes flutter shut.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
Kaelen doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “Enter.”
The door opens.
It’s not Riven. Not a guard.
It’s her.
Mira Solen.
She steps in like she owns the place, dressed in a gown of shimmering emerald green, 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.
My stomach drops.
“Kaelen,” she purrs, ignoring me completely. “I heard about the fire. How terrible. I came to offer my support.”
Kaelen doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at her. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Oh, but I am.” She glides forward, setting the tray on a nearby table. “I brought healing draughts. Blood tonic. Things a wounded mate might need.” She finally looks at me, her smile venomous. “Though I suppose she doesn’t need it. Not when she has your bite to heal her.”
My fingers twitch.
She knows.
She already knows I’m marked.
“Leave,” Kaelen says, voice low, dangerous.
“Not yet.” She turns to the attendant with the vial. “Show them.”
The attendant steps forward, holding up the crystal.
“This,” Mira says, “is Kaelen’s blood. Given freely. Shared in passion. Sealed with a kiss.” She lifts her wrist, showing the silver serpent ring again. “He marked me first. Weeks ago. In the privacy of his chambers. No witnesses. No lies.”
My breath catches.
“The bond recognizes true mates,” she continues, her voice sweet, saccharine. “And if the Council demands proof—” She gestures to the vial. “—I have it. His blood. His scent. His claim.”
“You’re lying,” I say, my voice steady.
“Am I?” She smiles. “Then why does his blood respond to mine?”
Before I can react, she slices her fingertip with a silver dagger and lets a drop fall into the vial.
The blood moves.
Not mixing.
Twining.
Her crimson stream curls around the dark red, spiraling together like lovers in the dark. The glow intensifies—crimson and black flaring, then merging into a single, pulsing light.
My blood runs cold.
It’s impossible.
The bond doesn’t lie.
But this—
This looks like proof.
“You forged it,” Kaelen says, stepping in front of me, shielding me from view. “You stole my blood. Used it to fake a bond.”
“Did I?” Mira tilts her head. “Or did you just mark her because you were afraid? Afraid the Council would find out the truth? Afraid they’d realize you’ve been lying this whole time?”
“Get out,” he growls.
“Or what?” She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ll mark me again? In front of her? Show her what a real claim looks like?”
Fire flares in my palms.
“Zara.” Kaelen’s hand closes over mine, squeezing. Not to stop me. To warn me. “Don’t.”
“She’s lying,” I hiss.
“Is she?” Mira smiles. “Or are you just afraid to admit that you’re not enough? That no matter how much you hate him, no matter how much you fight it—you’ll never be what he really needs?”
“Enough.” Kaelen turns to her, his voice a blade. “If you don’t leave this room in the next ten seconds, I’ll have you thrown into the Blood Pit. And this time, I won’t pull you out.”
Her smile falters. Just for a second.
Then she laughs. “Fine. But the Council will hear about this. They’ll want to see the marks. They’ll want to test the bond.” She glances at me, her eyes cold. “And when they do, we’ll see who he really belongs to.”
Then she’s gone, the attendants following, the door clicking shut behind them.
The silence is heavier than stone.
I pull my hand from Kaelen’s grip. “She has your blood.”
“She stole it.” He turns to me, his eyes dark. “After the full moon. When I was weak. She drugged a servant, took a vial from the healing stores.”
“And the reaction?”
“Blood magic. A spell to mimic the bond. It won’t hold. Not under real testing.”
“But it looked real.”
“Appearance is all she has.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing the mark. “This is real. You’re real. And no matter what she shows them, the bond will decide.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“It will.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Because you’re mine. And I don’t care who she is, what she has, or what she claims—no one will ever take that from me.”
I don’t answer.
Because 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.
—
The summons comes at dusk.
A single scroll, delivered by a silent scribe. No name. No seal. Just three words, written in sharp, angular script:
Council. Chamber. Now.
I don’t hesitate.
I rise from the cot, my body still aching, my mark still burning, and pull on a fresh set of clothes—black trousers, a high-collared tunic, boots laced tight. No silk. No velvet. No masquerade.
Today, I’m not Lady Selene.
Today, I’m Zara.
And I will not be played.
Kaelen is waiting outside, Riven at his side. He doesn’t speak as I approach. Just nods, then turns, leading the way through the winding corridors of the Spire.
The bond hums between us—steady, strong, unbroken.
And for the first time, I don’t fight it.
I just follow.