The first time I touch Kaelen D’Rae, it’s with a blade at his throat.
Moonlight spills through the cathedral arches of the Obsidian Court, fractured into jagged shards of crimson and onyx by the stained glass above. The air is thick with incense and old blood—sacrificial offerings from the last ritual, still clinging to the stone like a curse. I press myself into the shadow of a pillar, breath shallow, pulse a silent drum against my ribs. My dagger, forged from thorned iron and blessed by Mira’s last breath, rests cold against my palm.
He stands at the center of the sanctum, bathed in the glow of the Blood Moon. Kaelen D’Rae. The Vampire King. My mother’s murderer.
He’s taller than I imagined. Broad-shouldered, draped in black velvet that clings to him like a second skin. His hair is ink-dark, falling just past his jaw, and his face—sharp, pale, carved from centuries of cruelty—doesn’t flinch as the Council members chant around him. His eyes are closed. His hands are raised. And the runes beneath his feet—ancient, pulsing, etched in dried blood—begin to glow.
The Blood Moon Ceremony. The one night a century when the Vampire King can perform the Claiming Ritual. When he can bind a consort to him through blood, magic, and law.
And I’m going to end it with a knife.
I shift my weight. My boots are silent on the marble. My glamour—a fragile weave of fae illusion—shimmers around me, bending light, distorting my form. To them, I’m just another shadow. Just another ripple in the dark.
But I’m not here to hide.
I’m here to kill.
I step forward.
The first footfall is soundless. The second, a whisper. The third—
His eyes snap open.
Gold. Not human gold. Not warm. But molten, predatory, like the sun reflected off a blade. They lock onto mine, and for a heartbeat, the world stops.
He sees me.
No. He knows me.
I don’t hesitate.
I lunge.
The dagger flashes in the moonlight as I close the distance. My mother’s voice echoes in my skull—Strike true, Rowan. For me. For our blood. The Council screams. Guards move. But I’m faster. I’m fury given form. I reach him, my free hand grabbing his shoulder to steady myself, the blade pressing hard against the column of his throat.
“You took everything from me,” I hiss, my voice raw with years of rage. “Now I take you.”
And I cut.
Just enough. A thin red line blooms across his skin. Not deep. Not fatal. But enough to draw blood.
His blood.
And the moment it falls—
The runes beneath us ignite.
Fire erupts from the stone, not flame, but liquid shadow, writhing like serpents as they coil up my legs, my arms, my chest. I scream, trying to pull back, but I can’t move. The shadows bind me, tight as iron, cold as death. They wrap around Kaelen too, yanking him forward until our bodies slam together, chest to chest, breath to breath.
Our wrists are chained together by living darkness. Our hearts—beating in tandem, too fast, too loud. And between us, where his blood dripped onto the runes, a sigil flares to life—a spiral of thorns and fangs, burning white-hot before searing itself into my skin.
My left wrist.
The mark of the Blood Consort.
“No,” I gasp, tearing at the shadows. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t—”
But it is.
The Council falls silent. Then—cheers. Shouts. The sound of a thousand voices declaring what I already feel in my bones.
The ritual has been completed.
And I am claimed.
Kaelen doesn’t look at me. His jaw is clenched, his breathing steady, but I feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers twitch against mine. He didn’t want this. But the magic doesn’t care. The Blood Claim is ancient, impartial. It doesn’t ask for consent. It doesn’t care about vengeance or lies or stolen thrones.
It only cares about blood.
And mine just answered his.
“Rowan of the Thorned Blood,” booms a voice from the dais. High Councilor Vex, her silver crown glinting like a knife. “By the power of the Supernatural Council and the magic of the Blood Moon, you are hereby bound as Blood Consort to Kaelen D’Rae, Vampire King of the Obsidian Court. Your bond is legal, binding, and irreversible. May the gods bear witness.”
I laugh. A broken, jagged sound. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
But no one laughs with me.
They’re staring. Whispers ripple through the chamber. Thorned Blood. The exiled line. The half-breed. She’s his now.
Kaelen finally turns his head. His golden eyes burn into mine. There’s no triumph there. No pleasure. Just cold, calculating fury.
“You came to kill me,” he says, voice low, rough as gravel. “Now you’ll live for me.”
I yank at the shadow chains. “I’d rather die.”
“Then you’ll die bound to me,” he says. “And your mother’s name will rot in the dirt.”
My breath catches.
He knows.
He knows who I am.
And he’s using it.
I glare at him, my magic simmering beneath my skin. The Thorned Blood doesn’t bow. Doesn’t break. We rise from the ashes, sharp and cruel and alive. I can feel the vines beneath my flesh, ready to burst free, to tear through this court, to strangle him with my own hands—
But the bond pulses.
A wave of heat crashes through me, sudden and vicious. My knees buckle. My vision blurs. And for a single, horrifying second, I feel him—his thoughts, his hunger, his cold, endless grief—pressing against my mind like a blade.
“Don’t,” I gasp, clutching my head. “Get out of my head.”
He doesn’t answer. But the pressure fades, leaving me shaking, sweat-slicked, trembling against his chest.
The chains dissolve into smoke, leaving only the mark on my wrist—thorned vines curling around a fang, still warm to the touch.
Kaelen steps back, but his hand remains on my arm, fingers tight enough to bruise. “You’re mine now,” he says, voice quiet, meant only for me. “And you will play your part, or I will make you regret ever setting foot in this court.”
I lift my chin. “You don’t scare me.”
“Good,” he says. “Because fear is weakness. And I don’t want a weak consort.”
He turns, pulling me with him, and the Council parts like water. Cameras flash. Reporters from the Blood Ledger scribble notes. A vampire noble in a blood-red gown whispers to her companion, “She’s so human.”
I bare my teeth at her. “And you’re so dead if you don’t shut your mouth.”
She pales.
Kaelen doesn’t react. He just keeps walking, dragging me through the grand hall, past the towering statues of past kings, past the portraits of queens who died in service to the throne. We reach the private wing, and he shoves me into a chamber—his chambers—and slams the door behind us.
The room is vast. High ceilings, black marble floors, a bed draped in velvet the color of dried blood. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with ancient tomes. A fireplace crackles, casting long shadows.
And for the first time since I entered this cursed court, I’m alone with him.
“What the hell was that?” I demand, rubbing my wrist. The mark tingles, a constant reminder of what’s been done. “That wasn’t part of the ritual. That was a trap.”
“It was fate,” he says, stripping off his gloves. “The Blood Claim only activates when two compatible bloodlines intersect. Yours answered mine. That’s not a trap. That’s magic.”
“Bullshit. My mother’s bloodline was severed from yours. There’s no compatibility.”
He turns to me, slow, deliberate. “Then why did it work?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
And that terrifies me more than the bond, more than the mark, more than the way my body still hums from being pressed against his.
“You wanted to kill me,” he says, stepping closer. “But you hesitated. Just for a second. Why?”
“I didn’t hesitate.”
“You did. You looked into my eyes—and you saw something you didn’t expect.”
“I saw a murderer.”
“Then why didn’t you slit my throat?”
I clench my fists. “Maybe I just wanted you to suffer.”
He laughs—low, dark, the sound curling around me like smoke. “Oh, Rowan of the Thorned Blood. You think I haven’t suffered? You think I don’t carry the weight of every life I’ve taken, every war I’ve waged, every betrayal I’ve survived?”
“I don’t care what you’ve survived,” I spit. “My mother died because of you. She was executed on your orders. Her throne stolen. Her bloodline erased. And now you expect me to kneel?”
“I expect you to survive,” he says. “Because if you don’t, you’ll never learn the truth.”
I freeze. “What truth?”
He smiles. Not kind. Not warm. But knowing. “That I didn’t kill your mother.”
My breath stops.
“She died protecting me,” he says. “From a coup. From someone inside your bloodline.”
Lies. It has to be lies.
But the bond—
It doesn’t lie.
And for the first time, doubt slithers through my chest, cold and sharp.
Kaelen steps back. “You’ll stay here. You’ll wear the mark. You’ll play the part of my consort. And if you’re lucky, you might live long enough to find out who really betrayed you.”
He turns to leave.
“Wait,” I say.
He pauses at the door.
“If you’re lying,” I say, voice trembling, “I’ll kill you. Slowly. Painfully. And I’ll make sure the whole world knows the truth before you die.”
He looks at me over his shoulder. “I’m not lying, Rowan. But I’ll enjoy watching you try to prove me wrong.”
And then he’s gone.
The door clicks shut.
I’m alone.
But not really.
Because the mark on my wrist burns.
And somewhere deep inside me, something answers it.
Something that feels dangerously like desire.